LIBRARY 
 
 OF THK 
 
 University of California. 
 
 Mrs. SARAH P. WALSWORTH. 
 
 Received October, 1894. 
 cy^ccessions ^o^^C 3(p. Class No. -, 
 
PICTURES OF HEROES 
 
 LESSONS FKOM THEIR LIVES. 
 

A WOMAN'S GUESS; OR, THE KING AMONG TUE MINE-FOLK, 
 
 "The while he digs he talks so eloquently, and upon such stirring themes, that they 
 pause, lean upon their tools, and think they could listen forever to the fine youth with the 
 bright eye and the silvery speech. He has such a noble mien also, such a stately carriage, 
 that they are never weary of watching him. At length (it is a woman's eye that makes 
 the discovery) it is noticed that the collar of his shirt is elaborately embroidered. That 
 is enough." Page 135. 
 

 PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
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PEEFACE, 
 
 Some of the more scenic incidents in the long pro- 
 cession of History have been chosen for description 
 in the following pages. The moment has generally 
 been selected when the great man of the age was at 
 his greatest, or when the age had most need of its 
 great man. 
 
 Whether we regard the latter as the doer of the 
 work, or simply as the tool by which the work was 
 done when the time was ripe for the doing of it, it is 
 still the Individual who arrests our sympathies, and 
 who images the time to our apprehensions. 
 
 These Etudes offer no unity of design. They 
 are as roving as the steps of the artist who wanders 
 up and down in search of picturesque effects, fill- 
 ing his sketch-book at the prompting of wayward 
 
 fancy. 
 
 (3) 
 
IV PKEFACE. 
 
 But though the lesson of his life be not here made 
 to follow the sketch of the hero, with the same 
 prefcision as the "moral" attended the winding-up of 
 the tale in the old story-books, yet the intelligent 
 student will not fail to detect the teaching and to 
 supply the motto. 
 
 Windermere. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 *- 
 
 PAOE 
 
 An Impebial Convert 7 
 
 The Moslem's Dream; or, The Crescent on the Loire. 29 
 
 Kino Alfred; or, A Thousand Years Ago 45 
 
 Frederic Barbarossa: The "Red-Beard" of the Rhine.... 66 
 
 Brother John of Vicenza 109 
 
 Northern Lights 123 
 
 The "Snow-King" 143 
 
 Scenes in the Life of William the Silent 173 
 
 The Polish "Wizard" 211 
 
 Innsbbuck and its Echoes; or. The Rescue, the Run, the 
 Bribe, and the Ruin 235 
 
 1* (5) 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 FAGK 
 
 King Alfred winning the Queen's Manuscript 53 
 
 Barbarossa's Answer to the Citizens of Lodi 78 
 
 The Pulpit on the Field of Paquara 118 
 
 A Woman's Guess; or, The King among the Mine-folk 135 
 
 The Solemn Farewell 158 
 
 A Scene in the Life op William the Silent 204 
 
 "The Wizard Himself!" A Look through the Windows of the Past 213 
 
 (6) 
 
AN IMPERIAL CONVERT, 
 
^ 
 
 UFI71 
 
 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 Not many of the great emperors of the world have 
 been born in the purple. Here is a group of no less 
 than six, crowded together at once, either on the throne 
 of Roman empire or on its steps, at the beginning of 
 the fourth century. Two have just retired from active 
 rule: two proudly style themselves "Augusti;" and 
 two try to satisfy the craving hunger of ambition by 
 the temporary title of "Caesar." Only one of those 
 purple-clad men can fairly call himself nobly born; 
 and that one is Constantius, the father of the Great 
 Constantino. 
 
 Diocletian has just withdrawn himself from the op- 
 pressive cares of empire, and is inviting repose from 
 the exhausting excitement of success within the marble 
 halls of his beloved Salona, on the Dalmatian shore of 
 the Adriatic. But he cannot close his ear to the dis- 
 tant echoes of that struggle for the mastery which is 
 ever maintained by the heirs of his bequeathed power. 
 The retired emperor, who is seeking to forget the past 
 by cultivating a race of royal cabbages in the kitchen- 
 garden of his retreat, was but the son of a pair of 
 slaves, belonging to the household of a Roman senator. 
 
 (9) 
 
10 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 He had persuaded his haughty colleague, Maximian, to 
 lay aside, at the same time with himself, the white fillet 
 incrusted with pearls, which was the form of the Ro- 
 man diadem. And so, on the 1st of May, 305, the 
 philosophic Diocletian on the crowded plain of Nico- 
 media, and the turbulent Maximian at his own royal 
 city of Milan, divested their own shoulders of the pur- 
 ple robe. Maximian, the subordinate actor in these 
 remarkable scenes, secretly felt that he was only lay- 
 ing aside his mantle to be in readiness for any fresh 
 wrestling-match for imperial power. But the son of a 
 peasant of Sirmium was molded of coarser clay than 
 was the son of the household slave : and the finer ma- 
 terial always maintained its ascendency over the ruder. 
 
 Again, of the two men who assumed the imperial 
 title of "Augustus" at the close of the singular fes- 
 tivities of Nicomedia and of Milan, one of them, Va- 
 lerius, was but a herdsman, before he was summoned 
 by Diocletian to watch the flocks of barbarians who 
 were spreading along the banks of the barrier Danube, 
 and searching for some gap in the fences which guarded 
 lUyria. His fellow, "Augustus," who with himself had 
 previously filled the secondary rank of "Caesar," was,, 
 as has been said, the one only member of the group 
 who was born of other than plebeian parents. Con- 
 stantius was the son of a Dardanian noble, and his 
 mother was the niece of the Emperor Claudius. 
 
 The two remaining personages, Maximin and Sev- 
 erus, who stepped into the royal rank of Caesar as 
 soon as their predecessors had become Augusti, were 
 both of obscure birth : Maximin was the nephew, Sev- 
 erus the trusted servant, of the herdsman Galerius. It 
 
PLEBEIAN EMPEROKS. 11 
 
 is with the line of the single nolAy-born member of the 
 group of emperors that we have to do. 
 
 The division of the Roman world which had fallen 
 to the lot of Constantius, while he held the dignity of 
 Caesar under Diocletian and Maximian, consisted of 
 Gaul, Spain, and Britain; and these Western prov- 
 inces are still his especial charge, now that he has 
 taken the highest step, and seated himself on the 
 throne of empire. In one of his early missions to the 
 East, he is said^ to have wedded the daughter of an 
 "inn-holder" (to use the old expression) at Naissus in 
 Dacia. This is thought to be the most probable origin 
 of Helena, the celebrated mother of Constantino the 
 Great. An earnest appeal against her ignoble descent 
 has been made by posterity to that mysterious Herald's 
 Office which has always been ready to find an old coat 
 of arms or to make a new one for any hero who is in 
 want of a good parentage. A shadowy "King Coil," 
 who kept his court either in Essex, or else hiding un- 
 der the protecting wall of Antoninus, was declared to 
 be the rightful sire of the renowned lady. ' Maid of 
 the inn in Dacia, or daughter of King Coil in Britain, 
 whichever she may have been, Helena was not long 
 permitted to share the prosperity of her husband 
 Constantius. The old Emperor, Diocletian, had in- 
 sisted on her divorce, in order that the Western Caesar 
 might marry Theodora, the daughter of Maximian. 
 The repudiated wife consequently suiTers total eclipse, 
 until she reappears on the scene as the Christian 
 mother of the Great Constantino. Figures are ap- 
 pearing and disappearing with confusing rapidity ; but 
 the great events of history are like a series of dissolv- 
 
12 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 ing views, the outlines of the old scene melting dream- 
 ily into the growing proportions of the new. 
 
 It is impossible to ascertain the birth-place of the 
 boy Constantine with full historical confidence. No 
 Briton is willing to renounce the belief that he was 
 born at Eboracum, the British metropolis of the 
 Roman period. 
 
 But the learned have not left us in quiet possession 
 of this idea; and Naissus, the alleged birth-place of 
 his Dacian mother, or Drepanum, in the Gulf of Nico- 
 media, to which Constantine afterward gave the name 
 of Helenopolis, are advanced as formidable rivals of 
 our own York. At the time of his mother's enforced 
 disownment and his own, Constantine was eighteen 
 years of age. He was gifted with a majestic stature; 
 and his supple strength had been tested in personal 
 combat with a Sarmatian athlete, and in a yet .more 
 formidable struggle with a huge lion. The jealous 
 Galerius would not have wept had the lad fallen be- 
 neath the brute force of either : for the admiring peo- 
 ple of the East, where he was passing his apprentice- 
 ship to arms, had clamorously named their favorite 
 young chief as the fitting Caesar. The youth is in 
 peril; and. his father, who still loves his first-born, 
 whom he has been forced to disown, longs to see him 
 in safety by his side. He dispatches missive after 
 missive demanding the boy's presence. Galerius would 
 fain have placed other Sarmatians and other lions in 
 his path, for he mislikes the look of the boy. There is 
 a hidden might, the energizing power of a strong will, 
 which young Constantine cannot wholly conceal, how- 
 ever tightly he may compress his lips, and however 
 
HARD RIDING. 13 
 
 carefully he may hide the fire of his eye under the 
 pent-house of his brow. The youth is very prudent 
 and very reserved; and he carries the honors of con- 
 stant success in all martial exercises, as well as in the 
 serious struggle of war, with a calm affability which 
 propitiates his young rivals. That reserved young 
 hero, with his neglected intellectual education, but 
 with his fine physical gifts and undeveloped force of 
 moral qualities, is quietly "biding his time." 
 
 Years pass away. At last Galerius, no longer able 
 to invent plausible excuses for delay, yields to the 
 demands of the Augustus of the West, and gives his 
 furlough to the son of Constantius. Constantine 
 stealthily glides out of the prison-palace of Nicomedia 
 in the dead of the night, evades all the snares and pit- 
 falls which he suspects may lie in his path, and gal- 
 lops with almost inconceivable speed through province 
 after province, from the Roman world in the East to 
 the outworks of the Roman world in the West. The 
 plains of Thrace are left behind clouded with dust; he 
 has scoured over Pannonia; he has looked neither to 
 right hand nor to left, as he galloped over the glowing 
 fields of imperial Italy; and half-civilized Gaul has 
 only held him the while he exchanged horse for horse 
 in rapid succession. And now he reaches the Gallic 
 shore of the British Channel, just as his father is step- 
 ping into his galley, on the spot familiar to many a 
 lounging Englishman, where now stands the pier of 
 Boulogne. The legions receive the son of their be- 
 loved lord with enthusiasm ; and the father rejoices to 
 lean his declining strength on the strong arm of his son, 
 on this his last expedition into Britain. The Cale- 
 
 2 
 
14 AN IMPEEIAL CONVERT. 
 
 donians had been troublesome; and a little Eoman 
 discipline was needed by the unruly sons of the mount- 
 ains. The chastisement administered, Constantius 
 retires to his palace at old Eboracum, our English 
 York; and there the amiable emperor dies, surrounded 
 by his attached legions, and soothed by his favorite 
 son. It is July 25, a.d. 306; and that stately son is 
 now in the thirty-second year of his age a strong 
 man in the fullness of his strength. This is the hour 
 for which he has been waiting in the dignified patience 
 of perfect self-command. One little farce he yet en- 
 acts, and then he firmly sets his face toward the future. 
 They say that he once more set spurs to his horse, and 
 made as if he would gallop away from the allurements 
 of ambition, as he had formerly galloped away from 
 the snares of treachery. But he did not ride far; 
 and soon he may be seen before the altar of that tem- 
 ple of Bellona, from the dead roots of whose pagan 
 magnificence sprung the beautiful clustered shafts and 
 Gothic arches of our own Christian Minster. The 
 stately devotee retires from the shrine of that goddess 
 whose office it was to prepare the chariot of Mars, and 
 quietly dispatches a letter to the emperor of the East, 
 announcing the death of his lamented father, and apol- 
 ogizing for the impetuous enthusiasm which had driven 
 the chosen legions of the West to throw around his 
 own unworthy form that purple robe which had just 
 dropped from the shoulders of his august father. The 
 rage of Galerius explodes in threats of burning both 
 the missive and the messenger. But the unanimous 
 choice of the splendid army of the West could not 
 safely be set aside ; and the resentment of the herds- 
 
A BRIDAL. 15 
 
 ^an-emperor was forced to content itself with appoint- 
 ing his trusty servant, Severus, to the full rank of 
 Augustus, while he acknowledged Constantino only 
 under the inferior title of Caesar. Again the prudent 
 Constantino calmly "bides his time." 
 
 In the mean while he loyally acts the part of a pro- 
 tector to the young group of half-brothers and sisters, 
 the children of Theodora, for whom his faithful care 
 had been invoked by the dying voice of his father and 
 theirs. The stately palace at old Eboracum affords a 
 rare picture of a "happy family," in which the son of 
 a repudiated wife is honorably discharging the duties 
 of ^' pater famiUas" to three royal boys and their 
 three young sisters, the offspring of his mother's suc- 
 cessful rival. The marvel would be increased, could 
 we ascertain that Helena in person exchanged civilities 
 with Theodora. 
 
 In the midst of the confusion which ensues where 
 crowned men are fiercely struggling for the mastery 
 we catch sight of a bridal procession. Maximian, the 
 old colleague of Diocletian, has broken bounds, and 
 gladly left the uncongenial retirement of his villa. 
 Unlike his imperial friend, he had no taste for horti- 
 culture ; and the well-known reply of Diocletian, when 
 Maximian recommended him to return to the world, 
 that, "could he behold the cabbages which he had cul- 
 tivated at Salona, he would no longer urge him to ex- 
 change happiness for power," had no effect on his rest- 
 less mind. He is now courting the rising star of the 
 West. "If he take the trouble to cross the snows of 
 the Alps in the winter of 307, will Constantino leave 
 his contented Britons, and meet him in his Gallic city 
 
16 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 of Aries?" Constantine accepts the overture; and the 
 old man and the young salute each other in that city 
 where Julius Caesar had built his twelve war galleys 
 for the siege of Massilia the modern Marseilles. A 
 young lady appears in the group, and her hand is ne- 
 gotiated as the soft pledge of peace. She is Fausta, the 
 daughter of Maximian. On the thirty-first of March, 
 the nuptials of Constantine and Fausta are solemnized 
 with imperial magnificence. Under the base of the 
 church of Notre Dame, in Aries, lie the foundations 
 of an ancient temple dedicated to the oak-crowned 
 Cybele. This may have been the scene of the splen- 
 did bridal; while the great Roman amphitheater, which 
 could seat 24,000 spectators, doubtless rang with the 
 peans of the people. 
 
 The scene changes again. The turbulent old man, 
 Maximian, is dead; and the circumstances of his de- 
 cease breathe a staining rust on the bright shield of 
 our Constantine. He had taken the opportunity of 
 his son-in-law's absence on the troubled banks of the 
 Rhine, to seize the City of Aries, with all its stored- 
 up treasure, to declare the death of Constantine, and 
 to announce himself for the third time Emperor of the 
 West. Constantine's marvelous activity again saves 
 him; and he transports himself from the northern 
 Rhine to the mouth of the southern Rhone before the 
 conspiracy has matured. Another enforced retirement 
 is pressed upon Maximian; but this time the white- 
 haired old man never reappears. If he died by his 
 own aged hands, it was but in obedience to the stern 
 counsel of his son-in-law. Enough of a painful story. 
 The emperors are dying fast now. The Roman eagle 
 
CONTRADICTORY OMENS. 17 
 
 is molting feather after feather from his lagging wing ; 
 but he will soon take a bolder flight in the fullness of a 
 new plumage. Severus had died a violent death in 
 the year 307; Constantius had died, as has been told, 
 in comparative calmness, in 306 ; the ferocious Galerius 
 died miserably in 311; in 313 dies Diocletian, the 
 arch-persecutor of the despised followers of the cruci- 
 fied "Nazarene." There are three others who have 
 started up and exclaimed, "We are kings!" Maxen- 
 tius, on the banks of the Tiber; Licinius, on the banks 
 of the Danube; Maximin, in the valley. of the Nile. 
 For a brief space there were six actually reigning at 
 once; The confusion is bewildering to our mind, as it 
 was to the distracted people of the Roman Empire. 
 But the hour happily approaches when one grand 
 figure shall again occupy the whole field of empire. 
 
 Delegates from the senate and from the people of 
 Rome had crossed the Alps, to entreat Constantino to 
 deliver them from the hated tyranny of Maxentius, 
 who kept his court in the Capitol, but who was pre- 
 paring to attack Constantino in the heart of his own 
 province of Gaul. The waiting hero at length reads 
 movement and victof y in the omens : the victim had 
 willingly followed to the altar the steps of the Harus- 
 pex; it had meekly bent before the blow, and not a 
 sigh had witnessed its rebellion against the Fates. 
 Again the flame, speedily kindled, had fiercely con- 
 sumed the sacrifice, and had sprung up, bright and 
 clear, in shape like a pyramid, the true type of the 
 fiery ideal. And then, Constantino put his legions in 
 array, and moved toward the ancient metropolis of the 
 Roman world. Perhaps it will be the last time that 
 
 2* 
 
18 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 the pagan emperor will take counsel of the aruspiees. 
 About the same hour, Maxentius, in Rome, has been 
 eagerly questioning the Sibylline Books, which had 
 been restored to the treasury of the Capitol, and has 
 sanguinely interpreted in his own favor a mysterious 
 prediction which is inscribed on one of the stray leaves 
 of Cumae. Which, then, of the two rivals has read the 
 future aright? 
 
 The Western world resounds with the clang of war- 
 like preparations. The Roman tyrant, Maxentius, 
 numbers under his standard 170,000 foot and 18,000 
 horse; 40,000 of the former are the pampered Praeto- 
 rian Guards. They were fitted to make a martial 
 show in the Flavian amphitheater, and to swell the 
 hoarse cry, "Give the Christians to the lions:" they 
 were fitted to coerce the trembling people, and to 
 trample out the first spark of rebellious feeling; but 
 they were ill fitted to grapple with the gladiators of the 
 North, who were trained in perpetual contests with the 
 barbarians of the Rhine. It is the summer of the 
 year 312; and Constantino is leading his hardy vet- 
 erans over the Roman road which was grooved in the 
 side of Mount Cenis. A breathfess career of victory 
 gives him Susa, the plains of Turin, Milan, Verona; 
 and on the twenty-eighth day of October he draws out 
 his legions at Saxa Rubra, but a few miles from Rome, 
 on that little river Cremera which had long ago wit- 
 nessed the death of the three hundred Fabii in fight 
 with the people of ancient Veii. Maxentius had 
 posted his troops with their back to that old " Father 
 Tiber," who is minded to show no pity this day to his 
 degenerate children. The stream from his urn is run- 
 
THE NEW STANDARD. 19 
 
 ning strong and angrily tawny as the mane of a 
 Numidian lion. The river is spanned in one only 
 place, where the Pons Milvius carries the "Flaminian 
 Way" into the city. It is that "Ponte Molle" by 
 which the Northern traveler of the nineteenth century 
 enters with bounding pulse the great memorial city of 
 the past. " 
 
 The history of Constantino would be incomplete 
 without the marvelous episode of the Vision. At 
 noonday, when the sun of the South is shining in his 
 strength in that momentous pause which precedes the 
 shock of battle Constantino looks upward to see if the 
 eye of the sun-god, Apollo, be looking propitiously on 
 the array of his Northern legions. He sees or, daz- 
 zled by excess of light, he thinks he sees a new won- 
 der in the sky. It is a luminous cross, suspended in 
 mid-heaven, and inscribed with these legible words, 
 <<v rouTU) vua' "in hoc vince." Constantino bows 
 his head and worships. It is enough: victory is in- 
 sured to him who accepts that cross as his ensign, and 
 as the symbol of his new-born faith in the Crucified. 
 By this sign he conquers. Certain it is, however we 
 may question the authenticity of the story, that Con- 
 stantino immediately displays a cross, or laharum, as 
 his standard, and adopts the faith which before he had 
 despised. It is true that we look in vain for those in- 
 dubitable fruits of the Spirit of Christ, the offspring of 
 a true conversion, which followed the memorable noon- 
 day vision on the road to Damascus. But from this 
 hour the mind and the life of the Great Constantino 
 receive a new dedication. 
 
 To return to the narrative : Constantino, conspicuous 
 
20 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 for his gallant bearing and his glittering armor, leads 
 his own Gallic horse, and speedily, by the irresistible 
 shock of his charge, routs the Numidian horse of Max- 
 entius. But few of the native-born Italians, excepting 
 the Praetorians, care to fight very lustily for a detested 
 master: they break and fly. The Praetorian Guard, 
 hopeless of life, die where they stand; but the mass 
 of the army plunges headlong into the turbid stream 
 of the Tiber, because the Milvian bridge, choked with 
 fugitives, refuses to carry them safely, across the rapid 
 river of death. There is one man, in splendid armor, 
 wrestling madly with the living stream that overflows 
 the bridge. Will he force his way through? No. 
 Life is as dear to the meanest soldier as to him. He 
 is forced up on the parapet ; there he clings for a brief 
 space with the clutch of despair; at length his very 
 hands are obliged to let go their last hold on life; he 
 drops; he sinks heavily down into the swollen stream. 
 That helpless fugitive was the Emperor Maxentius, 
 son of old Maximian, and son-in-law of the herdsman- 
 Emperor, Galerius. 
 
 Constantino marches into Rome, and ascends the 
 steps of the Capitol. That evening sees a new stand- 
 ard waving above the seven-hilled city. The senate 
 and the people come forth and gaze with consternation 
 at the strange omen. Other men creep forth, worn 
 and haggard, from the subterranean streets and dark 
 alleys of the catacombs, and looking with joyful recog- 
 nition at the very ensign of their own hidden church, 
 "thank God, and take courage." The strange rumor 
 that the standard of the Cross is in very deed floating 
 from the Capitol, penetrates into those barred dens at 
 
GREAT CHANGES. 21 
 
 the roots of the Coliseum, where the condemned Chris- 
 tians are silently awaiting the coming of the next 
 great festival. The sullen walls of the old Mamertine 
 prison are not thick enough to exclude the glorious 
 tidings from the forgotten confessors of the faith of 
 Christ, who are languishing in its damp dungeons. 
 The "Apsis" of the heathen Basilicse, which contained 
 an "Augusteum," where stood the sacred images of 
 those Caesars to whom divine honors were wont to be 
 paid, receives on that great Roman morrow a fresh 
 consecration. The marble Basilica itself becomes a 
 church of Christ. Coins of the empire are struck, 
 bearing the figure of the laharum, or imperial stand- 
 ard, with the monogram of Christ triumphantly placed 
 above the conquered dragon. The tesselated pave- 
 ments of the Roman dwellings receive the symbol of 
 the Cross, set in many-colored mosaic. From the pur- 
 ple valleys of the Apennines from the wild gorges of 
 the Alps along the Via Appia, the Via Flaminia, the 
 Emilia springs the Cross, as the new way-mark of the 
 Roman world. And though superstition, the constitu- 
 tional failing of unrenewed human nature, prepares to 
 take a new form, and deserting the polluted rites of 
 heathen mythology, fondly adores the material sign, 
 instead of the Saviour, which is signified yet in all, 
 and under all, let us thank God for Constantino ! 
 
 If the immediate union of the Church with the State 
 did in very truth somewhat secularize the former, it 
 certainly imparted a new religious tone to the latter. 
 If a race of hypocrites were forthwith fabricated, yet 
 the iniquities of persecution ceased throughout the 
 whole Roman Empire. The establishment of Constan- 
 
90. 
 
 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 tine and of Christianity was immediately followed by 
 a conference between our Christian hero and Licinius, 
 the unconverted Illyrian Emperor ; and at this confer- 
 ence the famous Edict of Milan was agreed on. The 
 great principle of universal toleration was therein pro- 
 claimed ; religious and civil liberty were given to the 
 Christians; their lands, which had been confiscated, 
 were restored; their places of public worship, which 
 had been destroyed, were rebuilt at the expense of the 
 State; and the right of private judgment was secured 
 to every man. To use the glowing language of Euse- 
 bius, " Christianity lightened like a sunbeam over the 
 earth." 
 
 The Praetorian Guard, ever a ready instrument of 
 oppression in the hand of a tyrant, was wholly sup- 
 pressed; measures were taken preparing the way for 
 the extinction of slavery; edicts were sent forth check- 
 ing exorbitant usury; and the character of punish- 
 ments was rendered more consistent with the humane 
 spirit of the Christian faith. 
 
 The great event of his life accomplished, Constan- 
 tino remained not long in Rome. Only twice did he 
 afterward revisit the scene of his conversion when he 
 returned to celebrate the tenth and the twentieth anni- 
 versaries of his prosperous reign. He was perpetually 
 making progresses through his vast dominions. The 
 Franks employed his activity on the Rhine; and a 
 successful struggle with Licinius, now Emperor of the 
 East, called out all his powers. Licinius is at last 
 thoroughly subdued, and, dying, leaves the Great Con- 
 stantino undisputed lord of the whole Roman Empire, 
 from the land of the sunrise to the sunset waves of the 
 
THE QUEEN OF THE EAST. 23 
 
 "west. This complete reunion of the empire signalizes 
 the year 324, leaving the emperor at liberty to be- 
 come a somewhat officious foster-father to the church. 
 But into the heartburnings caused by the great Arian 
 heresy, the limits of a sketch will not allow us to enter. 
 The idea of building a splendid metropolis of the 
 Eastern world had long been taking form in the mind 
 of the emperor. Not at first did the developed 
 thought root itself in the soil of old Byzantium. 
 It is said that the imperial architect took his plans and 
 his stakes to Chalcedon in Asia ; but that, while he 
 was pacing up and down with measuring line in hand, 
 an eagle swept suddenly down, "scouped at the line," 
 (that was the word,) and bore it away over the water 
 to the western shore of the Bosphorus. Constantine 
 immediately gathered up his stakes (the thing seeming 
 ominous) and began to dig the foundations of New 
 Rome. On the shore of that beautiful harbor, which 
 was called by the Greeks Chrysoceras, or the " Golden 
 Horn," Byzas, some hundreds of years before the 
 Christian era, had founded a city to which he be- 
 queathed his name Byzantium. Here Constantine 
 determined to plant his seat of empire. The New 
 Rome, like the Old, might count her seven hills; but, 
 unlike her declining mother, the brilliant Queen of 
 the East could boast of waters which brought the com- 
 merce of the world, and left its riches on the very 
 door-steps of her marble palaces. She could point to 
 the two flood-gates of her magnificent port, which she 
 could lock or open at her will the Hellespont on one 
 hand, the Bosphorus on the other; while a few light 
 strokes of the oar would send her galleys from the 
 
24 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 shore of one continent to the answering bank of 
 another. Mistress of the East and of the West, it is 
 no marvel that to his own beautiful workmanship Con- 
 stantino intrusted the memory of his own great name. 
 He withdrew the first inscription of "New Rome" 
 from her walls, and he wrote "Constantinople" in- 
 stead. But Constantino, by founding his new metrop- 
 olis, is unconsciously severing the East from the West ; 
 their interests are no longer one; their very religion 
 takes a different form. 
 
 Latin Christianity, the Latin Empire, the Latin 
 tongue, gather themselves to their one center in Old 
 Rome; Greek Christianity, the Greek Empire, the 
 Greek language, sit down with the Queen of the East 
 on her new throne beside the Bosphorus. There is a 
 Pope in Rome a Patriarch in Constantinople. 
 
 It would be gratifying could a clearer view be caught 
 of the person and history of Helena, after her son be- 
 came the great man of the world. But it is chiefly as 
 a founder of splendid Christian churches, and as a 
 fond collector of sacred relics, that she from time to 
 time appears. She would seem to have been an earn- 
 est convert, but an unenlightened Christian, though 
 she was constantly "burning the lamp of sacrifice," 
 to use Ruskin's well-known expression. Trimmed by 
 her own hand, it burned in a splendid church which 
 she raised at Jerusalem. It burned in the Basilica of 
 "Santa Croce in Gerusalemme" at Rome, with whose 
 foundations she mingled earth which she had rever- 
 ently transported from the Holy City, and within 
 whose walls she placed a relic that was received and 
 venerated as a portion of the true cross. Within 
 
THE <^LAMP OF SACRIFICE." 25 
 
 this Basilica, the "golden rose," which the popes of 
 after-ages used to send annually to that one of the 
 sovereigns of Europe who happened to be in the 
 highest odor as a loyal son of the church, was brought 
 to receive consecration. At last Helena's lamp went 
 out, and we have in its stead the sarcophagus which was 
 found in her tomb outside the Porta Maggiore, and 
 which now enriches the uncounted treasures of the 
 Vatican. It bears portraits of the mother and of the 
 son. 
 
 But now the closing scenes in the life of the rst 
 Christian emperor are moving on apace. Prosperity 
 had not been borne with the meekness which becomes 
 the Christian character, nor with the calm self-posses- 
 sion which might have been anticipated from the prom- 
 ise of his youth. Worldly ambition still clung about 
 the heart of him who had assumed the symbol and 
 accepted the doctrines of the cross. But in the face 
 of a humiliating array of faults and inconsistencies, 
 Christianity may safely challenge heathendom to pro- 
 duce another Constantine. 
 
 In accordance with the superstitious habit of the age, 
 which was beginning to attach to the waters of baptism 
 the idea of inherent efficacy, and to which the candi- 
 date resorted as to a cleansing process at the close of 
 a long day's walk on the dusty road of life, Constan- 
 tine had delayed his immersion until the warning ap- 
 proaches of mortal illness. This was in the thirtieth 
 year of his reign, and the sixty-fourth of his age. 
 It is presumed that the solemn rite was admiinistered 
 at his palace in the suburbs of Nicomedia: for it 
 was here that he received a summons to "render an 
 
 3 
 
26 AN IMPERIAL CONVERT. 
 
 account of his stewardship." But in the baptistery 
 of St. John Lateran at Rome, that church which arro- 
 gantly calls itself " urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et 
 caput," ('^mother and head of the churches of the city 
 and of the world,") there is an enormous vase of por- 
 phyry, which has been traditionally held from the ear- 
 liest ages to be the baptismal font of Constantino. It 
 was probably transported from the East, and reverently 
 placed in that church, whose foundations Constantino 
 assisted in digging with his own hands. It was in 
 this immense porphyry font that Rienzi, in the intox- 
 ication of ephemeral power, bathed himself on the 
 night of August 1, 134T, and then summoned Pope 
 Clement XII. and the Electors of Germany to appear 
 before him in the Capitol of revived Rome. Revived? 
 She was but galvanized into the semblance of life. 
 Constantino had resorted to Nicomedia, in the vain 
 hope of restoring his far-worn strength by bathing in 
 the warm baths of the place. But a frame exhausted 
 by extreme mental and bodily activity admitted of no 
 further repair; and on the 22d of May, 337, he died, 
 in the full profession of the Christian faith, and, if we 
 may receive the testimony of his Christian friends, 
 showing many signs of a deep devotion. And then 
 followed that solemn mockery, in which poor mortality 
 had still to play an imperial part. The dead emperor, 
 robed in his purple and crowned with his diadem, was 
 supported on a couch of gold, in a magnificent hall of 
 his new palace, in his new city on the Bosphorus, to 
 which he was after death removed. Day after day a 
 long procession of the great men of the land came, 
 with solemn tread and bent brow, to offer homage on 
 
THE SILENT LEVEE. 27 
 
 bended knee at this silent levee of the dead. The old 
 metropolis of the West sent its senators to entreat that 
 the dust might be intrusted to their keeping. But the 
 men of the East prevailed; and when the days were 
 accomplished for the dead to receive the hollow rever- 
 ence of the living, Constantine was laid in the tomb 
 which he had built for this hour, in his " Church of the 
 Holy Apostles," at Constantinople. Eleven centu- 
 ries after his death the sweeping tide of Moslem inva- 
 sion came up and settled upon the land. From the 
 ruins of the "Church of the Holy Apostles" sprung 
 up the mosque of Sultan Mohammed II.; and beside 
 the great entrance gate may still be read in letters of 
 gold the legend, which is said to be a prediction of the 
 prophet, "They will capture Constantinople; and 
 happy the prince, happy the army which accomplishes 
 this." 
 
 What conqueror will next read, and interpret on his 
 own behoof, this "Golden Legend" of the prophet? 
 
THE MOSLEM'S DREAM; 
 
 THE CRESCENT ON THE LOIRE. 
 
 3* 
 
THE MOSLEM'S DREAM; 
 
 THE ORESCENT ON THE LOIRE. 
 
 In turning over the maps of the continental nations 
 of France, Italy, Germany, Spain ^you can scarcely 
 drop your finger on a single spot, without finding, on 
 inquiry, that this city, or that broad plain, or this 
 swelling height, has witnessed some stirring scene in 
 the grand procession of history. The map of France 
 lies open, and, blindfold, chance may have alighted on 
 that beautiful portion of the land which is called by its 
 fond people "The Garden of France." It is a fine 
 champaign country, pleasant in its natural features, 
 and lovingly kept and tended by the careful hand of 
 cultivation. It is not only watered by the Loire, but 
 it is made green and fresh by other irrigating streams 
 the Indre, the Cher, the Vienne. There are rich 
 slopes, green with vineyards, and purple with their 
 grapes; there are reaches of pasture-land, all smiling 
 with plenty; there are a few bosky knolls, and some 
 fine sweeps of dark forest-land. The sunny paths and 
 shady wood-walks of this "garden" are overlooked by 
 fine old chateaux, the pleasure houses and fortresses 
 of the past. There are historic cities, likewise, to 
 guard this "faire pleasaunce" such as Tours and 
 
 (31) 
 
32 THE MOSLEM'S DREAM. 
 
 Blois, Amboise and Poitiers. It is Tours, the heart 
 of the ancient Touraine, which we are going to ques- 
 tion concerning what it knows of past history. 
 
 The reply points immediately at one of the greatest 
 crises in the story of the world. Its date, then? 
 The year 732. But what power can an event, which 
 happened in the center of France in the early half of 
 the eighth century, hold over our mental health or our 
 bodily weal here in this Britain of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury? "Much, every way," is the confident answer; 
 and "chiefly, because" to us at this day "belong the 
 lively oracles of God." If it be a privilege to be read- 
 ing our own Bible "in our own tongue wherein we 
 were born," beside our own quiet hearth, instead of 
 kneeling on a little square "prayer- carpet," wath our 
 face bowed toward Mecca: if it be something to listen 
 to the teachings of holy Scripture in every church and 
 chapel of the land, instead of hearing some turbaned 
 Mufti expound the Koran in some domed mosque; if 
 the fire be blazing upon a peaceful hearth, and the ket- 
 tle humming its national song, instead of the Muezzin 
 sounding from the top of a column in every city and 
 town; in fine, if, instead of calling this "the year of 
 grace 1859," we were writing "the so-and-so of He- 
 gira," we owe something, in the overruling providence 
 of God, to the issue of the great battle of Tours. 
 
 Testimony to the importance which is here attributed 
 to this event may be found in the works of many of our 
 best authors. But it is needful to retrace some portion 
 of the way by which the Crescent, which had risen 
 over the sandy plains of Arabia, had traversed the 
 western sky, until it had set in clouds on the evening 
 
WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 33 
 
 of the seventh day of battle before Tours. As early 
 as the year 709, the coast of Andalusia had been vis- 
 ited by Saracenic vessels. They called the beautiful 
 region "Handalusia," "the land of the evening" that 
 is, the West, the realm of the sunset; answering to 
 the Hesperia of Grecian poetry. Mu^a was the name 
 of the Arab chief who subdued the wild Moors of 
 Northern Africa, (those restless people of old Mauri- 
 tania,) and made them learn lessons from the Koran 
 on their bended knees. Thenceforth Moors and Arabs 
 were one. They then looked across the narrow strait 
 from the southern Pillar of Hercules, and devoured 
 with greedy eyes the orange gardens which spread 
 behind the pillar on the opposite shore. There was a 
 traitor, calling himself Christian, who beckoned the 
 Moor to cross the narrow trench. It was Count Julian, 
 the Goth. He also held for his Spanish lord the cita- 
 del of Ceuta, which stood on the African shore, and 
 which had repulsed the Arab from its walls when he 
 was in full career. Thus Count Julian had two keys 
 hanging from his belt; he could unlock the barred 
 doors of two opposing continents. Perhaps he had 
 private wrongs to avenge; perhaps he felt the heav- 
 ings of political ambition. Whatever may have been 
 the secret spring of his traitorous conduct, he wel- 
 comed the cimeter and the Koran into Europe; and 
 there, at least in Julian's own southwestern corner of 
 the continent, they maintained a restless existence for 
 some eight hundred years. 
 
 The kingdom of the now luxurious Visi- Goths was 
 an easy conquest to men who had pricked their steeds 
 over Persia and Syria, over Egypt and the North of 
 
34 THE MOSLEM'S DREAM. 
 
 Africa, without drawing bridle. In the spring of the 
 year 711, a body of veteran Moslems, under their bold 
 leader Tarik, planted foot on the famous rock ever 
 afterward called Gebel-al-Tarik the Mount of Tarik 
 our own defiant Gibraltar. The Moors' hasty entrench- 
 ments were the foundation of those extraordinary for- 
 tifications which have been a wonder of the world. 
 E-oderic, the king of the Gothic Christians, moved in 
 regal guise to the defense of his land, in robes spark- 
 ling with pearls and gold, reposing in a car of ivory 
 drawn by two milk-white mules. He had a hundred 
 thousand men around him; but they were enervated 
 by luxury, and spoiled by long prosperity in a delicious 
 land. They were drawn up on the sunny plain of 
 Xeres, looking contemptuously at those "presumptu- 
 ous strangers" whom Roderic had commanded should 
 be "seized and bound." Perhaps the famed wine of 
 Xeres, whose vats were the fountain of the "sherry" 
 of after-times, had somewhat impaired the clearness of 
 their vision. 
 
 For several consecutive days the Crescent and the 
 Cross met in mortal conflict on the banks of the Gua- 
 dalete. At the close of the struggle, the Gothic king 
 sprung from his ivory car, mounted his fleet Orelio, 
 one of the old favorites of song, and escaped with 
 bare life. Orelio was afterward found, lying worn and 
 wounded, beside his master's pearly diadem and silken 
 robes : 
 
 "His tremulous cry, far echoing loud and shrill, 
 A frequent, anxious cry, with which he seemed 
 To call the master he had loved so well." 
 
 Whether Roderic plunged to hide his dishonored 
 
XERES THE CRESCENT IN THE ASCENDANT. 35 
 
 head beneath the waters, as the historians say, or 
 whether he lived to bemoan himself in the mountains 
 of Galicia, as the poets tell us, we may not now 
 determine. But one of the very oldest ballads of 
 chivalrous Spain, quoted and parodied by Cervantes, 
 and rendered with great spirit by Lockhart, gives him 
 these mournful words : 
 
 " Last night I was the King of Spain to-day no king am I ; 
 Last night fair castles held my train to-night where shall I lie ? 
 Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee 
 To-night not one I call mine own not one pertains to me." 
 
 It takes the Saracen but a few months to plant the 
 Crescent upon the towers of every city of Spain, from 
 Gebel-al-Tarik to the rocks which are white with the 
 foam of the Bay of Biscay. The Sierra Morena was 
 but a rampart over which he leaped his barb at a 
 bound. Even the royal City of Toledo only defends 
 itself by parleys and stipulations; and the last surviv- 
 ors of Gothic chivalry are hiding amid the wild mount- 
 ains of Asturias. Those hunted fugitives are jealously 
 guarding the germ of the future Spanish monarchy; 
 and if the Moor be driven back to his own Barbary 
 eight centuries after the field of Xeres, it is because 
 Pelayo, of the seed-royal of Visi- Goths, has kept alive, 
 amid the Northern wilds, the hope of founding the 
 future Catholic throne of Spain. 
 
 Mu9a improved the conquests of his brilliant lieu- 
 tenant, Tarik, and indulged the vision of binding Gaul 
 and Germany, Rome and Constantinople, in a broad 
 girdle of dominion to Damascus, at that time the royal 
 heart of Islamism. The illusion was broken before 
 
86 THE Moslem's dream. 
 
 the hour of realization could come; for Muga's own 
 star set in disgrace, and that of a rival was for the 
 hour in the ascendant. But the dream of Moslem 
 sway over Europe was only delayed for some twenty 
 years, to be resumed in the night visions of Abd-ur- 
 rahman, :n the year 732. Just a century had com- 
 pleted iU course since the death of Mohammed; and 
 here are the cimeters of his followers flashing to the 
 sun in the lucent atmosphere of Central Gaul. Is 
 there anything betwixt the Pyrenees and the English 
 Channel that is firm enough to turn their edge ? The 
 Franks, originally Teutons who had come from the 
 other side of the Rhine, had been molding the rugged 
 materials around them into the form of a kingdom; 
 but their kings are naught. They are of the Merovin- 
 gian race; but they have degenerated into mere phan- 
 toms of royalty, so helpless, that the "lazy kings" 
 C'rois faineants") is the disrespectful title by which 
 these descendants of old Clovis are still known. They 
 are always under tutelage; and the "Mayor of the 
 Palace" is the great man of the land, who wields the 
 true scepter of power, while he leaves a gilded likeness 
 thereof in the feeble hand of his king. He certainly 
 allows him a country house, near that Compiegne 
 whose lazy luxuries are so familiarly known to our 
 modern times. And early in each spring he settles his 
 crowned puppet comfortably in a roomy wagon, which 
 is dragged leisurely by four sleek oxen through the 
 forest paths, in order to carry the Chilperic or Childeric 
 of the day to the great assembly of the Franks. There 
 the shadow of royalty holds a sort of languid "bed of 
 justice," has his ceremonious levees, and placidly con- 
 
THE ARABS AND THEIR FAMILIES. 37 
 
 firms the foregone edicts of his haughty "major-domo." 
 Pepin d'Heristhal had planted so firm a foot upon the 
 floors of the palace, that he was able to bequeath his 
 office as an heir-loom in his house. Charles, who hereaf- 
 ter earns his knightly surname of Martel, or the " Ham- 
 mer," on the portentous field of Tours, is the present 
 representative of this powerful family, the founder of 
 the Carlovingian line, and grandsire of Charlemange 
 himself. 
 
 The Arabs have brought their wives, their children, 
 and all their movable treasure with them, over the 
 fastnesses of the Pyrenees. They are evidently bent 
 upon establishing themselves as settlors. They have 
 with them their Persian "prayer-carpets," and their 
 piles of shawls from the looms of Cashmere, their 
 vases of attar distilled from the rose-gardens of Shiraz, 
 their jeweled Damascus daggers and Toledo blades, 
 and their flying steeds from Arabia and Barbary; 
 while the vailed wives and daughters are ambling along 
 on the beautiful palfreys of Andalusia. Yes this 
 looks like "settling." This is no mere summer excur- 
 sion. Those turbaned strangers are stroking their 
 swarth faces, and saying, "Allah achbar! God is 
 great ! for he has given this fair land to the prophet ^ 
 and to his servant the caliph. Allah kareem! God is 
 merciful!" 
 
 See, how firmly those Saracen youths, the flower of 
 Moslem chivalry, sit in their high-peaked saddles, their 
 feet resting in the short stirrup of the East ! Even at 
 this very day, in this nineteenth century, you may see 
 their type scouring over the hot sands of Arabia; for 
 the Arab is ever essentially the same. The mold is 
 
 4 
 
38 THE Moslem's dream. 
 
 never broken. "His hand against every one, and 
 every one's hand against him," he is still the outcast 
 son of Hagar. 
 
 These Moslems, who are now scouring Gascony and 
 Languedoc, and even Poitou, have brought their learned 
 Hakims with them, to heal the wounded and to cure 
 the sick. They have incumbered themselves with the 
 spoils of the Castilian churches, as well as with the 
 new booty of the Frankish altars. The famed table 
 - of emerald, which had been transported originally from 
 the East, and had formed a part of some Roman tri- 
 umph, and which had then been plundered by the Goths, 
 had before this time been sent back again by the 
 Arabs to the East, and now took its place among the 
 uncounted treasures of the caliph's palace at Damas- 
 cus. But though the pick of the booty had been dis- 
 patched as tribute to the fountain of Moslem power, 
 these glittering squadrons are still heavy with Christian 
 plunder. And yet Abd-ur-rahman is a severe disciplin- 
 arian in his way, and he holds his vast army well in 
 hand. His splendid body of Berber cavalry is held in 
 by bit and bridle, or let loose by the shaking of his 
 rein, just as he manages his own beautiful barb by that 
 ^powerful bit which still belongs to the sons of the 
 desert. Count Eudes of Aquitaine had tried to meet 
 the shock, with his lance in rest and his visor closed; 
 but twice had he been overthrown. Not only has the 
 Rhone swept thousands of dead Christians into the 
 Mediterranean on the south, and the Garonne and 
 Dordogne carried thousands more past the foundations 
 of Bordeaux on the west, but the Crescent has been 
 gleaming as far to the north as the walls of Sens, and 
 
ABD-UR-RAHMAN. 39 
 
 to the east as the City of Besanon, which faces the 
 barrier mountains of Switzerland. Christendom is in 
 mortal peril. Abd-ur-rahman is now laying siege to 
 Tours. But the remarkable man, who is preparing to 
 confront him, is Charles, son of Pepin d'Heristhal, 
 hereditary Mayor of the Palace.* He had already 
 led a busy life, before the coming of the Moslem; be- 
 cause the still heathen Frisians, Saxons, and Thurin- 
 gians had been giving him great trouble on the banks 
 of the Elbe and of the Rhine. A fine body of veteran 
 Franks, taught in German campaigns, follows his 
 standard; but they are only a militia, who will dis- 
 perse to their own homes as soon as the term of ser- 
 vice expires, for as yet there was no standing army in 
 France. 
 
 Charles leads his force down upon this beautiful 
 "garden-ground" of France, which has been before 
 described, and suddenly deploys from behind the cover 
 of a range of hills, before the confident hosts of the 
 infidel. That host is swollen by unknown numbers of 
 Frankish captives. It is the 115th year of the Hegira, 
 the 732d summer of the Christian era. They have a 
 seven days' struggle before them: it is a struggle for 
 truth and life on the one side; for the dominion of 
 Mohammed and the Koran on the other. There are* 
 two creeds at issue two tongues two continents, nay 
 
 * Charles sometimes vouchsafed to throw the shadow of his 
 protection over his king, and sometimes he dispensed with the 
 phantom altogether, just as the policy of the hour dictated. 
 Theodoric IV. was supposed to be king in Neustria at this junc- 
 ture, and Chlotaire IV. was occasional king in Charles's own 
 Austrasia. 
 
40 THE MOSLEM S DREAM. 
 
 three; for Northern Africa, as well as Asia, has been 
 pressed into the mele^ on the side of the false pro- 
 phet. On the evening of the first day the result is 
 doubtful. The impetuous charge of the Moslem horse 
 has been everywhere successful for the moment. But 
 Charles and his Franks, backed by the stout Germans, 
 always close in again, and recover their lost footing. 
 At last, night brings its own dusky flag of truce, and 
 the two hosts sleep. The Arabs are covered by their 
 tents perhaps they are the dark goat-hair tents of 
 the East, which have crossed the Nile and the narrow 
 strait of Gebel-al-Tarik, in order to shiver to the sum- 
 mer night-wind on the banks of the Loire. Charles, 
 on the other hand, has his City of Tours behind him 
 Tours, where stood the old imperial palace of the 
 Caesars, and the Christian Church of St. Martin, the 
 patron saint of the city. St. Gatian, the first bishop 
 of Tours, had also left his good name there, as an echo 
 of the place; though, pressed by pagan persecution, 
 he could only preach to his people in caves and dens 
 of the earth. There are strange excavations in the 
 near neighborhood of the city, used at the present 
 day for the storing of wine, which are supposed to have 
 sheltered the faithful members of St. Gatian's early 
 church. In our own time, the Romish priests in the 
 cathedral display the banner of the church of Tours, 
 with this legend inscribed, "Sancte Gatiene! ora pro 
 nobis!" While on the reverse of the standard, as if 
 to keep things straight betwixt the rival patrons, the 
 invocation, '^Sancte Martine ! ora pro nobis!" is still 
 saluted by the breath of incense from the swinging 
 censers. Martin was bishop of Tours in the fourth 
 
THE HAMMERER. , 41 
 
 century; and among "the gods many and lords many" 
 of the Romish worship, he who confronted and con- 
 verted the robber of the Alps, by preaching to him 
 Christ and his gospel, while he was leading him away, 
 bound and plundered, is one of those wliose name is 
 certainly the most pleasant to our eai. But we are 
 wandering from our history: this is only a stray echo 
 of the past. Such, however, was the Tours before 
 which Charles was sleeping, in the midst of his tired 
 troops. 
 
 The terrible conflict between Moslem and Frank is 
 resumed on the second morning, and ends in the same 
 way on the second night as on the first. So of the 
 third day so of the fourth so of the fifth and the 
 sixth, in this prolonged agony. But the combatants 
 cannot wrestle forever. The swarthy Oriental, or else 
 the fairer Frank, must at last faint in this great strug- 
 gle between the athletae of two opposing creeds. The 
 Crescent must set, or the Cross bend. And now, on 
 the seventh day, the weight of the "iron-handed" Ger- 
 mans is beginning to tell upon the children of the East 
 and of the South. Count Eudes of Aquitaine, whose 
 fair lands had been harried by the Moor, before he 
 had galloped up to Touraine, is doing great things 
 now. But it is Charles who is so desperately pounding 
 the infidels, that he earns this day, on this great his- 
 toric field, the name of Martel, or the "Hammer." 
 He hammers so manfully at the folded turbans and at 
 the casques of steel with the little half-moon for their 
 crest, that even the great emir himself, Abd-ur-rah- 
 man, is beaten to the ground and dies there, in the 
 midst of thnt trampled "garden." Did "the Rtars in 
 
 4- 
 
42 THE MOSLEM'S DREAM. 
 
 their courses fight against Sisera," the great captain 
 of the host, that he bowed himself and died upon that 
 death-bed of his prophet's dominion in the West? We 
 must refer the issue of that memorable day to the 
 overruling will of God, who interposed for the deliver- 
 ance of Christendom from its impending destruction. 
 
 Some monkish chroniclers maintain that the loss of 
 the Moors, at the close of the seventh and last day of 
 this terrible struggle, amounted to 375,000 men an 
 almost incredible number. But the numbers of the 
 slain seem to have been increased by the fierce dissen- 
 sions among the emirs of the difierent races of Arabia, 
 Persia, Barbary, Spain, which were represented in the 
 camp of Abd-ur-rahman. These jealousies broke out 
 into fury on the night following the last day of com- 
 bat. Their chief gone, there was no hand strong 
 enough to hold them together; and the instinct of self- 
 preservation impelled each separate leader to fly toward 
 the Pyrenees. The Franks, meanwhile, were sleeping 
 the heavy sleep of exhaustion, and preparing them- 
 selves for an eighth day of mortal combat. When the 
 weary host roused itself in the morning, there was a 
 mysterious silence hovering over the tents of the Arabs. 
 " Treachery lurks in those quiet tents or ambush 
 hides behind them ;" such was the first morning thought 
 of the Franks. They waited awhile ; but neither foot- 
 fall nor whisper could be caught by the listeners. It 
 was like a tented city of the dead! Spies were sent 
 cautiously forward to look and to listen again; and 
 still all was silent. Yes; the tents of that mighty 
 host were empty of all but the slain and the spoil. 
 Far on the road to Spain were flying troops of the 
 
THE RETREAT. 43 
 
 Moslem horse, which will never again cross the mount- 
 ain rampant. 
 
 That great wave of invasion, which was to have 
 swept over Europe, flooding all France, Germany, and 
 Italy, and which might even have overflowed our own 
 island home, broke upon the field of Tours, and re- 
 coiled in scattered streams upon the shores of the 
 Peninsula. And Christendom was safe ! 
 
KING ALFRED; 
 
 A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. 
 
KING ALFRED; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. 
 
 About the year 855, an Anglo-Saxon king is in 
 Rome, visiting the churches, and laying costly offerings 
 upon their altars. He is a man of a sorrowful counte- 
 nance; he looks as though he had run away from 
 trouble, and as if he were trying to hide his bewildered 
 head beneath the shadow of him who sits as bishop 
 upon the seven hills of old Rome. The clamor of those 
 fearful Northmen, "whose cry is in their ships," is still 
 ringing in his ears ; and he even now has the scared 
 look of one who listens to a distant echo. The maraud- 
 ing Danes had harried the lands of this poor West- 
 Saxon king, until, remembering the vows which in his 
 early youth he had taken upon him, and sighing for the 
 cowl which he had put on in love, and been forced to 
 throw off in haste under pressure of State necessity, 
 the royal devotee has made a pilgrimage to Rome in 
 order to tell his beads in peace. Wherever he goes, 
 from shrine to shrine, he leads by the hand a fair boy 
 of six years, his fifth, but favorite son. 
 
 Is there anything in that young child's face which 
 hints at future greatness? Doubtless there is an in- 
 scription written there, which, like the invisible ink 
 
 (47) 
 
48 KING ALFRED. 
 
 sometimes employed in secret correspondence, will start 
 out into meaning as soon as it be subjected to the strong 
 light of the full day, or to the fiery heat of maturing 
 circumstances. That fair-haired child, born in the 
 year of grace 849, at a place called Wantage, in that 
 part of the West-Saxon kingdom now known as Berk- 
 shire, is one of that small brotherhood who are known 
 to all posterity by the title of "Great." No doubt 
 that title might be read even now, either in the mold- 
 ing of the brow, in the clear light of the eye, or in the 
 firm chiseling of the little mouth. Perhaps even the 
 childish step has the expression of greater decision 
 than has the wavering, inconsequent gait of that care- 
 worn Saxon father, as the two strangers pace the round 
 pavement of the Appian Way, or climb the broad stair 
 which leads up to the Capitol. Young Alfred is the 
 future founder of a long-lived kingdom, the skillful 
 architect of a noble constitution, the brave deliverer 
 of an oppressed people, the calm sage who weds liberty 
 to security, the enlightened foster-father of learning 
 himself scholar, poet, and minstrel. But the creden- 
 tials which that child has to show are as yet a sealed 
 packet; and as to future kingship, there are turbulent 
 brothers betwixt Alfred and the throne of Wessex; 
 there were four elder brethren once one is now dead ; 
 but the remaining brethren must each have his turn 
 upon that unstable seat, and young Alfred will reso- 
 lutely serve them all, with strict loyalty, until God call 
 him to the foremost place. 
 
 The father and son spend a whole year in Rome, 
 though England is miserably devoured by the Danish 
 raven during the weak king's absence. The banner 
 
THE DANISH RAVEN. 49 
 
 of these terrible Northmen was a raven inwrought by 
 the hands of the three fell sisters of Inguar, Hubba, 
 and Halfdene, children of the famous Regnar Lodbrog, 
 the most formidable of all sea-kings. It was a labor 
 of revenge, finished in one noontide; and they said 
 that the mystic raven would always clap his black 
 wings when he scented victory on the breeze, and 
 always drooped his head when disaster was at hand. 
 The raven is in full feather now, while the recreant 
 Ethelwolf is rebuilding the school of "Thomas the 
 Holy" at Rome, sealing the grant of "Peter-Pence," 
 and promising to pay yearly a subsidy of three hun- 
 dred marks to the rising bishop of Rome one hundred 
 of these to glide into his privy purse, one hundred to 
 feed the lamps of St. Peter-'s on Easter Eve, and the 
 last hundred to light the lamps of "St. Paul without 
 the Walls." "This is the bride," as said old John 
 Speed, in speaking of the Romish church; "the bride 
 that ever more must be kissed and dowered." 
 
 Alfred, young as he is, is quite at home in the city 
 of the Caesars. His father had once before sent the 
 child of his hopes thither on pilgrimage, when he was 
 but four years old. The little Anglo-Saxon had trav- 
 eled down through France, and over the snowy mount- 
 ains, into the beautiful land of the South, attended by 
 a stately retinue. The pope of the day is not likely 
 to have had a prophetic view of the child's coming 
 greatness; but it is probable that a secret message 
 from so faithful a son of the church as Ethelwolf, had 
 induced him to anoint, as future monarch of England, 
 the favorite child of the West-Saxon king. However 
 this might be, it was the policy of a growing hierarchy 
 
 5 
 
50 KING ALFRED. 
 
 to occupy every foot of vantage ground, and to claim 
 every imaginable power over kings and peoples. The 
 chrism which has anointed that child's head in the 
 *' Church of St. John Lateran," the mother church of 
 Rome, may perhaps stand him in good stead some day, 
 when rights are weighed in the uncertain balances of 
 opinion. 
 
 But to return to the rayal father and his favorite 
 son. Rome is at last left, and the homeward journey 
 is made through France. A new fascination awaits the 
 widowed king as he pauses to rest at the court of 
 Charles the Bald. Here there is a beautiful maiden, 
 the daughter of Charles, the near descendant of Char- 
 lemagne; and the old king is in desperate love. It 
 takes some time to persuade the royal beauty to be- 
 come the wife of an elderly monarch, who has grown- 
 up sons at home, the eldest of whom is rebellious, am- 
 bitious, and already plotting to seize the throne of his 
 loitering father that throne, too, tottering from exter- 
 nal assaults, as well as heaving from internal commo- 
 tion. The fair Judith allows herself to be wooed from 
 July to October of the year 856, and then she accom- 
 panies her husband and little stepson to England. So 
 charmed is the monarch with his young Frankish bride, 
 that he insists on sharing with her his royal dignity; 
 and a ceremonious coronation of the queen-consort 
 takes place, though for some time past the Anglo- 
 Saxon queens had been reduced to a very subordinate 
 position. But the sight of a crown on the head of 
 his youthful stepmother, and the knowledge that the 
 anointing oil had been poured on the head of his 
 youngest brother, only further irritate the turbulent 
 
TURBULENT BROTHERS. 51 
 
 Ethelbald ; and so strong grows the rebellion, that the 
 weak monarch is fain to give over the half of his king- 
 dom to his wayward son, for the dear love of peace. 
 That wretched compromise will not wear well. The 
 old king dies in two years' space, leaving a divided 
 house and a vexed kingdom. Strange things and un- 
 lawful follow; for Ethelbald outrages law, custom, and 
 religious institutions, by taking to wife this very lady, 
 whose coming and whose crown had so deeply moved 
 his jealous nature. They say that S within, Prior of 
 Winchester, the tearful saint, so wrought upon the 
 mind of the reprobate that he consented to put away 
 his wife, and otherwise to mend his ways. But he only 
 survived his father about three years ; and his brothers, 
 Ethelbert and Ethelred, successively reigned in his 
 stead. 
 
 All this while young Alfred's mind is molding under 
 the hard hand of adversity, while it receives a finer 
 finish from the lighter touch of woman's influence. 
 The Lady Osburga, his own mother, a woman of excel- 
 lent gifts, had died when he was yet in early childhood ; 
 but the influence and the example of the accomplished 
 stepmother are highly stimulating to his young intel- 
 lect. The "intellectual paladins" of the court of 
 Charlemagne had left behind them a standard of edu- 
 cation far higher than that which obtained in England; 
 and when Alfred was lingering with his father the while 
 he paid court to the Princess Judith of France, he prob- 
 ably caught something of the tone of mind which pre- 
 vailed around him. Certain it is, however, that not 
 even a monkish tutor had been found to teach the boy 
 to read up to his twelfth year ; and but for the incident 
 
52 KINa ALFRED. 
 
 whicli follows, well known truly, but one which will 
 bear repeating in all the school-rooms of the nineteenth 
 century, Alfred, the scholar, the poet, and the minstrel 
 king, might have been left to sign his after- edicts with 
 tooth and nail, like his rude "forebears," leaving the 
 impress of a royal front tooth and a thumbnail upon 
 the soft wax. The other boys, his brothers, have 
 grown up in profound ignorance of their letters; but 
 here sits the beautiful Frankish stepmother in one of 
 the rush-strewn halls of her rude English palace. She 
 has just laid aside the royal standard which she has 
 been "embroidering," whereon the white horse of the 
 Saxon is making ready to confront the black raven of 
 Denmark. Her household is grouped around her the 
 ladies at their spinning-wheels, the eorls and thanes 
 lounging in listless "idlesse." Judith draws out an 
 illuminated manuscript of Saxon poetry, and she reads 
 aloud. The verses have no classic elegance, but they 
 have a stately rhythm of their own ; and the thoughts, 
 though rude, are stirring and heroic. The boy Alfred 
 listens with an intensity shared by no other of the group. 
 The royal lady looks around, holds out the book in her 
 hand, and promises that he shall own the manuscript 
 who first learns to read it. The rebel son, king as he 
 is, cares not to enter such lists as these, and -the others 
 hold their peace likewise. With flushed brow the boy 
 Alfred leans forward and asks, "Wilt thou in very 
 deed give the book to whomsoever shall first read and 
 repeat it?" The queen confirms her promise. The 
 Frankish Judith, like the wife of Heber the Kenite, 
 has driven a nail into a sure place. Alfred takes the 
 precious volume and slips away. He goes about seek- 
 
KING ALFRED WINNING THE QUEENS MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 "Here sits the beautiful Frankish stepmother in one of the rush-strewn halls of her rude 
 English palace. The royal lady looks around, holds out the book in her hand, and prom- 
 ises that he shall own the manuscript who first learns to read it." Page 53. 
 
THE REWARD CLAIMED. 53 
 
 ing for some one to teach him to read his own mother- 
 tongue, and it is no easy quest at an Anglo-Saxon court 
 in that year 861. At last the young student returns, 
 triumphantly recites the poem, and claims the reward. 
 " The child is" indeed "father of the man," and that man 
 will be one of the great ones of the earth. In the teach- 
 ing drama of that one life, the much-talked-of "unities" 
 were singularly preserved throughout, the "days" from 
 childhood to advanced manhood being 
 
 " Bound each to each by natural piety." 
 
 That boy will live to translate with his own hand, into 
 his vernacular tongue, a book which became his dear 
 friend and companion. It was Boetius's De Consola- 
 tione PhiloBopMse ; and in peace or in war Boetius was 
 carried about in his bosom ; nay, he will never rest un- 
 til he hath given to his country, in Saxon versions, the 
 histories of Orosius.and of Bede, the Greek fables of 
 ^sop, and Gregory's Pastoral; and he will instruct 
 and refine, his ignorant people by the graceful teach- 
 ings of his own muse. It is even said that he rendered 
 into Saxon the Old and New Testaments, but it is not 
 credible that so vast a labor could have been accom- 
 plished in the intervals of outward distraction. We 
 honor him in that he had it in his heart to do this ; and 
 we know that when the pen and the scepter dropped 
 together from the hand of the dying monarch in the 
 fifty-second year of his age, he had half- completed his 
 version of the Book of Psalms. These are brilliant 
 results of that memorable hour in the rush-strewn hall, 
 when the young stepmother held up her prize-book for 
 competition among the unlettered youth of a kingdom ! 
 
 5* 
 
54 KING ALFRED. 
 
 If history dealt more with such noble conquests as 
 these, and somewhat less exclusively with the flapping 
 of a raven's wing, the prancing of a mystic horse, the 
 triumphant swoop of an eagle, or the culminating of a 
 crescent; in fine, if we had more of the moral and 
 intellectual history of men and peoples, and rather less 
 of the physical, we might be wiser students than we 
 now are. 
 
 At last Alfred is called to the throne in preference 
 to the children of an elder brother, by the sanction of 
 his father's will, and by the call of a whole nation 
 speaking as with the voice of one man. He is twenty- 
 two years of age now, with a countenance open and 
 engaging, in figure and bearing noble and dignified, in 
 temper singularly mild, and with intellectual gifts and 
 moral qualities such as furnish the very ideal of Chris- 
 tian chivalry. And truly he has fallen upon proving 
 times! The metal he is made of will be tried by 
 almost every conceivable test, saving that most search- 
 ing one of all a long summer day of prosperity. 
 He began to reign quasi invitus, as his trustworthy 
 biographer, Asser, says of him, so that we may believe 
 that the step-out into greatness was unwillingly taken ; 
 and forthwith the sword must be buckled on. 
 
 For the first seven years of his reign there is no 
 great proof of skill displayed in the handling of either 
 scepter or sword. He is learning bitter lessons of 
 humiliation, while he makes worthless truces with the 
 treacherous Northmen, who are stalking over the land, 
 pillaging, burning, and killing wherever they go. Al- 
 fred's friends are even emigrating to other lands in 
 despair, and leaving him alone to face the storm ; and 
 
THE HARPER. 55 
 
 we catch an occasional glimpse of a fugitive, who is 
 angling in a stream for a dinner, hunting in a wood in 
 hope of breaking a long fast, or hiding in the tangled 
 bushes of a marsh; sometimes with a few haggard 
 comrades, at others in lonely misery; and yet dividing 
 his last loaf with some beggar subject whose face is yet 
 more sharply cut by famine than his own. Then 
 comes the retreat to Athelingay, the "Isle of Nobles," 
 with the one narrow pathway to his hiding-place, steal- 
 ing through the alder-growths of the bogs; and then 
 that long year's residence in this "moated grange," 
 where he waited drearily for better days, and "yet they 
 came not." The story of the burnt cakes is such a 
 household word in the million homes of the Anglo- 
 Saxon race, that it may not be rehearsed here, lest 
 perchance some ragged schoolboy might consider him- 
 self qualified to set the sketcher right in some minor 
 details of the picture. 
 
 But now at last, after seven years of apprenticeship 
 to misfortune, come the brighter days. Hope rises 
 amid the mists of the Isle of Nobles ; a handful of 
 followers has treaded the wet path leading to the 
 "moated grange;" they are throwing up little earth- 
 works, making mud entrenchments, running out unex- 
 pectedly, beating the astounded Danes, and vanishing 
 again, nobody knows whither! This brisk exercise 
 stretches the enfeebled limbs of depression, and gives 
 more muscular strength to the new-born confidence of 
 the bog-folk and their king. Then ensues the poetical 
 little episode of the harper, who drew such melody 
 from his strings, and sang so deliciously to their music, 
 that he is bidden to the banquet-board of the Danish 
 
56 KING ALFRED. 
 
 king as he carouses in his entrenched camp of Edden- 
 dune, near Westbury. Like Gideon, Alfred listens to 
 the dreams of intoxicate security, and soon makes 
 ready to break the sorry pitcher which hides his lamp. 
 Whether Alfred, upon this, sent round, as signs and 
 tokens, some of his neatherd's brown cakes, like the 
 handing about of the "chupatties," which were the 
 signal of Indian outbreak the other day, the Saxon 
 chronicler hath not recorded; but, by some sign or 
 other, the English were suddenly awakened out of 
 the sleep of exhaustion by the word, "The king yet 
 lives in Athelingay; the stone of Egbert is the place 
 of meeting." The tryst is joyfully kept, and, for the 
 two days of muster, the blowing of horns is prodigious. 
 The down-trampled Saxons are springing up in all 
 directions, and hurrying in arms to the rendezvous 
 in the willow thickets of Selwood Forest. In one of 
 Alfred's successful sallies from the fens of Athelingay, 
 he had surprised and carried off the famous "Reafen,'* 
 that enchanted raven standard of the Danes, so that he 
 has a pledge of future victory to display to his people 
 when they flock to his side at the "stone of Egbert." 
 He has also a dream to tell, which marvelously helps 
 his cause how that Neot, the Cornish saint, at whose 
 shrine he had once knelt in bodily anguish, and risen 
 up much the better for the appeal, had come in the 
 visions of the night and had promised victory. Some 
 say that Cuthbert, the stern saint of Lindisfarn, had 
 taken the trouble to come and whisper encouragement. 
 The two days have passed, and on the third the 
 Anglo-Saxons march to Edd^ndune. Alfred is undis- 
 puted chief of the Saxon interest in England, because 
 
FIELD OF EDDENDUNE. 57 
 
 all the kingdoms of the old heptarchy have now died 
 out, leaving him the representative man. The king 
 says a few words of stirring appeal to his people, and 
 then leads them against the uncounted masses of the 
 Northmen. The Danes fight well, but they are in- 
 wardly terror-stricken, because, as "Alfred! Alfred!" 
 is the cry, they think that the grave has opened, and 
 sent him forth to their destruction; while he himself 
 points, with a confident finger, at a standard-bearer 
 who heads one division of his army, and cries, " Saint 
 Neot has come with victory!" Each of these fancies 
 does its work on the excited brain of Dane and of 
 Saxon; it was as the shade of Theseus at Marathon. 
 The Northmen are falling or flying, and before night 
 all who are not lying on that encumbered plain are 
 strengthening themselves in a neighboring entrench- 
 ment. Alfred, now king of all England, is beleaguer- 
 ing the Danes, and keeping stern watch about them for 
 a fortnight. While they are growing hungry and heart- 
 less, making ready to sue for mercy, mayhap a detach- 
 ment of Alfred's men is cutting the turf on the hillside 
 above Westbury, and shaping out the great "white 
 horse" on the chalk, to mark the field of Eddendune. 
 But here comes Godrun the Dane, humbly and "deli- 
 cately." It is well for him that no righteous Samuel is 
 nigh to "hew Agag in pieces." Alfred, instead there- 
 of, exacts oaths and hostages, and one other surrender, 
 at whose precipitancy we certainly demur. Godrun 
 and his pagan chiefs must go with Alfred to the neigh- 
 borhood of the Isle of Nobles, and there, clad in white 
 garments, profess Christianity, and receive the seal of 
 
58 KII^G ALFRED. 
 
 baptism. Alfred himself stands godfather to the unre- 
 claimed-looking candidate, and then away go Godrun 
 and his fierce fellow- converts to find spades and pick- 
 axes wherewith to cultivate their new allotment of East 
 Anglia. As much to our surprise as to our pleasure, 
 we find that the bold scheme answers : Godrun becomes 
 a respectable colonist, a worthy agriculturist ; and 
 when a great fleet of the Northmen, under Hastings, 
 the famous hero of Scandinavian romance, soon after- 
 ward comes sailing boldly up the Thames, thinking to 
 be eagerly joined by their old confederates, they find 
 the sea-king settled down as a reputable country squire, 
 amid his broad acres and his promising crops. He can- 
 not spare time to go harrying the land as of old. He 
 has a vested interest in the prosperity of the country ; 
 goes soberly to church on Sundays, and sits in the 
 squire's pew. No ! Godrun at least professes to fear 
 God, and honor the king; and so the strangers spend a 
 dull winter at Fulham, and then sail away to seek bet- 
 ter luck in Flanders. 
 
 Hastings will come again in force; but in the mean 
 time the land will have rest : and the great Alfred will 
 so strengthen himself in his kingdom, and in the hearts 
 of his people, that when the terrible Northman reap- 
 pears, he will be hunted down until he swim that same 
 River Thames like a wounded stag. Even his wife and 
 children will be seized, baptized, and returned to their 
 chafed lord loaded with the gifts of royal generosity. 
 This is heaping coals of fire on his head; but they fail 
 to melt his hard nature they only scorch the revenge- 
 ful brain of the Northern pirate. That man will chasten 
 
HALVING THE LAST LOAF. 59 
 
 Alfred's prosperity, and will call out the marvelous 
 resources of his great intellect, until the afternoon, if 
 not the very evening of his day. True, there was a 
 golden sunset; and the calm hours of his closing day 
 were spent in maturing his admirable institutions, and in 
 teaching his beloved people the lessons of wisdom which 
 he had painfully learned in camp, in court, and in hiding- 
 place. Even when he was breathing the disheartening 
 mists of the fenny Athelingay, he was fortifying him- 
 self against the miseries of the present, and educating 
 himself for the call of the future, by learning the pre- 
 cious wisdom of the past. He had carried his books 
 with him into his covert : the annals of his poor distracted 
 country, hymns, religious poetry, and, best of all, the 
 manuscript of holy Scripture. He was sitting apart 
 and reading, when the beautiful incident occurred of 
 the starving beggar, and the halving of the last loaf 
 David, the minstrel king of Israel, was the model which 
 he had set before his eyes for imitation ; and visions of 
 future victory, of spiritual as well as temporal peace, 
 when God should give him rest from his enemies, may 
 have lighted his dreary ^'Cave of Adullam." 
 
 So illiterate were even the clergy of England when 
 Alfred began to reign, that "very few there were," as 
 he has himself recorded, "who could understand their 
 daily prayers in English, or translate any writing from 
 the Latin." He adds: "I indeed cannot recollect one 
 single instance on the south of the Thames when I took 
 the kingdom." But he soon turned his realm into an 
 adult school, for he made even the poor old nobles learn 
 to read, as well as the clerks. Slow scholars doubtless 
 
60 KING ALFRED. 
 
 they were; and the king, like his stepmother, must 
 needs hold out many a prize in order to stimulate their 
 tardy ambition. The learned men of the past day had 
 almost all perished, together with their books ; and 
 Alfred had to search all England, and to send literary 
 embassies to foreign lands, in order to secure teachers 
 for himself, and for his new University of Oxford. 
 Asser, his future friend and biographer, was found 
 somewhere in the western part of Wales. Grimbald, 
 a learned monk, who had treated with kindness the 
 little Anglo-Saxon prince of four years, when he was 
 traveling through France on his early mission to Rome, 
 was sought and found. Perhaps Grimbald's gift of 
 sweet song was remembered after those many troublous 
 years. He became one of Alfred's most congenial 
 companions, and used to soothe the king with his melo- 
 dious voice. But it was Asser who taught Alfred to 
 keep a commonplace-book. The Welshman chanced 
 to make a quotation which struck the royal ear. Al- 
 fred drew from his bosom his little manual of devotion, 
 and asked Asser to write it down. It was full, and so 
 Asser proposed to make an album, which should receive 
 the stray scraps of learning, that nothing might be 
 lost. The idea takes, and volume after volume is 
 stored with fragmentary wisdom. Now it is a text 
 from holy Scripture, and then it is some fine classic 
 thought, which the royal scholar renders into his own 
 terse Saxon. 
 
 Another important acquisition was the celebrated 
 Johannes Erigena, so called because of his Irish 
 descent. He was a monk of extraordinary acquire- 
 
LAW TRIUMPHANT. 61 
 
 ments, a learned linguist, and a man whose acute intel- 
 lect had been turned to the study of the sciences and 
 the arts, as well as literature. He taught geometry 
 and astronomy in Alfred's rising university; while 
 Asser gave lessons in grammar and rhetoric, and John 
 of St. David's in logic, arithmetic, and music. But 
 learned factions must have run high at that day, for 
 John Erigena, either at Oxford or at Malmesbury 
 Abbey, where some assert that he taught, was one day 
 set upon by his enraged pupils, and actually stabbed 
 to death with pen-knives ! 
 
 But it is time to glance at the great Alfred as the 
 statesman and the legislator, as well as the warrior and 
 the man of letters. And it is right that the noble senti- 
 ment of him who was the true founder of the British 
 monarchy should here be recorded, that " The English 
 should forever remain as free as their own thoughts!'' 
 And yet so firm was the hand with which he adminis- 
 tered the laws he had himself made, that he caused 
 golden bracelets to be suspended above the highways, as 
 a test of the supremacy of order ; and behold, there was 
 not an arm in England bold enough to dare to take them 
 down ! Everywhere law was triumphant, and the rights 
 of property secured. The land was mapped out into coun- 
 ties, the counties were parceled into hundreds, and the 
 hundreds subdivided into tithings. Regular courts of 
 justice were established, and that noble institution, to 
 which the Englishman clings as the anchor by which 
 he may safely ride in storm or in calm, trial by jury, 
 became the law of the land. And if the accused could 
 not safely trust his rights to the consideration of twelve 
 
 6 
 
62 KING ALFRED. 
 
 reputable men, his own peers in life, he might appeal 
 onward, from court to court, in the ascending scale of 
 dignity. Thus the wise edicts of the minstrel king of 
 the ninth century became the basis of that body of 
 legislation, which, a thousand years further on in the 
 life of nations, is known by the name of our common 
 law. 
 
 His encouragement of learning was so marked, that 
 he used to sit, as an eager listener, while the learned 
 men, whom he had trained in his own kingdom, or 
 allured from other lands, lectured from the chairs which 
 he had set up in the halls of his beloved Oxford. The 
 language of one of his edicts is so remarkable, that it 
 must here be quoted: "Wee will and command, that 
 all free men of our kingdom whosoever, possessing two 
 hides of land, shall bring up their sonnes in learning 
 till they be fifteene years of age at least, that so they 
 may be trained to know God, to be men of understand- 
 ing, and to live happily; for, of a man that is borne 
 free, and yet illiterate, we repute no otherwise than of 
 a beast, or a brainlesse body, and a very sot." 
 
 When Alfred was lying hid amid the dank thickets 
 of the Isle of Nobles, accompanied by the Lady Als- 
 witha, the nobly but not royally-born wife who shared 
 his hard crust, he had vowed a vow unto his God. He 
 promised that if God should give him rest from his ene- 
 mies round about, and should set him up on high above 
 them that hated him, he would dedicate to his service a 
 third part of his time. The vows of adversity commonly 
 become the broken promises of prosperity: but not so 
 with Alfred. And now see him in the stone-built 
 
A STRANGE TIME-PIECE. 63 
 
 palace of his kingdom stone-built, for he sets his face 
 against the wooden houses which had previously satis- 
 fied an oppressed people, and which used to burn like 
 touchwood at the kindling of the Danes. He is care- 
 fully measuring the twenty-four hours of the day and 
 night into three equal portions. There is not a clock 
 in the land to toll the burial of one hour and the birth of 
 the next. There is not even an hour-glass to be turned 
 by Alfred's watchful hand. No dial-plate has ever 
 mapped out the mystic journey of the day; and per- 
 haps the shadow of some ancestral oak, as it silently 
 moves across the face of a sleeping pool, is the only 
 gnomon which graduates the swift procession of the 
 hours. What will Alfred do ? There are six wax can- 
 dles in the royal chapel, each of them a foot long, with 
 the inches carefully marked by lines of different colors. 
 Each of these burns for four hours, three inches an 
 hour; the six wax candles thus living through a night 
 and day. ''They did orderly burn foure hours a 
 piece," says Spelman; and it was the duty of the keep- 
 ers of the chapel royal to go and advertise the king 
 how the colored hour-lines were consuming in their 
 turn. To shield this little torch of Time from wavering 
 before the breath of chance winds, it was placed in a 
 lantern of thin, white horn with a frame of wood, the 
 king's own happy contrivance; and thus the thrifty 
 economist knew when to give his eight hours to God in 
 devotional services or pious works, his eight to the 
 affairs of his kingdom, and the remaining eight to a 
 short sleep, to hasty meals, and to some precious hours 
 of study. This was the man who had fought fifty-six 
 
64 KING ALFRED. 
 
 pitched battles \vith the Danish invaders, and whose 
 days and nights were passed in almost continuous suf- 
 fering from some incurable malady ! 
 
 But the candle of the great king's mortal life, with 
 its many-colored hour-lines, at last burned down into 
 the socket. The hours of service to his people, and 
 the hours of devotion to his God on earth, were told 
 out when he had but just reached the fifty-second year 
 of his age, and the twenty-ninth of his reign; and so, 
 in the year 900, the great Alfred entered upon the 
 hours of his rest. 
 
FREDERIC BARBAROSSA: 
 THE RED-BEARD OF THE RHINE. 
 
 6* 
 
FKEDERIC BARBAROSSA; 
 
 THE "RED-BEARD" OF THE RHINE. 
 
 The wonder-working voice of Bernard, Abbot of 
 Clairvaux, had been ringing throughout Europe, bid- 
 ding princes and people to assume the cross and pass 
 into the East, there to struggle with the Moslem for 
 possession of the Holy Sepulchre. In those days 
 neither king nor knight was held to be a finished 
 Christian gentleman, unless he had led an army or 
 headed a band of retainers, to find a shallow grave in 
 the sands of Palestine, or to return home after years 
 of desperate warfare, broken in health and bankrupt 
 in purse. In this twelfth century, of which we speak, a 
 man of birth was held to be a recreant knight, a mon- 
 arch treated with scant respect as a craven, if he had 
 not come under the power of this great energizing idea. 
 Popes fulminated against him, preachers shook the 
 pulpit with their stormy denunciations of divine wrath, 
 hermits left their hut in the forest, or their living sepul- 
 chre in the hollow hill, to run up and down the land, 
 lifting high the symbol of the cross, and invoking the 
 vengeance of ofiended Heaven against him who should 
 refuse to come to its help against the mighty. That 
 such and such high contracting parties should bind 
 
 (67) 
 
68 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 themselves to go on crusade, with so many ships, and 
 so many thousand men-at-arms, within a given period, 
 formed an article of stipulation in treaties, or a bond 
 of reconciliation betwixt sworn foes. Enthusiasm be- 
 came an epidemic. To go on crusade was chivalry's 
 prescribed mode of expiation for all personal guilt. It 
 was the great penance of nations, whereby they blindly 
 thought to atone for sin, and to purchase Heaven's glo- 
 rious favor. It was the great caravan-journey of kin- 
 dreds and peoples, who felt themselves impelled to go 
 once in man's brief life on pilgrimage to the holy place. 
 This was in truth the great outlet for all the pent-up 
 activities of man's restless nature. The day was a day 
 of great physical energy, but of close intellectual re- 
 pression; and it was a congenial relief to the pulsing 
 heart of the age thus to expend all its surplus activity, 
 all its eager life, its fervid ambitions, and its furious 
 hates, on a great ideal duty, which all ghostly teachers 
 declared to be sealed with the signet of Heaven's direct 
 approval. It somewhat resembled that singular fanati- 
 cism which seized upon the knighthood of an earlier 
 period, some six centuries before, when the Christian 
 hero must e'en go on lonely pilgrimage to the land 
 of the sunrise, in quest of the ''Sang-real;'' and a 
 vacant seat was ever kept at the Round Table of our 
 Arthur of Britain, for the Sir Tristram or the Sir 
 Launcelot who was far away in search of the ''Holy 
 GrraiV If the hero of the twelfth and succeeding 
 centuries returned not, his lady took the vail, to weep 
 over the vision of his lonely grave on the Paynim 
 strand, or clipped his fair lands to dower the neighbor- 
 ing abbey, in order that ceaseless masses might be said 
 
AN ARMY OVERTHROWN. 69 
 
 for the repose of his dear soul. And if he came home, 
 with duskj brow and hollow cheek, to recount the tur- 
 bans that his strong lance had borne to the ground, it 
 was something to know that when he would repose in 
 marble effigy upon his stately tomb in that abbey 
 church, his cross-legged figure would denote to all time 
 that he who slept there in stony trance had been obe- 
 dient to the roll-call of his faith, and had gone forth 
 upon the soldier's pilgrimage. 
 
 Thus when St. Bernard of Clairvaux lifted his elo- 
 quent voice and pointed the way to the East, both 
 Louis VII. of France and Conrad III. of Germany 
 passed to Palestine at the head of large armies of Cru- 
 saders. Conrad was attended by his nephew, Frederic 
 of Hohenstauffen, Duke of Swabia, who was soon to 
 make the world ring with his name as Frederic Barba- 
 rossa. It is said that each of these potentates, Louis 
 and Conrad, was followed by his 70,000 men; but so 
 awful a mortality decimated the ranks of the Germans 
 on the feverish plains of Constantinople, that dreadful 
 rumors of poisoned wells, and of lime mixed with the 
 soldiers' flour, shook the confidence of the enthusiastic 
 emperor. The prince who then sat upon the tottering 
 throne which the great Constantino had fixed, broad 
 and strong, upon the shores of the blue Bosphorus 
 was Manuel Comnenus. He was a man of a lofty and 
 generous soul, and it is not conceivable that a mean 
 jealousy of his romantic Western allies could instigate 
 him to the commission of such wholesale iniquity as is 
 hinted at above. Conrad passed the Bosphorus, and 
 led his weakened forces into the rocky interior of Asia 
 Minor; but here a yet more fatal peril than poisoned 
 
70 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 water or burning bread beset the harassed Crusaders. 
 The Sultan of Iconium watched his moment when the 
 Christians were entangled amid the rocky clefts of 
 some new valley of '^El Tih," or "The Wandering," 
 and there cut almost the entire army in pieces with the 
 edge of the cimeter. But the beaten Conrad, who had 
 taken refuge in Antioch, would not again show his sor- 
 rowful face in the West, until he had first stood upon 
 the Mount of Olives, and bowed his knee at the Holy 
 Sepulcher. With the sandaled feet of a pilgrim, with 
 scallop-shell and corded waist, see the humbled emperor 
 of the West enter the gate of Jerusalem. And now, 
 having done his great devoir, and ofiered up his 70,000 
 men to a vague idea, (for the Holy City was now only 
 threatened, and not possessed, by the Misbelievers,) 
 Conrad III. wended his way back to his own Germany, 
 attended by a handful of followers, the mere shreds of 
 his brilliant army. He returned, after three years' 
 absence, to a troubled empire, to domestic sorrow, and 
 to a speedy death. The sorrow was for the loss of his 
 princely heir, young Henry, King of the Romans ; and 
 as of our Henry II. of England some few years later, 
 so it may perhaps be said of Conrad, "he never smiled 
 again." Conrad had been kaiser for fourteen years, 
 and never yet had he received the crown of the empire. 
 While he was making ready for the great ceremonial 
 of coronation, and preparing for his journey into Italy, 
 where he would receive the investment, death suddenly 
 called him away, on the 15th of February, 1152. 
 And so the great Diet of the empire met at Frankfort to 
 elect another kaiser. There was a little son left behind, 
 but his age was too tender to bear the iron weight of 
 
THE DYING EMPEROR. 71 
 
 power; and the electors looked around for a proper 
 man, with the true imperial stamp on his forehead, who 
 should be morally if not physically higher, by the 
 head and shoulders, than all his brethren of the land 
 shoulders that could bear weight, brows that could en- 
 dure pressure. The dying Conrad had himself given a 
 sign before his head settled on the pillow. He had 
 pointed to his nephew, Frederic Barbarossa, or the 
 "Red-beard," and had given counsel that he should be 
 chosen to sit in his place. Frederic was born in 1121, 
 and his youthful vigor had hardened into the matured 
 strength of the man of thirty years. But so noble was 
 his prime, so fine his lordly presence, that they called 
 him still "in the flower of youth." To unite their 
 suffrages upon Frederic Barbarossa was like a "Union 
 of the Roses" in our own distracted England; for 
 already the party names of " Guelph" and " Ghibeline" 
 were rending the empire; and Frederic Barbarossa, 
 Duke of Swabia, was claimed by each of the great 
 factions of the West. He was the heir of the Ghibe- 
 line house of Swabia and Franconia, as grandson of 
 the Emperor Henry V.; he was the natural ally of 
 the Guelph house of Bavaria and Saxony, as grand- 
 son of Henry the Black; and he was also nephew of 
 Guelph VI., Duke of Bavaria, and cousin of Henry 
 the Lion, Duke of Saxony, the two doughty chieftains 
 of the Guelphic interest. It would be a good work to 
 arrest the flow of torrents of blood by placing a firm 
 dam across the stream so near the fountain-head. 
 And truly the hope of the electors of the empire, which 
 made them of one accord, as they sat in the council 
 chamber of Frankfort, was not betrayed by the result. 
 
72 FREDEKIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 During almost the whole period of Frederic's remark- 
 able reign, Guelph and Ghibeline marched under one 
 imperial standard. But as soon as the Barbarossa 
 ceased to bind together the adverse factions, the two 
 great parties, flying asunder again and spreading over 
 the Alps into Italy, ranged themselves front against 
 front the Ghibelines for the empire, the Guelphs for 
 the church. But this is a wandering glance onward 
 into the future; for the present, Germany rejoiced in 
 her "Union of the Roses." Still, it is worth while to 
 inquire in what unblessed soil the roots of these disas- 
 trous party divisions first burst from the seed. Amid 
 the mountains of Hertfeld, in the diocese of Augsburg, 
 there was an old castle called Gheibelinga, and in the 
 garden of that battlemented castle first struck root the 
 long-lived weed of the Ghibeline faction. On the other 
 hand, Bavaria was owned by a powerful house which 
 came originally from Altdorf; and as prince after 
 prince in this family chanced to bear the name of 
 Guelfo, or Welf, the echoes of the neighboring coun- 
 try, familiarized to the sound, caught it, and made it 
 an abiding appellation. 
 
 On the very day when Frederic was proclaimed em- 
 peror in Frankfort-on-the-Main, an incident occurred 
 which showed to the assembled electors of the empire 
 that the hand to whose keeping they had intrusted the 
 scepter would hold it with inflexible grasp. There was 
 a courtier who had fallen into disgrace with Frederic, 
 and who had received sentence of banishment from the 
 court of Swabia. "In this day of universal rejoicing," 
 thought the banished man, " when the heart of my lord 
 is softened with success, I shall ask and receive my 
 
THE NEW EMPEROR. 73 
 
 pardon." In the midst of the stately ceremonial, the 
 exile forced his way into the royal presence, prostrated 
 himself at his master's feet, and cried, " Grace ! grace !" 
 The excitement spread to the princely throng, who, 
 without knowing the delinquent's fault, joined in his 
 cry. The infection of compassion ran on to the multi- 
 tude without, who in suppliant tones repeated the plea, 
 "grace! grace!" Kaiser Barbarossa commanded 
 silence, with a voice of most masterful energy, and at 
 the very moment when the anointing oil was to seal 
 him emperor of the West, he declared to the assembly, 
 in a tone intrepid and severe, that "the sentence 
 against the culprit had been founded on justice, not 
 hate, and that nothing should induce him to recall it." 
 Such was the man who prepared himself, from the 
 moment when he crossed the threshold of empire, to 
 enforce the right, to crush the wrong, to regulate the 
 stormy disputes of Germany, to coerce the fiery fac- 
 tions of Italy, and, later in life, to set his face as a 
 flint against the spiritual and temporal encroachments 
 of Rome. 
 
 Frederic had been raised to supreme power at the 
 Diet of Frankfort by the suffrages of the German 
 princes ; and Italy found herself given over to a new 
 Caesar, by the barbarian "Hoch! Hoch!" of old Ger- 
 mania, without a single silvery ^'JEvvivar' of her own. 
 But turbulent as she was, Italy was willing to wait and 
 see of what materials was made this new master from 
 the banks of the Rhine and of the Main. Frederic 
 was sitting in Diet at the old Franconian City of Wurz- 
 burg, which stands in so fine an attitude on the margin 
 of the Main, and whose prince-bishop had from imme-i. 
 
 7 I 
 
74 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 morial time been an elector of the empire, when the 
 envoys whom the new emperor had sent across the 
 Alps, to feel the pulse of the people, returned to ren- 
 der account of their mission. It was but a troublous 
 tale for the ear of the newly anointed. Jealousies, 
 oppressions, and fierce revenges prevailed throughout 
 the land. But the envoys were accompanied by mes- 
 sage-bearers from Pope Eugene III., entreating for suc- 
 cor against his own people of Rome. A "pestilent" 
 republican monk had got among them, one Arnaud of 
 Brescia, preaching war against the vices of the clergy 
 and the worldly ambition of the church. This Arnaud 
 of Brescia was a noticeable man, the Savonarola of 
 his age. He had studied in France, under no less 
 remarkable a master than the celebrated Pierre Abe- 
 lard, and a friendship had sprung up between master 
 and pupil which only the more fatally exposed the lat- 
 ter to the persecutions of the papacy. Arnaud's erudi- 
 tion was profound, his manners pure, his faith orthodox 
 according to the definitions of Rome, and his eloquence 
 of that manly character which is sure to secure intelli- 
 gent listeners. He lifted his resounding voice against 
 the corruptions of the church, rather than against the 
 faults of her creed, and "the heresy in politics" was 
 the name given by the ofi'ended hierarchy to the wide- 
 spreading opinions of Arnaud of Brescia. Condemned 
 by the Lateran Council, he had taken refuge on the 
 shores of the Lake Constance; but the implacable 
 Bernard excited against the reforming Brescian a new 
 persecution, and the stranger was obliged to carry his 
 protesting eloquence to Zurich. In the mean time ex- 
 treme discontent had broken out at Rome. The secret 
 
A EESTORED REPUBLIC. 75 
 
 disciples of Arnaud, and all those who hid in their 
 heart the love of liberty, and the memory of the old 
 glories of Rome, were chafing under the domination 
 of the priests. The nobles moved about in the places 
 of public resort, and talked fiery treason beneath their 
 breath, behind marble columns, under crumbling arches, 
 and amid the classic statues of terraced gardens. They 
 pointed to the silent remembrancers of the great past. 
 They whispered into the burning ear of the degenerate 
 people thrilling stories about the august government of 
 the ancient times, talked of the "Conscript Fathers," 
 and then pointed at the haughty priests, as they swept 
 by in all the purple and fine linen of a sumptuous 
 hierarchy, or at the bands of mendicant monks who, 
 under the thin mask of sandaled and hooded poverty, 
 fattened upon the good of the land. The Italians in- 
 tensely love conspiracy; a plot is the most fascinating 
 thing in life; no splendid church ceremonial, no grand 
 military display, can at any time compete for popular 
 favor with even the bare programme of an insurrection. 
 And so the nobles, in the early half of the twelfth cen- 
 tury, found eager auditors among the Roman populace; 
 and soon the scattered groups of listeners amalgamated 
 into the proportions of a great mob; high-born and 
 low-born all mingled together in one heaving mass. 
 Then the chiefs drew the people after them to the 
 Capitol; and on this memorable mount, built of the 
 very dust of ages, which, as one plants the foot there- 
 on, thrills one to the heart with living memories, a 
 restored republic was inaugurated, and the Roman 
 Senate restored. Pope Innocent II. could not survive 
 this unexpected blow ; he died a few days afterward of 
 
76 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 chagrin. Pope Celestin II. reigned too short a time 
 to do much in the way of repression, and he, too, died 
 before he could check the rising power of the people. 
 Lucius II. had the mortification of seeing the Romans 
 replace the prefect of the city whom he had himself 
 appointed, by a new first magistrate, under the sound- 
 ing name of patrician of Rome; and to add to his 
 humiliation, this dignified official was brother of the 
 dead anti-pope, Anaclet. But Lucius II. determined 
 to besiege his enemies on the sacred mount, and even 
 to storm the Capitol. Surrounding himself with a 
 spiritual army of priests, and with a temporal force of 
 armed men, the pope marched to old " Mons Capitoli- 
 nus." The senatorial garrison was at first alarmed by 
 this imposing array of earthly and unearthly powers ; 
 but presently the people, who had rushed to the defense 
 of their "Patres Conscripti," poured down upon the 
 pontifical forces a hailstorm of stones, quarried for the 
 occasion from out the ruin-mound of empire. Alas, 
 for the belligerent bishop of Rome ! A classic frag- 
 ment, flung by the ruthless hand of a Roman, struck 
 him, and caused the retreat of his little army, with his 
 own death a few days afterward. Into such wild eddies 
 was the stream of events hurried in the twelfth century 
 of our Christian era, and at the very heart of Christen- 
 dom. Eugene III., a disciple of St. Bernard of Clair- 
 vaux, was elected to wear the vacant tiara, but he was 
 only too glad to escape from the heavings of this vol- 
 canic soil ; and while he was out on pontifical tour, visit- 
 ing the churches of Italy and of France, Arnaud, the 
 eloquent monk of Brescia, was recalled from the deep 
 valleys of Switzerland, and returned to Rome, attended 
 
MARVELOUS CHANGES. 77 
 
 by a resolute band of Swiss mountaineers. Then suc- 
 ceeded a series of marvelous changes, all based upon 
 old classic models ; an equestrian order took its place 
 as connecting link between senators and plebeians; 
 consuls were appointed to preside over the senate, 
 tribunes to defend the cause of the people; and the 
 rights of the German emperor were restricted within 
 narrower and more ascertained limits, while the pope was 
 forbidden to interfere in secular afiairs. Such was the 
 "political heresy" of Arnaud of Brescia; such the 
 reformed system which he sought to introduce into the 
 city of the Caesars; such the position of affairs which 
 was revealed to Frederic Barbarossa by his Italian 
 envoys, while he presided over the Diet at the old City 
 of Wurzburg ; and it was against this Arnaud of Bres- 
 cia and the rebellious Romans that Pope Eugene III. 
 entreated the aid of the newly-anointed kaiser. Fred- 
 eric burned to step into so congenial a field. Were 
 there disorders on the further side of the Alps? he 
 would come and suppress them in a moment. Rebellion 
 in Rome against pope and kaiser? he would come and 
 see what this strange sound signified. And so he 
 signed a treaty of alliance with that papal power with 
 which hereafter he should be so seriously at issue. He 
 promised to re-establish the forlorn pope on the chair 
 of St. Peter, and in return he received a promise that 
 the pontiff would place the imperial diadem on his head. 
 An edict presently went forth that all vassals of the 
 Germanic empire should make ready to march with 
 their lord over the mountains of snow and down into 
 the fair land of the South. 
 
 ' More wrongs to be righted ? I will come and see 
 T* 
 
78 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 into the matter." Such in substance was the reply of 
 the chivah'ous monarch to two weeping citizens of 
 Lodi, who, with cross in hand, pressed through the 
 crowd of princes that surrounded the Barbarossa as he 
 again sat at the Diet of Constance. The City of Lodi, 
 at whose bridge over the Adda the stranger now looks 
 with such painful interest, as the scene of one of the 
 most sanguinary struggles between Napoleon and Aus- 
 tria, had been subjected by the neighboring Republic 
 of Milan. Those Italian republics were possessed by 
 the most gnawing appetite for conquest. Liberty was 
 but another name for the law of self-aggrandizement. 
 The enslaved citizens of Lodi, flinging themselves at 
 the feet of Frederic, poured forth a tide of passionate 
 Italian eloquence; but scarce a word of that clear 
 melodious tongue was apprehended by ears accustomed 
 to the throat-language of the German Fatherland. 
 Yet the bursting sobs, the streaming tears, the expres- 
 sive pantomime of action, the pleading passionate 
 sounds, so musical and so sorrowful, did ali that was 
 needed for the citizens of Lodi. " Restore their rights 
 to the people of Lodi!" Thus said an imperial rescript 
 which was instantly addressed to the haughty Milanese. 
 "Restore the rights of Lodi?" Could the grave give 
 back its prey ? The City of old Lodi had been reduced 
 to ashes by the Milanese full forty years before ; and 
 the wall-less town on the Adda's brink which had 
 begun to rise from the field of cinders was but eighteen 
 miles from the gates of Milan. The community was 
 scattered about in open villages, amid trellised vines 
 that festooned themselves from tree to tree, now catch- 
 ing at the bough of a mulberry, now flinging a wreath- 
 
i 
 
 p 
 
 M: 
 
 
 lll|lh^l|lil|,'t,llv If^ 
 
 / 
 
 
 ^^'^'^H:i 
 
 BARBAROSSAS ANSWER TO THE CITIZENS OF LODI. 
 
 'More wrongs to be righted? I will come and see into the matter." Such in substance 
 was the reply of the chivalrous monarch. Page 78. 
 
f 
 
LODISAN WANDERERS. 79 
 
 ing tendril around the beautiful branch of an acacia. 
 Thus were the people wholly unprotected, when the 
 official from the German court presented himself with 
 the edict, and summoned the magistrates of those clus- 
 tered villages which formed the sad remains of old 
 Lodi. The consternation was universal. "The em- 
 peror not coming until next year? and yet the venge- 
 ance of Milan to be prematurely provoked ! For pity's 
 sake, keep back the edict until the emperor himself be 
 ready to enforce it!" But the Barbarossa's command 
 could brook no delay in execution; and the envoy 
 passed next to Milan. If there were terror in Lodi, 
 there was fury in Milan. The imperious rescript was 
 torn from the hand of the messenger and stamped 
 under foot. Lombard rage was no light matter ; and 
 with diflS'culty did the German official escape with his 
 life. In the mean while, long lines of Lodisan women 
 and children, loaded with such precious eflfects as were 
 portable, were to be seen branching off over the flat 
 plains, to cry for sanctuary at the gates of Pavia and 
 old Cremonia; while the men of the households hid 
 themselves by day and wandered at night in their 
 woods and fields, listening for the expected tread of 
 armed bands from Milan. Such is a picture of the 
 Italian republics in an age emphatically called "dark." 
 It is, however, relieving to know that the rage of the 
 Milanese evaporated in words, when the rumor reached 
 them that the Caesar with the fiery beard was not a 
 man whom it was safe to exasperate; and therefore 
 the poor homesteads of the Lodisan territory were not 
 forthwith consumed, nor her harvests swept into the 
 storehouse of Milan. 
 
80 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 But now comes the month of October, 1154, when 
 Frederic Barbarossa, being joined by his vassal lords 
 with their contingents, crossed the barrier mountains 
 by the valley of Trent, and pitched on the beautiful 
 shores of the Lago di Garda. Never had predecessor 
 of his led so brilliant an array from the oak forests of 
 Germany down upon the olive plains and vineyards of 
 Italy. When Frederic reached the plain of Roncaglia, 
 which borders the sweeping river Po near Piacenza, 
 he traced his camp, and opened the ^'Oomitia' of the 
 kingdom of Italy, in accord with ancient usage. And 
 then the broad shield of Frederic of HohenstauiFen, 
 Emperor of Germany and King of Italy, was affixed 
 to a tall pole, and blazed out to the sun from above 
 the imperial tent. In that pavilion sat the court of 
 appeal ; and he who had plaint to make or plea to 
 urge, came with the cry "Justice! Justice!" There 
 was the Marquis of Montferrat pleading against the 
 City of Asti. There was the Bishop of Asti accusing 
 his own flock. There were the messengers of trembling 
 Lodi again lifting up their voice; and there were the 
 consuls of Milan ready to respond. The tears of Lodi, 
 which had been so abundantly shed at the Diet of 
 Constance the year before, had prejudged the case in 
 the heart of Frederic. But Frederic's mode of doing 
 justice was after a most rough and barbarian fashion; 
 and his onward march to Home, after breaking up the 
 comitia of Roncaglia, left a long line of desolation be- 
 hind him, like the black and smoking track of a con- 
 quering army. The Germans had strong appetites, 
 not easily appeased ; and they ate up the land without 
 remorse, paying for nothing as they went. They 
 
TORTONA RAZED. 81 
 
 liked to be well housed on their march; but they fre- 
 quently finished the night's rest by setting fire to the 
 castle, palace, or village where they had found repose. 
 If the bridge which bore the army across a river hap- 
 pened to link together banks which belonged to the 
 Milanese, or to some ally of theirs, the bridge was de- 
 stroyed as soon as the last Swabian or Franconian had 
 tramped across it. Thus were justice and oppression, 
 pity and enmity, confounded together in the rude un- 
 taught soul of a hero of the dark ages. But a very 
 ruthless fate awaited the City of Tortona. Tortona 
 was an ally of unpardoned Milan, and when required 
 to renounce their old alliance, the magistrates boldly 
 replied, that they "were not accustomed to abandon 
 their friends when in misfortune." For this noble 
 response, Tortona was put to the ban of the empire, 
 and the unswerving Frederic sat down at the base of 
 the steep hill, a spur of the Ligurian Alps, on which 
 stood the fortress. For two months did he sit there, 
 exhausting all his military skill and his abounding 
 means for the reduction of one of the least powerful 
 of the Lombard cities; and at the end of the siege, 
 conquered by intolerable thirst alone, and not by force 
 of arms, (for their one fountain of water was outside 
 the walls,) the emaciated people of Tortona were per- 
 mitted to march out on the road toward Milan, scarce 
 able to drag one feeble foot after the other. And 
 when the brave people had all crept outside the crum- 
 bled walls, Frederic gave command to raze this ancient 
 city even with the ground. Such was the stern mode 
 of setting things right, such the approved plan of cor- 
 recting abuses, in the middle of the twelfth century. 
 
82 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 While the intrepid exiles, with their sick wives and 
 their little wasted children, were received with accla- 
 mations at Milan, as an army of martyrs, Frederic 
 marched in triumph into Pavia, where he caused him- 
 self to be crowned with the iron crown of Lombardy 
 in the Church of San-Michele, ancient even at that 
 early day. But eager to be crowned emperor as well 
 as king, Frederic checked his passionate love of right- 
 ing wrongs, and, traversing Tuscany without provoking 
 further opposition, drew near to Rome. 
 
 Popes had still been dying fast. To sit with tiaraed 
 brow, jeweled finger, and worshipful slipper, in the 
 chair of the Galilean fisherman, for twelve months, was 
 a long pontificate, as times went. Eugene III., who 
 had prayed Frederic to come to Rome and rid him of 
 his enemies, was already dead. Anastasius IV., who 
 had reigned a year, was dead also. And now Adrian 
 IV. sat in the papal chair. We must pause a little 
 over Adrian. He is remarkable as having been the 
 only Englishman who has ever occupied that preten- 
 tious seat remarkable as having climbed up to so lofty 
 an elevation from the very lowest level of society. 
 Nicholas Brekespere was born in some cottage home at 
 Langley, in Hertfordshire, and the poor lad was em- 
 ployed by the monks of St. Albans in performing little 
 menial offices about the abbey. He was the son of a 
 mendicant, and the boy became a wandering mendicant 
 like his father. But, instead of confining his rounds 
 to the highways and byways of Hertfordshire, he man- 
 aged to cross the Channel, and to ask alms in the 
 cities and villages of France. Begging once at the 
 gates of the monastery of St. Rufus in fair Provenge, 
 
THE ENGLISH POPE. 83 
 
 the kindly monks took in the young English stranger, 
 and made him a servant to their order. The welcome 
 home was too pleasant to be immediately left for 
 further wanderings ; and Nicholas Brekespere took the 
 vows of a brother, and settled into a little cell of his 
 own. Brother Nicholas was evidently a rising man, 
 and his buoyancy lifted him through all intermediate 
 degrees, until he attained to the rank of abbot and 
 general of his order. Father Nicholas, now my lord 
 abbot, then thought it time to move on again, and he 
 traversed Italy, to bow before Eugene III. at Rome. 
 Still Father Nicholas was rising, and wandering still, 
 for Eugene sent him as legate to Norway and Den- 
 mark, where he preached so mightily, that large num- 
 bers of Scandinavians became obedient sons of the 
 church. But it was now high time to move on again 
 southward, for this was the period when the popes were 
 dying so fast, and leaving the most exciting vacancies 
 in the chair of St. Peter. When the College of Cardi- 
 nals met in conclave, after the termination of the 
 twelve months' reign of Anastasius IV., it was on the 
 Englishman that their suffrages were found to meet; 
 and the new pontiff was announced to Christendom 
 under the name of Adrian TV, It was soon felt that 
 it was no spectral illusion, no shadowy ghost of unreal 
 power, which was now sitting on the throne of spiritual 
 empire. Adrian IV. was a very real personage, stoutly 
 built of bone and sinew a very muscular pope, feeling 
 the strength that lay in his own strong arm, and long- 
 ing to use it. 
 
 But where was Arnaud of Brescia all this time? 
 Arnaud had been quietly livin|' for years past in the 
 
84 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 City of Rome, shielded by the senate, and beloved by 
 the people. From time to time he had certainly lifted 
 up his eloquent voice against the usurpations and the 
 vices of the clergy; but he had been leading a peace- 
 able and exemplary life, in the practice of the virtues 
 which he loved. Scarcely, however, had the English- 
 man attained to power, when he placed under an inter- 
 dict his own city that city which claimed to be the 
 spiritual and temporal metropolis of the world. The 
 inhabitants were astounded; for never, in all the over- 
 turns of past times, had this terrible spiritual chastise- 
 ment been administered to them. Easter was approach- 
 ing; and should they be deprived of their brilliant 
 festivals, the beautiful galas of their church? In the 
 sackcloth and ashes of a protracted Lent, were they to 
 fast on into Easter? It was not to be thought of! 
 And to check the incipient murmurings of the people, 
 the senate, by way of compromise, thought it wise to 
 recommend Arnaud to remove himself from Rome. 
 When that one man walked out of the city, which thus 
 proved itself unworthy of his presence, the "Holy 
 Father" was reconciled to his penitent children, and 
 the interdict was removed. Arnaud of Brescia now 
 took refuge in the castle of a count who dwelt in the 
 Campagna of Rome; and in the country palace of his 
 friend, in the heart of that desolate region, where the 
 turf swells over ruined cities a very graveyard of the 
 past Arnaud of Brescia awaited the coming of Kaiser 
 Barbarossa. Deputies from the two irreconcilable 
 parties had gone forth to meet the Swabian. Adrian's 
 embassy was fittingly composed of three cardinals, who 
 must have told their tale with better skill than the mes- 
 
ARNAUD IN CHAINS. 85 
 
 sengers of the Roman senate ; for, while they engaged 
 that the emperor should receive the crown imperial 
 from the holy hand of the pope, they obtained in re- 
 turn the renewed promise that he would aid in subdu- 
 ing the Romans. And what was Frederic's first act in 
 fulfillment of the compact? He sent to the Campag- 
 nian villa, where Arnaud was quietly abiding, tore him 
 from his noble protector, carried him off, and delivered 
 him into the eager hands of the prefect of Rome an 
 office-bearer appointed by the pope, and entirely a 
 creature of his own. One evening, the Romans were 
 stupefied by the sight of their beloved leader carried as 
 prisoner to the Castle of St. Angelo. 
 
 There were sounds stirring in the Piazza del Popolo 
 that night sounds as of men carrying loads, and all 
 tending to one spot, just inside the Porta del Popolo 
 that memorable gate by which Constantino the Great 
 entered the city in triumph, and where the traveler who 
 has come down through Tuscany still knocks for admit- 
 tance into the metropolis of the old Roman world. But 
 the people of Rome slept well that night ; they took no 
 heed to the portentous sounds. In the dawn of the 
 early morning, there were stealthy steps which trav- 
 ersed the streets that lie betwixt the Castle of St. An- 
 gelo and the Porta del Popolo. There was the unmis- 
 takable tramp of armed men, but still the people slept 
 on. If but a single senator had left his silken canopy, 
 if but one of the tribunes, nay, if even one of the 
 people had but sprung from his maize bed and looked 
 down from his window upon the mysterious procession, 
 it might have sufficed. He would have seen that the 
 terrible prefect of the city, who had remained through 
 
 8 
 
86 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 the night hours with his captive in the Castle of St. 
 Angelo, was carrying him to a great mound of faggots 
 which had been heaped up during the darkness in the 
 Piazza del Popolo. Is there no one alive to give the 
 signal to the fiery Romans, that he around whom they 
 have for years builded a living wall of defense, whom 
 they have treasured as their most precious pledge of 
 liberty, on whose eloquent words they have fed their 
 hope of the future and nourished the fond memory of 
 the great past, is now led before their very homes on 
 his way to the stake ? One single glimpse of the scene 
 that was being enacted, and the tocsin of alarm would 
 have rung throughout Rome in a moment, and thou- 
 sands upon thousands would have rushed to the rescue. 
 But Rome had indeed fallen into a dead sleep. Placed 
 with his back to the Porta del Popolo, the " Gate of 
 the People," at the base of the Pincian Hill, Arnaud 
 of Brescia could sweep with his eyes the three long 
 streets which diverge from the piazza, and pierce 
 through the heart of the city, traversing the half of 
 Rome. Immediately opposite to him was the Corso, 
 following the old Via Flaminia straight up to the Cap- 
 itol; on the right the Via Ripetta, which tracks the 
 tawny stream of old Father Tiber; on the left the Via 
 Babuino, which leads onward to the Quirinal Hill, and 
 to the papal palace which surmounts it. His eye could 
 command these three great arteries of Rome, and he 
 saw that not a single pulse of life throbbed along their 
 course. And now the long, sharp tongues of flame are 
 darting upward, and speaking to him the unmistakable 
 language of death. At last, the flare of the burning 
 pile, the crackling of the wood, the hurried trampling 
 
ARNAUD NO MORE. 87 
 
 of the papal soldiers around, all awaken the people. 
 They spring from their beds, they hurry to and fro, 
 hither and thither; they arm; they rush madly to the 
 spot too late! A close girdle of the papal guard 
 surrounds the blaze, and with their lances they charge 
 back the tumultuous Romans, who press around in their 
 strong agony, at least to gather up a handful of the 
 precious ashes of their Arnaud of Brescia. 
 
 The one English pope had gained the day; he had 
 conquered his people ; and now he proceeded to crown 
 the emperor whose filial hand had furnished him with 
 the sacrificial victim. Adrian IV., attended by his 
 court circle of cardinals, went to meet Frederic Bar- 
 barossa on the road to Viterbo. Viterbo, the old " city 
 of fine fountains and fair women," as sang the Italian 
 poets of the middle ages, springs from the roots of 
 Monte Cimino, and is memorable for its ancient Etrus- 
 can associations, as the spot where met the general as- 
 semblies of their cities. Here Frederic awaited Adrian. 
 They were well matched in pride, matched in strength 
 of will. There are tremendous interests at stake, 
 wrapped up in mere points of etiquette. Upon the 
 bare holding of a mule's stirrup hangs the independ- 
 ence of an empire, or the imperious assumption of a 
 hierarchy; peace or war, vassalage or suzerainty, bans, 
 interdicts, excommunications, hang upon that white 
 mule's stirrup! Frederic Barbarossa stands moveless 
 in the piazza before the cathedral, itself raised upon 
 the dust of the ancient temple of Hercules. What 
 will the tawny Hercules of the Swabian forests do 
 now ? What will the British priest ? The white mule 
 stops, but Kaiser Barbarossa stirs not a step on the 
 
88 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 pavement. Very well; then Adrian will neither ac- 
 cept nor bestow the kiss of peace, on which loving 
 salute everything in the future of each will depend. 
 For some time German and Briton look one another 
 full in the face. But there is a little knot of officials 
 from the papal chancery crowding around the emperor, 
 and whispering soft counsels into his unwilling ear: 
 "Lothaire did it, my lord; the Emperor Lothaire held 
 the stirrup. It means nothing ; 'tis but a gentle cour- 
 tesy ; no dignity is compromised." "Then, this I do as 
 a mere proof of Christian humility ; yet not to the pope, 
 but to the apostle whom he represents." And Frederic 
 seized the bridle, and held the stirrup while the tri- 
 umphant Adrian slowly alighted from his white mule. 
 The pope had conquered again. 
 
 Twenty miles nearer Rome, not far from Nepi, Fred- 
 eric encountered an imposing deputation from the Ro- 
 man senate. They had come to demand the confirma- 
 tion of the antique forms of government which they 
 had essayed to establish, and talked loftily of stipulat- 
 ing with the German emperor about the imperial dig- 
 nity. "I am your master by right of succession, as 
 the heir of Charlemagne and of Otho," was the reply 
 of the haughty kaiser. " They conquered you by their 
 valor; hence it is my business to prescribe laws, and 
 yours to obey them. If I do good to my subjects, I 
 but follow the impulse of my own heart; no duty 
 obliges, no oath binds me." And then Frederic 
 described to the envoys, with withering contempt, the 
 degeneracy that' had fallen upon their nation, and the 
 weakness that had succeeded to the strength of their 
 fathers. With this he loftily waved them from his 
 
STRUGGLING ROMANS. 89 
 
 presence. But the deputies found themselves followed 
 by a troop of a thousand horse, which entered with 
 them through the gates and took possession of a por- 
 tion of the city. It was that part of Rome where now 
 stands the world's grandest Christian temple, and the 
 splendid palace of the Vatican, with all its priceless 
 treasures. The Basilica which then stood on the site 
 of the old oratory raised by St. Anacletus in the year 
 90, to mark the spot where the Apostle St. Peter had 
 been laid, was built in 306 by the great Constantine ; 
 and it was here that on the morrow the golden diadem 
 of the empire was to be placed on the head of Fred- 
 eric by the hands of Adrian. The German horse also 
 took care to seize and barricade the bridge beneath the 
 gloomy walls of the Castle of St. Angelo, by which 
 pope and kaiser were on the following morning to pass 
 to the Basilica of St. Peter's. Groaning and chafing- 
 with suppressed indignation, the republican Romans 
 watched the great military procession as it wound into 
 Rome and wound out again on the morrow, in contempt- 
 uous indifference to their suffrages and their sanction. 
 Scarcely had the newly-crowned emperor left the city 
 on his return to his camp without the walls, when the 
 rage of the people overflowed all barriers, and they 
 fell upon the followers of that monarch who had so 
 lately delivered over to their stern spiritual lord the 
 well-beloved Arnaud of Brescia. The rumor of a con- 
 flict behind them reached the farther end of the great 
 military array, and Frederic Barbarossa instantly re- 
 traced his steps. All day long the Romans maintained 
 the struggle, in the streets, in their houses, under the 
 arches, on the bridges ; and at the close Frederic could 
 
 8* 
 
90 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 count a thousand dead Romans, and two hundred pris- 
 oners. And then Adrian having professed to cleanse 
 the stained hands of the ferocious German soldiery by 
 the mockery of a solemn absolution the triumphant 
 pope and the self-satisfied emperor retired to the 
 neighborhood of classic Tivoli Tivoli sung by spark- 
 ling Horace and by stately Virgil; the retreat of Nu- 
 midian Syphax; the scene of the splendid exile of 
 Palmyra's proud Orient Queen ; the haunted shrine of 
 the mysterious Tiburtine Sibyl! But soon Frederic's 
 ear caught the dissatisfied murmurs both of his soldiers 
 and of their captains, who, enervated by the summer 
 heat of a southern clime, so intolerable to his hardy 
 Germans, alike longed t? regain their homes in the 
 cool pine forests of Germany, or their pleasant man- 
 sions in cities whose walls were bathed by the fast roll- 
 ing Danube or the beloved and beautiful Rhine. And 
 so Frederic, in full career of conquest, was under the 
 humiliating necessity of seeing his army break up into 
 fragments, and disappear on every northward track. 
 More leisurely, and with a very firm step, though 
 stripped of his glittering array, did the Barbarossa him- 
 self leave Italy, after his twelve months' campaign, by 
 the same Valley of Trent through which he had 
 poured his legions down upon the land of the olive 
 and the vine. 
 
 Scarcely had Frederic Barbarossa turned his atten- 
 tion to his German afi'airs, when rumors came over the 
 mountains, to the efi'ect that the man whose stirrup he 
 had humbled himself to hold, in consideration of the 
 golden diadem which he was to place on his brows, had 
 already been bartering away several of the gems which 
 
LETTERS FROM THE POPE. 91 
 
 made that crown of empire precious. To William the 
 Norman, King of Sicily, the investiture not only of 
 Sicily, but of Naples and of Apulia, had been given by 
 Adrian. Other offenses soon arose. Some German 
 lords had laid their rude hands upon an archbishop 
 somewhere in the north, and put him under arrest. 
 The hierarchy was enraged at the sacrilege; and pres- 
 ently the Pope's nuncios appeared at Besan^on, where 
 Frederic was presiding over the Diet, bearing letters 
 from the Englishman which were worthy of Hildebrand 
 himself. "Your father and ours, the blessed Pope 
 Adrian, and the cardinals your brothers, salute you," 
 said the nuncios. It was not very cooling to the tem- 
 per or to the sanguineous complexion of Kaiser Bar- 
 barossa to be thus addressed; but when the document 
 itself was read, Frederic boiled over with uncontrol- 
 lable indignation. "We have accorded to thee the 
 crown imperial," so the words ran, "and we should not 
 have regretted conferring on thee a still greater hene- 
 fieium, if thou," etc. Now, that offensive^ word bene- 
 Jicium was the very kernel of the bitter nut. It 
 served to define the fief, or benefice, conferred by a 
 suzerain lord. There was a grand "flare-up" in^thfe 
 Diet when these words were read; for the Ger^n^h 
 electors sympathized in the rage of their master; -and 
 Frederic, rising in sore displeasure, commanded the 
 nuncios to leave his realm on the instant, without word 
 or letter to their master. 
 
 Again was the signal made for all the great vassals 
 of the empire to make ready for an Italian campaign. 
 Again every pass of the Alps was living with armed 
 men. Hungarians, Franconians, Burgundians, the 
 
92 FREDEEIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 people of the Rhine, and the feudal chiefs of Lorraine 
 and of Bohemia, broke the snows of the Great St. 
 Bernard, poured down upon the queenly Como, or 
 tramped heavily through the paths of the Tyrol, or 
 along the torn banks of the Ticino or the Adige. It 
 is not needful to retrace in detail the darkly-shaded 
 story of this second Italian campaign. But the same- 
 ness at least of the dismal history is broken by the 
 emperor's complete conquest over the Milanese. The 
 Milanese had renewed the unequal struggle with the 
 Barbarossa, with marvelous energy and spirit. But, 
 though they yielded not to force of arms, they suc- 
 cumbed before the deadly grip of hunger. From the 
 towers of their fair city they looked abroad, as the 
 traveler now looks from the glittering summits of 
 Milan's cathedral, built of marble so white that it 
 might have been quarried from the crystal mine of an 
 Alpine glacier : they looked abroad over the flat plains 
 of Lombardy, and far as eye could reach, the rich har- 
 vests of this wide garden-land were swept by the besom 
 of destruction. If the friendly peasants crept up to the 
 walls with their little offerings of food for the starving 
 city, they were seized and cruelly punished. And 
 then the eight consuls, and eight other cavaliers, yield- 
 ing to the cry of the perishing people, went forth to 
 present themselves before Frederic at Lodi, on the 1st 
 of March, 1162. With their swords in their hands, 
 they there surrendered the city to the discretion of 
 the emperor. This was not enough to appease the ire 
 of Kaiser Barbarossa. All Italy must know, by one 
 great overmastering example, that to oppose the will 
 of Frederic of Hohenstauffen, surnamed Barbarossa., 
 
MILAN IN TEARS. 93 
 
 was assuredly to reap the whirlwind of desolation. 
 This was to be the great lesson of his own teaching, 
 sternly taught, humbly learned, once and forever. A 
 few days after the act of official surrender, a long pro- 
 cession was seen approaching in funereal guise along 
 the road leading from Milan. This great army of sup- 
 pliants carried crosses in their hands as their only 
 weapon of defense, the simple armor of penitence. In 
 their midst was the sacred '^ carroccio,'' the symbolic 
 car of state, on whose lofty mast floated the broad 
 standard of the city and territory of Milan, surrounded 
 by a moving forest of inferior ensigns, drooping as 
 boughs bend before the hard breathing of an adverse 
 gale. As soon as they reached the imperial presence, 
 the mast that surmounted the '^carroccw' bowed, as 
 of its own accord, before the throne : and then one of 
 the consuls in most moving words pleaded for mercy 
 toward his country. The whole multitude of starving 
 penitents threw themselves on their knees, and raised 
 the cry, " Misericordia ! Perdono!" One of Frederic's 
 court seized a cross from the trembling hand of a sup- 
 pliant, and on his knees cried "Barmherzigkeit!" 
 ("Mercy !") The whole array of courtiers lost the dig- 
 nity of their stately self-command, and wept. Hard 
 old generals forgot their own wrong-doings, and wiped 
 their weather-worn cheeks with their mailed hands, 
 and begged for " Gnade ! Mitleid!" ("Grace! Com- 
 passion!") in voices that scarce knew how to articulate 
 so strange 'words. Frederic had not permitted his 
 empress to be present on this proving occasion ; but 
 the Milanese, seeing from a distance the windows of 
 her apartments, in a paroxysm of anguish flung their 
 
94 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 crosses toward her, that this shower of silent prayers 
 might plead for them. But not a single line relaxed 
 from its fixed tension on the face of the Barbarossa. 
 "Let them take the oath of fidelity;" and they took 
 the oath of fidelity. "Let them leave with me four 
 hundred hostages, and then let them retrace their 
 steps to Milan. I remove from them the ban of the 
 empire." This sounded well, as far as it went, but 
 nothing in the words revealed the future fate of Milan. 
 Then came the order that every man, woman, and 
 child should leave the beautiful city. Every one 
 obeyed this mysterious command. Some of the in- 
 habitants moved away to the neighboring cities ; many 
 lingered, with misgiving hearts, on the outside of the 
 walls, to await the emperor's approach, and by their 
 pitiful case to seek once more to move the Swabian's 
 heart. At last he came; it was the twenty-fifth of 
 March : and from the head of his conquering army he 
 pronounced the words: "Baze the City of Milan to its 
 very foundations; strew salt over the flattened soil; 
 and let the Milanese name be effaced from among the 
 names of living peoples !" It was done. Not only did 
 the German soldiers labor hard at the work of demoli- 
 tion, but the six divisions of the noble city were in- 
 trusted to the personal care of six neighboring States, 
 w^hose heart some old feud, some hidden jealousy, some 
 embalmed injury, had prepared for the true Italian 
 luxury of revenge. But the salt which was sown over 
 the level plain became the symbol of a fresh covenant, 
 and from the sepulcher of old Milan sprang not only a 
 new city, of rare beauty and power, but also that most 
 formidable confederacy, known by the name of the 
 
RIVAL POPES. 95 
 
 Lombard League, which in its turn coerced even Fred- 
 eric Barbarossa himself. 
 
 Frederic's passion for political knight-errantry found 
 him^much to do in his own Northern empire, as well 
 as among his fair fiefs on the sunny side of the Alpine 
 wall. The half-reclaimed Bohemians fell into muti- 
 nous disorders, and had to be suppressed. The Poles 
 thought to try their strength, and the Poles were con- 
 vinced that it was no trifling matter to provoke the 
 indignation of so stern and intrepid a hero as the Bar- 
 barossa. In the mean time, in the midst of the pro- 
 tracted struggle with the Milanese and the other rest- 
 less republics of Northern Italy, and a considerable 
 time before the City of Milan had fallen, the imperious 
 occupant of the papal chair, the English Adrian, had 
 died. There were two aspirants to the supreme dig- 
 nity, who divided the suffrages of the cardinals in con- 
 clave assembled. Neithei* faction would yield neither 
 would accept the other's pope; and consequently each 
 proclaimed its own spiritual favorite to the waiting 
 church. This was a bewildering position for her faith- 
 ful sons. There was Alexander III., supported by the 
 larger body of cardinals; there was Victor III., whom 
 Frederic took under his especial protection, and who 
 consequently had all Germany and half of Italy among 
 his clientage. The Church of Rome has enrolled the 
 former in her long list of legitimate popes, and has de- 
 nounced the favorite of Frederic as an anti-pope and 
 a schismatic. In this awkward position of affairs, the 
 rough foster-father of the schismatic pope thought it 
 advisable to call a council on his own secular authority, 
 to meet at his City of Pavia; and he summoned the 
 
96 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 rivals to appear before his throne, in order that he, as 
 Protector of the Church, might decide upon their com- 
 parative merits. Alexander, the legitimist, had not 
 found the chair as softly cushioned as he had antici- 
 pated. His rival, Victor, had caught him and shut 
 him up, without allowing him time to recline at his 
 ease, at all. And though his friends had rescued him 
 from captivity, he could not believe himself to be safe 
 in the metropolis of his ecclesiastical empire; there- 
 fore the vagrant Alexander wandered from city to city, 
 in sore need of a home. But when he found himself 
 summoned to appear before the secular head of the 
 empire, the old ^'esprit de corps'" sprang up in a 
 moment, and he haughtily replied, that the legitimate 
 successor of St. Peter was neither subject to kings nor 
 councils. Victor III., conscious that he stood on more 
 equivocal ground, presented himself at the council of 
 Pavia ; and so far conciliated Frederic and the bishops 
 who ranged themselves on his side, that his election 
 was proclaimed by them to be valid, that all other 
 election was superseded, and that to Victor III. was 
 undoubtedly due the. reverent obedience of Christen- 
 dom. And then Victor, together with the irregular 
 council of Pavia, having manufactured some mimic 
 thunders in their own private laboratory, launched the 
 thunderbolt of excommunication against him who un- 
 righteously called himself Pope Alexander III. This 
 explosive conduct was too much for the patience of the 
 legitimist; and he forthwith directed a tremendous 
 bolt, emanating from the true papal workshop, against 
 the head of the profane German emperor, while he 
 released all Frederic's subjects from the oath of fidelity 
 
THE COST OF WAR. 97 
 
 to their sovereign. Thus did pope and anti-pope 
 bandy excommunications from one to the other, to the 
 great scandal of the church at large. 
 
 In such conflicts as these, both spiritual and tempo- 
 ral, was passed the greater portion of Frederic's long 
 reign. And now the year 1176 was come. Twenty- 
 two years before this date had the German monarch 
 first directed the descent of his Northern legions upon 
 the glowing plains of the Milanese territory. Seven 
 formidable armies, gathered from the depths of his 
 German pine forests, or drawn by bugle-call from 
 those battlemented castles which grew out of the 
 crevices of rocky promontories overhanging the wind- 
 ing Rhine or the placid Moselle, had been lavished 
 upon his Italian wars. Half a million of Northern 
 soldiers had been expended. A river of life-blood 
 had flowed. And for what end this precious expendi- 
 ture? these great loans of life which he had raised? 
 these taxes and imposts paid in human souls, which 
 had flowed freely into his treasury whenever he be- 
 thought him to punish the insolence of a city, or to 
 bridle the pride of a pope ? Frederic Barbarossa was 
 made of firm materials, which might have been molded 
 into a magnificent man, into a veritable hero. But 
 his life had received at the outset a wrong dedication. 
 True, he had placed before his eyes some grand ideas 
 of natural justice, and of abstract truth and right, and 
 he unswervingly sought to follow the moral rules which 
 he had thrown into the form of a code. But the Gos- 
 pel's great law of love was to him unknown. Mercy 
 never wiped out a sentence which justice had written ; 
 and Frederic Barbarossa, with his matchless intrepidity, 
 
 9 
 
98 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 his constancy under misfortune, and his grand desire 
 to initiate a new reign of order upon a world of 
 wrongs, by first making a tabula rasa of society, 
 would have made a fine demi-god for a pagan world, 
 but made a very sorry Christian hero. Perhaps it 
 was but that faulty presentation of Christianity which 
 he saw before him in the Romish church, his false 
 teachers, his false code of laws, which made of Fred- 
 eric Barbarossa a splendid failure. 
 
 And now, in the year 1176, when he was fifty-five 
 years of age, a new experience opens upon the Barba- 
 rossa. He was utterly defeated but a few miles distant 
 from the spot where he had first reaped his great har- 
 vest of successes, and by the very Milanese people 
 whom he had set himself to chastise into a proper sense 
 of justice and right. This defeat was the bitter fruit 
 of the Lombard League; and the Lombard League had 
 sprung up from that field of salt where once had stood 
 the fair City of Milan. There is something singu- 
 larly retributive in the story, and its teaching is easily 
 understood. Thrown from his horse, in the thick of 
 the slain ; his imperial standard taken ; his body sought 
 eagerly among the dead; his empress wrapped in wid- 
 ow's weeds because of his supposed death ; abandoned 
 by his army, which was flying in frantic disorder 
 through the savage passes of the Alps such was the 
 result of the lost battle of Lignano! At last, alone, 
 humbled but not spirit-broken, Frederic walked into 
 the City of Pa via, days after his presumed death; and 
 Pavia was the sole city of Lombardy which had 
 remained faithful to its lord. It would seem that anti- 
 popes lived no longer than popes ; for Frederic's client, 
 
EXCO]!OIUNICATION. 99 
 
 Victor III., had been already succeeded by a Pas- 
 cal III., who was elected by the same interest; and he 
 again had made room by his death for a certain Calix- 
 tus III. Thus had Frederic sought to perpetuate the 
 schism, very possibly from a half-enlightened percep- 
 tion of the growing preponderance of Rome, and from 
 a desire to oppose some check to this great evil of the 
 Christian world. But he had not the power, perhaps 
 not the skill, to work his opposition pope in such 
 wise as to conquer Rome with her own weapons; and 
 he had, by his contumacious conduct, again brought 
 down upon his own defenseless head the withering 
 excommunications and terrible curses of the papacy. 
 They were very real things, temporally if not spirit- 
 ually those fearful denunciations not by any means 
 to be despised even by the proudest of unbelievers, or 
 the most scriptural of believers. All subjects were 
 released from the bonds of duty and from the oaths of 
 allegiance to a prince who was thus outlawed from 
 Christian society and from civil compacts. No terms 
 should be kept, no service rendered to the alien. 
 Power melted away ; his right hand fell as if paralyzed 
 by his side; the meanest criminal in his realm might 
 point at him the unrebuked finger of scorn ; the fiercest 
 rebel could defy his laws. He moved about, alone in 
 the crowd, and men avoided him as they would shun 
 the pestilence. He was marked by a stain upon his 
 brow which the waters of no "Abana and Pharpar" in 
 his broad realm could wash out, which no diamonds on 
 his coronet could conceal. It was of no avail to show 
 that the burning brand had not even scarred the 
 smoothness of the unconscious brows; that the hand 
 
100 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 could grasp a sword or wield a scepter as well as ever; 
 that the priestly "anathema maranatha" had found no 
 avenue wherehj it could reach the soul, or stop one 
 natural beat of the unscathed heart, which was still at 
 liberty to hold communion through the one Mediator, 
 by the one Spirit, with the one God and Father of 
 all ! This was indeed much ! It was everything spir- 
 itually, but not all temporally; for the monarch who 
 had this taint upon him might as well have been a beg- 
 gar, as respects all power to exact the conventional 
 rights of his position. And such was now the lofty 
 Frederic Barbarossa! It has been seen how his own 
 army melted away from his side on the plain of Lig- 
 nano; and his nearest friends believed that they saw, 
 in his misfortunes and their own, the force of a divine 
 punishment. Nothing remained to the lonely emperor 
 of the West but submission and peace. And so Fred- 
 eric dispatched to the self-complacent Pope Alexander, 
 the three archbishops of Worms, of Magdeburg, and 
 of Mayence. These envoys were received in full con- 
 sistory. But Alexander, conscious to the full that he 
 occupied the highest pinnacle of the church and of the 
 world, and aware of the advantages of his position, 
 carried himself in most lofty guise. When he discov- 
 ered, however, in secret conference, that the humbled 
 emperor had no new privileges to claim, no stipulations 
 to make, but simply that he entreated that the inter- 
 dict should be removed, (not only from himself, but also 
 from such prelates as had at first espoused his cause,) 
 the road to reconciliation became clearer. On the 
 one hand, Frederic must renounce the line of anti- 
 popes whom his fiat had created, and abjure the 
 
A LEGEND. 101 
 
 schism which he had introduced into the church; on 
 the other, that invisible cloud which was blighting the 
 empire should be " spirited away" beyond the horizon. 
 These important preliminaries settled, a congress was 
 agreed upon, where all other difficulties were to be 
 arranged. 
 
 Though the pope was exposed to the buffetings of a 
 rude storm, on his way to Venice to keep tryst with 
 the emp'eror, yet neither was his pride chastened, nor 
 were his pretensions lowered. He was on board a 
 Sicilian galley together with the embassadors whom 
 the king of Sicily was dispatching to the congress; 
 and they were all flung upon the Dalmatian coast, at 
 Zara, a little sea-port, which had never before been 
 blessed with the presence of a pope. A legend has 
 hence sprung up, to the effect that his holiness, finding 
 himself "flotsam or jetsam," "waif or straif," and in 
 peril of being claimed by "the lord of the manor," 
 did work in disguise as a gardener, or some said as a 
 scullion, and others again as a very humble priest. 
 The glowing pencils of the Venetian school of art 
 have largely availed themselves of this dramatic story ; 
 and the magnificent council-chamber of the republic is 
 living with the storied picture of how the Doge Ziani 
 and the Venetian senate discovered the masquerading 
 pope, and carried him off in reverent triumph. At 
 length the congress was opened, in the middle of May 
 in this same year 1177, in that beautiful city of the 
 sea, moored amid the soft ripple of the waves, which 
 the traveler still looks upon with wondering delight, 
 and doubtfully asks, "Is this a dream?" Thither 
 came, in galleys and light barges from the mainland, 
 
 9* 
 
102 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 the German princes and the Lombard prelates, the 
 representatives of cities and the embassadors of kings. 
 There were long pleadings on either part; difficulties 
 innumerable to be smoothed; niceties of language to 
 be considered, and delicacies of feeling to be touched 
 with a tender hand. So slowly did matters proceed, 
 that Frederic, who had been awaiting the march of 
 events at a summer palace at Ravenna, asked the 
 pope's permission to draw nearer to the scene of 
 diplomatic complications. Negotiations mended their 
 pace as soon as the firm foot of the emperor was 
 planted even upon the pavement of Chiozza, fifteen 
 miles distant from the wedded queen of the Adriatic ; 
 and in the Ides of July, the Count Henry of Dessau, 
 on the part of Frederic and in his name, swore a per- 
 petual peace with the church, a truce of six years with 
 the Lombard cities, and a peace of fifteen years with 
 the Norman King of Sicily. And then the imperious 
 pontifi" vouchsafed to give a signal that the penitent 
 might appear in his presence. Six Venetian galleys 
 were dispatched to Chiozza, to bring the emperor to 
 the Piazza of St. Mark. In the vestibule of the 
 resplendent orient temple which gives its name to the 
 piazza, upon a pavement of precious stones, stood 
 Pope Alexander III., surrounded by the Sicilian 
 embassadors, the representatives of the Lombard 
 cities, and his own spiritual court. Presently- Frederic 
 ascended the landing-steps, and advanced, conducted 
 by the Doge Sebastiano Ziani, the patriarch, the clergy, 
 and the people of Venice. His step was still stately, 
 and his figure unbowed by years or troubles. As 
 soon as he saw the haughty head of his church, he 
 
THE RECONCILIATION. 103 
 
 threw away his royal mantle, prostrated himself on 
 the pavement, and kissed the feet of the pontiff. It 
 is generally believed that the insolent churchman then 
 placed his foot upon the neck of the prostrate Frederic, 
 at the same time pronouncing audibly the words of the 
 psalm, " Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder !" 
 And then he bestowed upon the imperial penitent the 
 kiss of peace, and signified that he delivered him body 
 and soul from the awful sentence of excommunica- 
 tion that rested upon him, that he and his people were 
 restored to spiritual privileges and temporal rights, 
 and that they were reconciled, one to the other the 
 father to the son, the son to the father. A lozenge of 
 red marble, let into the pavement of St. Mark's, shows 
 the identical spot where the proud Barbarossa may be 
 said to have sufi*ered martyrdom. Pope and kaiser 
 then together passed into the dimly-lighted interior of 
 the gorgeous temple, while a triumphant burst of voices 
 chanted a glad "Te Deum." But Frederic's torture 
 was not yet over. He must hold the stirrup for his 
 master, while he leisurely settled himself upon his 
 horse before the portico of St. Mark. And then 
 Frederic Barbarossa bade adieu to the pontiff and to 
 the fair city of his humiliation, then traversing Italy 
 to Genoa, regained his own German forests and castles 
 by the pass of Mont Cenis. 
 
 When the six years' truce with the Lombard cities 
 drew near to its end, it was made the basis of the 
 famous treaty of Constance, which was added to the 
 body of Roman law, and whose provisions long con- 
 tinued to be the foundation of Italian rights. Thus 
 did Frederic's great struggle with the Italian republics 
 
104 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 and with the church of Rome terminate in lost battles 
 with each opponent, after a life-long campaign. Once 
 more did Frederic Barbarossa descend into Italy, when 
 he came in peace and in prosperity to negotiate a mar- 
 riage between his son Henry and Constance, the nearest 
 heir of the Norman King of the Two Sicihes. But 
 the shadows of evening were now gathering thick 
 around the aged emperor of the West. 
 
 A great grief had at this time newly fallen upon 
 Christendom, and Christian men were crossing them- 
 selves in sore dismay. The great news that Saladin 
 had taken Jerusalem, and that the Christian king, Gui 
 de Lusignan, was a prisoner in his hands, fell like a 
 thunderbolt upon the kingdoms of the West. They 
 had placed a fellow-believer with his garrison of Chris- 
 tian forces on the Mount of the Holy City, on the 
 very outworks of Christendom, and- forgetting him 
 while they quarreled every man with his neighbor at 
 home, they had left him alone to his fate. And now 
 they heard that a terrible conqueror had arisen, who 
 had swept onward in an unbroken career of victory; 
 that, with the exception of Tyre, Antioch, and Trip- 
 oli, the Holy Land lay prostrate beneath his feet, and 
 that even the Holy Sepulcher was now polluted by the 
 presence of the Moslem. A passionate outburst of 
 indignant sorrow sounded throughout the West. As 
 if with one accord, the peoples of Europe lifted up 
 their voice and wept. Rarely, if ever beside, has such 
 oneness of feeling pervaded a whole continent; for 
 they thought they had been faithless to their high 
 charge as sentinels upon the Holy Mount, as watchers 
 beside the tomb. It was now the year 1188, and Frederic 
 
BOUND FOR PALESTINE. 105 
 
 Barbarossa sat in Diet at Mentz, in order to advise 
 with the States of the empire, and with the rulers of 
 Europe at large, about the way in which this shame 
 was to be wiped out. There was at this time a great 
 shaking of hands throughout Europe, and an eager 
 exchange of the kiss of peace; because all the quar- 
 relers felt that they must forgive and forget at home, 
 in order to hold hands abroad for mutual support on 
 the burning strand of the East. England and France 
 signed a peace, and took vows to pass into Palestine; 
 Venice and the King of Hungary exchanged the sym- 
 bols of reconciliation over their Dalmatian dispute; 
 and two message-bearers from Clement III., who was 
 then tenant, for a few months, of the papal chair, 
 awakened such profound emotion in the breast of the 
 old emperor himself, that he arose and said, "/ take 
 the cross!" This was a joyful word for Europe. He 
 was not far from seventy years of age; but his in- 
 trepid bravery was so proven, his faithfulness to his 
 engagements so trustworthy, his constancy under mis- 
 fortune so remarkable, and his uprightness (according 
 to his own hard, unbending standard of truth and jus- 
 tice) so distinguished, that all men felt, if Frederic 
 Barbarossa took the cross and went on armed pilgrim- 
 age, there was indeed hope of rescuing the shrine of 
 their adoring reverence from the hold of the Misbe- 
 liever. "The grand old Kaiser Barbarossa makes 
 ready for Palestine!" This was the word of congratu- 
 lation that ran through 6very court, every camp, every 
 market-place and household gathering in the land. 
 "Who is the craven that will 'bide at home if the old 
 kaiser goes?" These were the next words. The 
 
106 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 kaiser's son, Frederic, and the most brilliant of his 
 nobles, took the cross forthwith. "Ratisbon is the 
 rendezvous," was signaled over the land; and such 
 vast crowds flocked to his standard, that Frederic Bar- 
 barossa was obliged to decree that no individual should 
 attempt to go on crusade who had not three marks of 
 silver in his wallet. This regulation was devised in 
 order to strain off all indigent adventurers from the 
 perilous enterprise. And yet, after the general sifting 
 which was caused by this decree, 150,000 well-appointed 
 men kept muster near Ratisbon. The cavalry alone 
 formed a splendid body of 30,000 men. And now the 
 old emperor, at the head of his enthusiastic army, 
 crossed Hungary and Bulgaria, and wintered at Adri- 
 anople, in order to enter upon his great struggle with 
 the first favoring promise of spring. Gallipoli was 
 reached in the month of March, 1190, while Philip 
 Augustus of France and our own lion-hearted king took 
 the way of the sea. But the Barbarossa had already 
 come to blows with the Greek emperor, Isaac Angelus, 
 whom the skillful Saladin had found means to detach 
 from the general interests of the Crusaders. Frederic, 
 as might be divined, made brief work with the double- 
 minded Isaac Angelus, beat his Greeks, who had 
 thought to take him by surprise, and presently had 
 the Greek emperor at his feet begging for peace. But 
 the terror of his name soon spread from Greek to 
 Moslem; and scarcely had he passed the Hellespont 
 when he subdued the Sultan of Iconium, who attempted 
 to stem his course, burned his capital, crossed over the 
 Taurus Mountains, and reached the Armenian plains, 
 where he was joyfully hailed by Christians and friends. 
 
MEMORIES OF TARSUS. 107 
 
 The old emperor was now not far from Tarsus on the 
 cold River Cjdnus. When Cyrus lived, the classic 
 Cydnus ran through the magnificent City of Tarsus; 
 but now it is about half a mile distant from the walls. 
 Memories, classic, romantic, and scriptural, still loiter 
 about the place; memories of Sardanapalus, king of 
 Assyria; of Julius Caesar, whose tarriance for awhile 
 gave to the city the name of Juliopolis; of Mark An- 
 tony and his first interview with the syren queen, Cleo- 
 patra; memories of Haroun-al-Raschid and his wall, 
 and of Bajazet with his castle, whose ruins still sur- 
 vive; but, above all, memories of a greater than any 
 of these, the mighty Apostle of the Gentiles, "Saul 
 of Tarsus," "a citizen of no mean city." In the 
 burial-ground of a small church, which bears evidences 
 of high antiquity, stands an ancestral tree, which tra- 
 dition claims to have been planted by St. Paul's own 
 hands. It was at some spot in this memorable neigh- 
 borhood, though the exact spot may not now be known, 
 that the aged emperor, Frederic Barbarossa, wearied 
 with long marchings under an Eastern sun, thought to 
 renew his strength by the luxury of a bathe in the 
 Cydnus. Another emperor before him had sought the 
 like refreshment in the same stream, and so intense 
 was the chill of this river that it had well-nigh cost 
 him his life. Frederic took no warning, and, expert 
 swimmer as he knew himself to be, he plunged boldly 
 into the stream. It was icy cold; the chill struck to 
 'the heart of the brave old man; apoplexy instantly 
 followed, and he died there upon the shore of the his- 
 toric river to the great joy of the Moslem, to the 
 great grief of Europe, to the sorrowful regret even of 
 
108 FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. 
 
 those Lombard cities, which had proved the weight of 
 his hand in war, but which now knew the warmth of its 
 grasp in peace. 
 
 If it be allowable to wind up "an owre true tale" of 
 history with a scrap of a romantic legend, there is 
 something more to be told. They say in Germany of 
 their grand old Kaiser Barbarossa as the Britons said 
 of their Arthur, as they fondly said of their Alfred, 
 and as an imaginative people has often said of a hero 
 whom they could ill spare, "He will come again; he is 
 not dead, but awaiting the hour of need!" They say 
 that a German peasant, once wandering into a long 
 and winding cavern in the Salzburg Hills, caught a 
 glimpse of the old monarch in the midst of his trance 
 of ages. He was sitting at a stone table, his white 
 beard flowing on the ground, like the unraveled threads 
 of a silvery cataract they had passed through the 
 stony table on which he leaned. But slowly raising 
 his head, he asked the man the age of the worJd and 
 the number of the century. ^'Noch nicht!'' and he 
 settled himself again to his dream, for the hour had 
 not yet struck. 
 
BROTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 10 
 
BEOTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 It has been the boast of politic Rome that she has 
 allowed space within her borders for the development 
 of individual character, and for the impulses of per- 
 sonal activity. So that the unity in the grand leading 
 dogmas remain unbroken ; so that the concession of 
 submission to the authority of the church be made by 
 the eccentric enthusiast ^his course may be as erratic 
 as that of the comet, or as startling as the flight of the 
 meteor. If the deferential bow to the representative 
 of St. Peter be conceded, the new impulse may spend 
 itself in burrowing like a mole in the lonely heart of 
 the desert, in preaching poverty and mortification to 
 weeping multitudes, or in piling splendid gifts on the 
 altar of her magnificent worship. The breast of Hilde- 
 brand, the monk of Clugni, is burning with the vehe- 
 ment fevers of ambition: the church recognizes the 
 strength that lies in his indomitable will, turns his 
 personal aspirations into fervent esprit de corps, and 
 confides her present and future interests to the strong 
 hand of her champion in the person of Gregory VII. 
 A young enthusiast, amid the purple hills of TJmbria, 
 renounces the fascinations of worldly wealth, and vows 
 the vow of eternal poverty: the Romish church will 
 not suffer the young ascetic to lead off a fresh sect into 
 
 (111) 
 
112 BROTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 the wilderness, but she places her own consecrated 
 banner in his eager hand, and bids him preach repent- 
 ance and self-denial to a breathless multitude, as her 
 own well-beloved "St. Francis of Assisi." Thus it 
 has been all through the long chronicles of her history. 
 If she can discover in any child, however eccentric 
 may be his character, the one saving element of un- 
 questioning obedience to her rule, she forthwith en- 
 dows him with her own delegated authority, and sends 
 him out into the world to beat up for raw recruits and 
 to enlist undisciplined volunteers. Her outlaws have 
 been those who have doubtfully asked to see her own 
 credentials, or who have dared to seek out for them- 
 selves the principles of their faith in the revealed Word 
 of God, rather than in the decrees of councils or the 
 edicts of popes. 
 
 Amid the singular groupings which these irregular 
 forces of the Romish church present, there is one re- 
 markable figure with which the English eye is much 
 less familiar than the force of its outlines and the bold- 
 ness of its attitude deserve. In order to obtain a 
 nearer view of this striking object, a stand-point may 
 be made of one of those beautiful hills which bound the 
 plain that spreads in glowing luxuriance around the 
 Lombard City of Vicenza. More than six centuries 
 of past time must be counted before we arrive at 
 the right era. It is about the year 1233. Wars and 
 rumors of wars are echoing shrill and sharp from the 
 whole circuit of purple mountains which melt into the 
 clear blue of the horizon. The notes of preparation 
 or the clamors of conflict are ringing from the Euga- 
 nean hills on the east to the silvery gray mountains of 
 
MUTTERINGS OF WAR. 113 
 
 Friuli, which are dying off into the distant west. The 
 vine-clad Yicentine heights take up the wild sounds 
 which are flung from the hills of the Este; and the 
 cordon of war is completed by the reverberations from 
 the retiring Alps of the north. There are wars which 
 have sprung out of the rivalship between the Emperor 
 Frederic II. and Otho IV. There are the burning 
 jealousies between the Lombard cities and the power- 
 ful nobles who are ever watching their opportunities 
 from the bastions of the neighboring castles. There 
 are the undying feuds among the great lords them- 
 selves; and there are the fierce struggles between 
 opposing factions within the fortified towns, forever 
 hateful and hating one another. There are the heart- 
 burnings created by the withering excommunication 
 pronounced against Frederic by the infuriate pope, 
 because, arrested in his course by sickness, he had not 
 set forth on crusade against the infidel on the prede- 
 termined day. There is the renewal of the Lombard 
 League in the heart of all these disturbances; and 
 that league between the cities is taken under the special 
 protection of the pope, Gregory IX., in order that it 
 may be worked as a powerful machine against the con- 
 tumacious emperor. It is confusing only to count up 
 these various distractions. When the charmed traveler 
 now visits the scene, laughing with almost tropical luxu- 
 riance, he finds it difficult to believe in the reign of 
 past disorder. The roads which have replaced the old 
 Via Emilia, are bordered with mulberry-trees laced 
 together with festooned vines. The tulip-tree hangs 
 out its handsome blossoms over the way, and the rich 
 trumpet flowers of the crimson bignonia droop over the 
 
 10* 
 
114 BROTHEK JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 "walls of the abounding villas. Nx)ble avenues of plane- 
 trees point the way to off-lying towns; and hedges of 
 rare exotics inclose the splendid villas with which Pal- 
 ladio enriched his native city. Within the city itself 
 many magnificent palaces preserve the name of the 
 same skillful architect ; and there, too, stand the twin 
 pillars that Venice loved to plant in every city, which 
 "the lion of St. Mark" had once struck with his broad 
 paw. The Bacchiglione, which washes the stately old 
 city, is one of the few Italian rivers that run clear and 
 sparkling to the sun. It is a foamy, petulent stream, 
 and in its excited moments its passion is uncontrollable. 
 Now look again through the windows of the past, 
 and see Yicenza as it was in the thirteenth century. 
 There is a Dominican monk meditating in his cell on 
 the distractions of the times and the miseries of the 
 people. He fancies that the air is full of the sobs of 
 the suffering and the wails of the oppressed. Would 
 that he could do something to heal the wounds of the 
 people! But what is one against a multitude? He 
 would be but as a pebble in the bed of the roaring 
 Bacchiglione, utterly powerless to stem its furious 
 course. He will try the might of love : the strength 
 that lies in that last appeal. Whether they will hear, 
 or whether they will forbear, he will exhort the mad- 
 dened factions "to love as brethren, to be pitiful, to 
 be courteous." The impulse is so strong upon him, 
 that "Brother John of Vicenza" leaves his cell, and 
 goes forth into the cities and plains of Lombardy, to 
 bind up the sores of the bleeding people. He has no 
 great breadth of understanding ; no clear appreciation 
 of gospel truth ; he is bound to his church by the usual 
 
THE SEALED FOUNTAIN OF ELOQUENCE. 115 
 
 narrowing bonds of subserviency, and can only see one 
 small section of a subject at a time. But into this one 
 division of the truth he throws the whole power of a 
 fervent nature. The fire is glowing in his breast, and 
 his lips are burning to speak. He begins his preaching 
 at Bologna. The passers-by are arrested by his thrill- 
 ing words. A crowd of citizens gathers round him. 
 There is an earnestness in his tone, a light in his eye, 
 an abandonment in his manner, which convince the 
 coolest observer that "Brother John" is at least sin- 
 cere ; and an earnest sincerity is a fruit-bearing thing 
 it dbes not remain alone, but it speedily begets the 
 ready answer of sympathy. Let an eloquent man 
 firmly believe in his own mission, and a crowd of fellow- 
 believers will soon gather about him. But "Brother 
 John" had never suspected that within him lay, hitherto 
 sealed up in silence, a fountain of eloquence suflBcient 
 to flood a whole country, and to drown all opposition. 
 From this mysterious well he is beginning to draw, on 
 this eventful day of the year 1233, in the ancient City 
 of Bologna. His mouth is like the curved lip of one 
 of those marble Italian fountains, over whose sculptured 
 edge leaps the live stream in a gush of freshness ; or 
 else, in obedience to the changing pulse of nature, slips 
 gently over, in cool and noiseless lapse. The stream 
 is leaping like a torrent now! and the ardent "Frate 
 Giovanni" is carried away in the flood of his own mar- 
 velous eloquenc^ The rumor that a great preacher 
 had arisen, and was forbidding the people to bite and 
 devour one another, spreads through the neighboring 
 villages, and rings along the purple steeps of the 
 Apennines. The peasants leave their trellised vines 
 
116 BROTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 and their mulberries, and hurry into Bologna. There 
 they see the municipal soldiers, and the men-at-arms 
 of the nobles, hemming the preacher round with a living 
 belt of eager faces. They are all with one accord en- 
 rolling themselves under his banner of love, and are 
 ready to fulfill his every commission, even at the pre- 
 cious cost of all their cherished revenges and life-long 
 hatreds. The vast crowd sways to and fro at his will ; 
 and see, here come the magistrates of the republic, 
 bearing the statutes of the city, which they lay at his 
 feet, praying that "the blessed Brother John of Yi- 
 cenza" will remodel them in accordance with "tile new 
 commandment, that they should love one another." 
 He boldly strikes oiit of the statute-book every element 
 which he thinks may serve as fuel for old enmities and 
 new rivalships. 
 
 Bologna is pacified: and Brother John moves on 
 to Padua "Padova la Forte," as the Italians love 
 to call it, though already deserving the loftier name of 
 "the learned," because of its rising university. His 
 name and his fame precede him, and a long array of 
 municipal authorities advances beyond the gates of the 
 city to meet him. In the midst of the procession 
 appears the '' carroceio^'' a sort of triumphal car, 
 which symbolized the power of the State in each of the 
 Italian republics of the middle ages. The car stops ; 
 the magistrates approach the poor Dominican monk, 
 constrain him to mount the almost sacred vehicle, and 
 the peaceful conqueror enters another subject city in 
 triumph. Here similar crowds press around him, hang 
 on his words, lay down all their old difi"erences at his 
 feet, whether public feuds or private animosities, and 
 
THE CRUSHING OUT OF REVENGE. 117 
 
 eagerly bring forth the statutes, that he might wipe 
 from their pages all that could offend. As he had 
 done at Bologna, so did he at "Padua the Strong." 
 So did he also at Feltre, at Belluno, and at Treviso. 
 
 But, besides these public exhortations, he has a 
 series of private conferences to hold with the great 
 lords, who are watching this astounding turn in the 
 tide of affairs, from the jealous towers of their fortified 
 castles. These were calls of no very safe or pleasant 
 a character; but the bannered hall of the haughty 
 marquis or of the fierce count is the same to " Brother 
 John" as the council-chamber of the republican city. 
 He soon has his plumed and mailed hosts at his feet : 
 they make him the arbiter of their hereditary feuds 
 and their personal quarrels ; and the simple Dominican 
 crushes out with his sandaled foot the fiendish life of 
 the vendetta* which commonly descends as a cherished 
 heir-loom from father to son. The same extraordinary 
 success awaits the "Frate" at Verona, proudly standing 
 on its rushing River Adige "Verona la Degna," (" the 
 worthy,") according to the fond name given to their 
 city by its people. Even in this year, 1233, it was the 
 old city of Verona for there were Roman remains, a 
 thousand years of age, standing amid the hot and eager 
 life of the thoroughfares; and there they still stand. 
 The great family of La Scala, (or Scaliger,) which was 
 to become so powerful in Verona as to claim for them- 
 selves a broad page in history, had already struck its 
 root for at least two hundred years in the soil; and 
 
 * Vendetta, revenge. Practically to carry out this principle was 
 looked upon as a family duty. 
 
118 BROTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 we must suppose that some of the rising members of 
 this remarkable house were among the crowds which 
 came to lay down their enmities at the feet of the elo- 
 quent preacher. The same extraordinary scene is here 
 enacted as in the sister republics ; and the Dominican 
 monk is empowered to rescind old laws and to make 
 new ones, for the more peaceable government of the 
 State. Mantua does the same; so does Brescia; and 
 now the circle of his mysterious influence is completed, 
 by the triumphant establishment of "Brother John's" 
 power in his own City of Vicenza. One would expect 
 the magic ring to break here, if anywhere: but no; 
 Vicenza is his, and the reign of love is established all 
 around him. The reign of love? How long will it 
 last? But we must not anticipate the winding up of 
 this singular history. 
 
 Having thus finished his triumphant progress, the 
 monk John convokes a solemn assembly, which is to 
 meet on the twenty-eighth of August in the succeed- 
 ing year, three miles from Verona, where spreads the 
 inviting plain of Paquara, on the luxuriant borders of 
 the River Adige. Factions and feuds sleep all through 
 the winter ; surely they will awake under the stimulat- 
 ing heats of summer ? No ! they are slumbering still ! 
 The people are loving like brethren, and only rouse up 
 to keep the grand jubilee of Paquara! The popula-' 
 tions of some twenty rival States pour out to keep the 
 tryst of reconciliation. Verona, Mantua, Padua, Bres- 
 cia, and John's own Vicenza, are there; Venice is 
 represented; Ferrara, Reggio, Modena, Treviso, Par- 
 ma, Bologna, all have their numerous delegates. The 
 patriarch of Aquileia is present, and so are the bish- 
 
THE PULPIT ON THE FIELD OF PAQUARA. 
 
 "And now begins one of the most extraordinary scenes in all history. A contemporary 
 historian states that more than 400,000 people were gathered together on the plain." 
 Page 118. 
 
THE REIGN OF LOVE. 119 
 
 ops of nine of the leading cities, the little republics 
 sending their sacred carroccios to the rendezvous, in 
 order to give full official significance to the acts of the 
 assembly. More than this; here come the haughty 
 lords of Romano and the Marquis of Este, riding at 
 the head of their trained vassals, and spreading their 
 proud standards to the breeze. A contemporary histo- 
 rian, Parisio di Cereta, states that more than 400,000 
 people were gathered together on the plain ; but Tira- 
 boschi, as quoted by Sismondi, considerably reduces 
 the number. And now begins one of the most extraor- 
 dinary scenes in all history, the details of which it 
 would be difficult to credit, were it not for the respectabil- 
 ity of the various Italian historians who have preserved 
 the records of the day. The monk of Vicenza had 
 erected a lofty pulpit in the midst of the plain; from 
 thence his clear ringing voice, pitched with perfect 
 skill, so as to command as wide a circle of hearers as 
 possible, appears to penetrate almost the whole of this 
 vast host. His text is preserved, and it is this: "Peace 
 I leave with you, my peace I give unto you." His 
 eloquence on this the crowning day of his life is as liv- 
 ing fire. When he depicts the horrors and the miseries 
 of war, it is like nothing less than a stream of flowing 
 lava, scorching up the souls of his breathless hearers. 
 Then, changing his tone, he melts all hearts by describing 
 the peaceful fruits of righteousness. And now, gather- 
 ing fresh power, he parades the sanction and authority 
 of the papal see, with which he is directly arrayed by 
 letters from Gregory IX. himself. Then, " in the name 
 of God and of the church," he commands the Lombard 
 States to renounce all their enmities forever, and from 
 
120 BROTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 his lofty seat he dictates a "treaty of universal recon- 
 ciliation." And lastly, Rome-like, he seals the act of 
 mutual reconciliation by denouncing withering curses, 
 temporal and spiritual, on whomsoever in time to come 
 shall dare to break the conditions of the general peace ; 
 the soul of that profane person is devoted to everlast- 
 ing misery, his harvests to destruction, his flocks and 
 herds to mortal contagion, his vines to perpetual blight 
 and barrenness. Muratori has preserved one of these 
 acts of pacification, w^hose conditions are little more 
 than the reciprocal pardon of wrongs. As a symbol of 
 peace, the Brother John then insists on the betrothal 
 of the daughter of Albcric, one of the haughty lords 
 of Romano, with the stern Marquis of Este; and with 
 this expressive sign of friendship the brilliant assembly 
 of Paquara dispersed, the citizens returning with joy 
 to their peaceful homes, the nobles winding their way 
 back to their quiet fortresses. 
 
 Thus far the mission of this remarkable man was 
 beautifully worked out, as far as it went. There was 
 something strangely foreign to the fierce hour and to 
 the hating people in the gentle message which he deliv- 
 ered from lips of such sweet persuasion, preaching 
 peace and brothers' love to devouring factions, moving 
 about and pleading with something like gospel author- 
 ity between the bristling hosts of contending armies, 
 constraining the mailed hands of enemies to clasp each 
 other with the thrilling pressure of reconciliation, and 
 rival to fall upon the neck of rival with the irresistible 
 impulse of new-born friendship. But to man, power, 
 even the power over hearts, is an intoxicating thing, 
 unless he be kept humble by the pure doctrines of 
 
THE DESCENT. 121 
 
 Christianity, and the balance be preserved in his mind 
 by divine grace. John of Vicenza now proved himself 
 to be very human, by imbibing the poison without turn- 
 ing to the antidote. The lesson marked by the further 
 steps in his career is so teaching, that it must by no 
 means be withheld. His honorable career culminated 
 on the plain of Paquara ; and on the evening of that 
 day commenced the decline which ended in the fall. 
 
 He returns to his own City of Vicenza, demands 
 the concession of absolute power over the little State, 
 and, monk as he is, absurdly insists upon being en- 
 dowed with the secular titles of "Duke" and " Count." 
 The beguiled people put great faith in his power to 
 reform all abuses, and to initiate a golden age of hap- 
 piness, justice, and peace. But no : the results disap- 
 point expectation. The restless cowled lord of Vicenza 
 goes on to Verona, and is there also endowed with irre- 
 sponsible power by his own arrogant demand. He is fill- 
 ing the neighboring castles with armed garrisons, exact- 
 ing hostages from those factions which he cannot trust, 
 promulgating novel edicts at will, and actually burning 
 in the public square of Verona no less than sixty here- 
 tics, whom he has himself condemned to this horrible 
 fate! Is this the gentle apostle of love? the meek 
 missionary of peace ? Where is the consistency of the 
 Christian ? Volatile as ether, it has evaporated in the 
 vulgar intoxication of vanity! This is one-sided 
 Christianity, truly. Brother John can excuse a sin- 
 ner, but he cannot forgive a saint. The saints must 
 burn, because, daring to think for themselves, they 
 have opened their hearts to the truths which have crept 
 over the steep sides of the Alps from the hidden val- 
 
 11 
 
122 BROTHER JOHN OF VICENZA. 
 
 leys of the Albigenses. Those condemned heretics 
 belong to the best families of Verona. 
 
 While theso miserable scenes are enacting in the 
 neighboring city, his own people, the Vicentians, are 
 beginning to rebel against the capricious rule of " Count 
 John." Padua is also rent with disaffection and jeal- 
 ousy. There is a "Brother Jordan" there. Prior of 
 St. Benedict, who cannot calmly see all secular power 
 gathered into the hand of one man; and so "Brother 
 Jordan" determines to supplant "Brother John." The 
 latter hastily collects some troops, and hurries to 
 Vicenza. He recovers the municipal palace, and gives 
 it over to pillage. But the Paduan troops pour into 
 his seditious city, overcome his followers, and throw the 
 great pacificator himself into prison. That turning of 
 the lock upon "Brother John" effectually destroys the 
 prestige of his name. He is only a factious monk 
 now; his matchless oratory is silenced; his eloquent 
 lips are sealed; his wondrous mission has shriveled 
 up into the narrow dimensions of a dungeon cell, whose 
 door can only be unbarred at the powerful remon- 
 strance of the pope. And then the "fallen angel" 
 creeps out, and glides away to hide his dishonored head 
 behind some compassionate screen at Bologna. The 
 crop of "serpents' teeth," whose harvest had only been 
 delayed for a brief space, springs up again all over the 
 plains of Lombardy; and the lesson remains upon our 
 hearts, that amiable impulse is but a sorry substitute 
 for sound principle, and that sweet sentiment is little 
 worth unless it be based on pure Scripture doctrine. 
 "Brother John" had no right to borrow the text which 
 sounded from the field-pulpit of Paquara: "Peace I 
 leave with you, my peace I give unto you." 
 
NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
NORTHERN LIGHTS 
 
 In the year 1519, six hostages, representing the 
 first families of Sweden, are pining in the dark dun- 
 geons of the Castle of Copenhagen. Several of them 
 are dying, inch by inch, and day by day; for, free- 
 born sons of the North as they are, a prison is to them 
 a tomb; prison fare is bitter as poison, and the sound 
 of the key, as it groans in the rusty lock, is drear as a 
 death-knell. It was treachery that flung them down 
 into these hideous depths of misery; for Christian II., 
 King of Denmark, who has worthily earned for himself 
 the name of the "Nero of the North," had broken the 
 agreement which he had made with Sten Sture, Regent 
 of Sweden, and had nevertheless carried off the six 
 noble hostages who were the pledge of amity betwixt 
 them. Five of them are drooping or dying; but one, 
 a youth in his nineteenth year, is still holding himself 
 erect. That lad is born a hero, and he knows it ! He 
 is keeping himself alive on hope. He eats every crumb 
 of the black rye-bread which is doled out to him in 
 order to keep up his strength for the future. He will 
 not crouch in the damp corners of his dungeon like his 
 heart-broken fellows; but he paces the wet flags for 
 exercise, to keep his limbs straight, and his muscles 
 supple, for the fulfillment of a great destiny. His 
 
 11* (125) 
 
126 NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 name is Gustavus Ericson Vasa. He is grand-nephew 
 of a former king of Sweden, Charles Canutson; and 
 his father Eric, whose name he bears, (Ericson,) is a 
 noble of the first rank. The "Nero" remembers that 
 he holds such a youth in his dungeon, and sends a mes- 
 senger down the slippery steps to offer great things, if 
 Gustavus Ericson will join his party. The boy stead- 
 fastly refuses. He loves his country ; and how can he 
 strike hand to hand with her savage oppressor ? Then 
 down comes another message-bearer, bringing dreadful 
 threats if he will not obey; but the courtier goes back 
 from prison to palace bearing the same reply. And 
 then Nero goes into a rage, and orders the bowstring 
 to be used as the ultimate argument. But the officer 
 who received the royal commission to assassinate the 
 brave boy in the dark of his dungeon humbly asks to 
 be excused, and sets forth such a good array of reasons 
 why it would be wiser policy not to kill the lad, that 
 Christian consents to keep him a close prisoner instead. 
 At last a Danish nobleman with a kindly countenance 
 comes to Gustavus, and says that he has obtained from 
 the king permission to undertake the charge of the im- 
 practicable young Swede, in order to convert him to a 
 better mind. But he also tells him that he has become 
 surety for his safety to the extent of 6000 crowns. 
 This communication somewhat takes ofi" the shine from 
 his brightening prospects, because it touches his honor, 
 and seems to bind his limbs against any attempt to 
 escape ; but it unbars his dungeon door, and Gustavus 
 gladly walks forth beside Banner, his generous deliv- 
 erer. 
 
 They go together to Banner's Castle of Calo, amid 
 
A NOBLE DROVER. 127 
 
 the heaths and sands of Jutland; and he is now 
 intrusted with a fair amount of personal freedom, while 
 favors and kindnesses are showered upon him in the 
 household of Banner. It would be a pleasant life 
 enough, hunting over the limestone moorlands, or 
 shooting in the beech-woods, or fishing in the silver 
 net-work of lakes, could Gustavus forget his country. 
 But he cannot. He determines to rescue her if he 
 can, and to settle afterward with his kind host about 
 the crowns. Now he is waving a farewell "I ride 
 to the forest;" and he rides for life and liberty! At 
 last he encounters a peasant: ** Change garments with 
 me; thine is the better bargain." He dismounts from 
 his horse ; and for three days he is on foot, traversing 
 pathless mountains or threading lonely by-ways in the 
 wilds. At last he sees the towers of Flensborg, and 
 presents himself, wayworn and footsore, before the 
 gate. Here there is a new peril; the governor may 
 detect the high-born fugitive through the thin mask of 
 his peasant garb. But here comes a wealthy Saxon 
 drover, conducting his fine Schleswig cattle toward 
 Lubeck. He joyfully hires himself to the cattle-dealer, 
 and, busied with his troublesome charge, enters Lubeck 
 in safety. He must have driven his oxen under that 
 remarkable "Holstein gate" which still presents to the 
 eye so beautiful a specimen of the quaint rich archi- 
 tecture of the fifteenth century. But Banner, seeing 
 that the young hunter returned not, is ofi" on his track : 
 "My friend and my crowns! my crowns and my 
 friend!" He cannot afford to lose them both; and he 
 searches until he finds the runaway in the free city of 
 Lubeck. Their meeting is not without its sharp re-. 
 
128 NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 proaches. But the critical position of the fine youth 
 helps out his gift of natural eloquence, and Banner 
 returns to his fortress of Calo, pacified by the promise 
 that his 6000 crowns shall be restored. " I have lost 
 the son of Eric!" said Banner, and Christian of Den- 
 mark is as much alarmed as he is transported with 
 rage. He sends out scouts, who hunt the land for the 
 missing prey; but all the while Gustavus is safe in 
 LUbeck. He makes a firm friend of the principal 
 ruler in the prosperous Hanse town, but can make 
 little way with the remaining members of the regency ; 
 and though he at last obtains a vessel, the treacherous 
 captain, instead of landing him at Stockholm, as young 
 Yasa had stipulated, puts him on shore at Kalmar, on 
 the bold coast of Sweden, just where it faces Oland. 
 But there is no rest for him in Kalmar, and not a 
 single friend will stand by his side. Worse than this, 
 the suspicious and oppressed people threaten to give 
 him up to their terrible conqueror, unless he speedily 
 relieve them of his presence. Christian's spies are 
 spread abroad over the land, at every turn of the 
 roads, at every corner of the streets, on every pier of 
 the harbors. Gustavus is in greater peril than when 
 he threaded the by-paths of Schleswig, w when he 
 drove his cattle from Flensborg to the '' Holstein gate," 
 or when he had tried to keep warmth and hope alive 
 by pacing the damp pavement of his Copenhagen cell. 
 There is a wagon, loaded with hay, lumbering 
 heavily along over the well- watched roads, and through 
 the very quarters of the Danish army. After long 
 travel, it stops at the gate of an old castle in Suder- 
 mania, belonging to the family of Vasa. The hay 
 
GUSTAVUS ENTERS HIS ANCESTRAL HALL. 129 
 
 heaves and falls asunder^ and a handsome youth in the 
 dress of a Swedish peasant leaps from the wagon, and 
 enters with firm step his own ancestral hall. He now 
 writes letters to his friends, and entreats them for love 
 of country, of home, of freedom, to join hands and to 
 break the belt of Danish forces which were beleaguer- 
 ing Stockholm, still held by Christina, the heroic 
 widow of Sten Sture. Cold answers come in reply : 
 no one will move; and young Gustavus Vasa is alone 
 in the land. And then he cautiously moved about 
 among the peasantry, asking if they "did not care for 
 freedom?" "Well! Freedom was a good thing; but 
 thee they had their herrings and salt under the rule 
 of King Christian ; and any stir would make matters 
 worse ; for peasants they were, and peasants they 
 would be, whoever were king." 
 
 In the mean time, the afikirs of his distracted coun- 
 try were becoming more and more hopelessly involved. 
 Sten Sture, the regent, was dead. He had been 
 allured into an ambush, and mortally wounded in the 
 struggle which ensued. Counsels were divided, and 
 there was no head in the land. The Danish Nero was 
 marching through the country with sword and fagot, 
 indulging his disposition by inflicting the most fright- 
 ful cruelties on the helpless people. The widow of 
 Sten Sture had been obliged to capitulate, and the 
 metropolis was now his. And then followed the cele- 
 brated tragedy of Stockholm. Christian had just been 
 crowned at the cathedral as king of the conquered 
 country, by the hands of the fierce Gustavus Trolle, 
 Archbishop of Upsal. That man was a monster of 
 cruelty ; a fitting coadjutor of the Northern Nero. It 
 
130 NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 was he who had first committed to Christian of Den- 
 mark the execution of a decree of excommunication, 
 which he had obtained from the luxurious Leo X., 
 against the late regent, Sten Sture, and his adherents. 
 The archbishop had been besieged in his own Castle of 
 Stecke, had been degraded by the Swedish Diet, and 
 stripped of his benefices. Enough: he is athirst for 
 revenge ; and now the time is come for drinking his fill 
 of the poisoned fountain. But the incensed primate 
 and his royal bosom-friend will go to work gently, 
 caressing their victims to the last. They go to the 
 cathedral, and the Dane swears that he will govern 
 Sweden with "the beneficence of a prince who has 
 been called to the throne by the voice of the people." 
 Then follows a grand entertainment, at which he feasts 
 and flatters senators, prelates, and grandees, for three 
 days together. At the close of the last day's banquet 
 there is a little movement at the royal end of the 
 board: the primate rises; and he gently reminds his 
 majesty, that when granting a general amnesty, he 
 had forgotten that no deference had been shown to the 
 pope; and he (the primate) must be allowed to claim 
 satisfaction in the name of his Holiness Pope Leo X. 
 This is the preconcerted signal. Danish soldiers in- 
 stantly fill the banqueting hall, and the astounded 
 guests are all seized and led out to die ! The primate 
 condemns them as malignant heretics: a scafibld is 
 forthwith erected; and thereon perish no fewer than 
 ninety-four nobles and distinguished persons, the flower 
 of the Swedish aristocracy ! " The people have lost 
 their heads," thought Christian, "they cannot revolt 
 any more for lack of leaders." Yes, Christian; but 
 
GUSTAV CHANGING HIS HAUNTS. 131 
 
 tyrants now and then reason rightly from wrong prem- 
 ises. Old Eric Vasa was one of the noblest of thy 
 victims on this terrible day of extirpation; but where 
 is the son ? Ay, where is Gustav ? Remember he has 
 never yet been caught, for he is light of foot as a young 
 hart upon the mountains. He is twenty years of age 
 now. Let us return and see what he is doing. 
 
 Gustav is perpetually changing his haunts for fear 
 of pursuit. See him now hurrying along the lofty 
 plains of the interior, 3000 and 4000 feet in elevation, 
 now climbing up the piny sides of the grand barrier- 
 wall of snow-topped mountains, which divides the hardy 
 Norwegian from the Swede ; now hunting the elk and 
 the deer for subsistence, in peril of bears and of the 
 horrid troops of yelping wolves ; and again catching a 
 shot at the snow-white ptarmigan and great capercail- 
 zie for a meal. Sometimes see the youth taking an 
 egg from the nest of the sea-fowl on the narrow ledge 
 of some grand headland that looks upon the Bothnian 
 waves. Now he is helping the red-haired peasant-folk 
 to drive their little hornless cows and their coarse- 
 wooled sheep to the thin pastures of the uplands, thank- 
 fully accepting the hard cake of rye-bread in lieu of 
 wages. He is fain sometimes to shrink into the 
 shadowy corner of the hut, in the long twilight, when 
 work is done, because the soft blue eyes of that fair- 
 haired peasant-mother are marking his tapering fingers, 
 and comparing them with the stumpy hand of her 
 good Olaf, who is chanting old runic rhymes at the 
 other side of the hearth. At last the blue eyes brim 
 and silently run over, (as her own little lake is apt to 
 do when the skies are tearful,) for she has read high 
 
132 NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 birth and deep sorrow in the noble features of the 
 stranger youth, and she lays her finger meaningly 
 upon her lips, in token that they will never tell. 
 " Some lady-mother is grieving for her hunted son,'* 
 she thinks : and Stenna is right. 
 
 At last Gustavus overhears some peasants whisper- 
 ing to each other a wondrous tale, which makes them 
 shiver with horror. He listens; and now he knows 
 that his honored father, Eric Vasa, and his noble rela- 
 tives and friends, have perished on the scafi'old of 
 Stockholm ! Then for the first time the spirit of the 
 young man failed within him, and he well-nigh sank 
 into utter despondency. But he rouses himself again, 
 and bethinks him that he will fly to the forests and 
 mountains of Dalecarlia, to see if a spark of patriot- 
 ism can yet b^e kindled in the deep heart of the mines. 
 A peasant is willing to guide him, and his ofier is 
 gladly accegjted. Pity that young Gustavus did not 
 better understand the symbolic language of character 
 as written in the expression of man's truth-revealing 
 face, or he would have seen that it was by no means 
 safe to intrust to that sturdy Scandinavian, with the 
 long red hair and the little twinkling gray eye, the poor 
 wallet wherein he had stored his little all of property; 
 the small scrapings of his ruined patrimony ; the little 
 capital with which he was to begin life; the funds 
 wherewith he must start in his struggle for the North- 
 ern crown. On they toil together, however, through 
 province after province Sudermania, Nericia, Wester- 
 mania. But the sulky guide can entertain the wild 
 journey of the Northern wayfarer by singing fitful 
 snatches from the fine old Eddas of his country. 
 
THE PEASANT GUIDE. 133 
 
 When the sun of the short summer shines in festal 
 beauty, the man chants the marriage of Odin with his 
 flower-crowned bride, the earth. And when he just 
 bends his golden head toward the shining ice-fields that 
 silvered the mountain-tops, to raise it immediately 
 again, with the joy of a fresh day-spring, he sang how 
 Odin bathed nightly in the ocean in order to invigor- 
 ate himself for the next day's glorious circuit. 
 
 But now the last wearisome ridge is crossed, and the 
 travelers dip down into Dalecarlia the "valley land,'* 
 as the name imports. The forests became more dense, 
 the thickets more impenetrable, the lakes more gloomy, 
 save that expanse of serene .blue that looks upward so 
 lovingly to the Northern sky, and which the natives 
 fondly call "the eye of Dalecarlia." Gustavus sees 
 before him a grand but rugged district, arranged into 
 three great valleys by the stern disposition of three or 
 four ranges of gnesis, granite, and porphjritic mount- 
 ains. Ice-bound as are their defiant brows, they never- 
 theless submit to be swathed about their feet by bands 
 of dark forest, where the pine and the oak harden 
 themselves as best they may against the quick return 
 of winter. He sees how the River Dal wanders through 
 the whole length of the province, among the stony 
 pastures where both man and beast are taught thrift 
 and hardihood by the stern economy of nature. He 
 sees how this rude training has made the Dalecarlian 
 stalwart and noble in his bearing ; his blue eyes deeply 
 set, glacier like, in the hollow beneath the shaggy 
 brow; his thin lips sharply cut and compressed by the 
 force of the strong will within; his forehead high and 
 broad, following the mountainous type which prevails 
 
 12 
 
134. NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 around him. He makes the woods ring with his stir- 
 ring old ballads about liberty; and when he talks in 
 his simple freedom with his superior, he says *'thou" 
 to him in the quaint manner of the olden time. 
 
 At last Gustavus beholds those yawning mouths in 
 the face of the hills, and the black breath of the great 
 blast furnaces, which showed him that he was approach- 
 ing the subterranean world of the mines. Here all 
 beauty in nature drooped and died, mortally poisoned 
 by the fumes of the copper smoke. But his guide, his 
 fellow-traveler, who has eaten of his crust, and knows 
 his secret what has become of his trusty guide? 
 Gone ! And the wallet, the little treasury of a king- 
 dom 'Hn nubihus P" Gone, too! Cruel! But Gus- 
 tavus is not the youth to sit down upon the nearest 
 stone and wring his hands in despair. There are many 
 roads to greatness besides the royal one that is paved 
 with gold, whereon walk stately men that were born in 
 the purple. Misfortune is no new acquaintance, and he 
 will try if his path of life, which has dipped down into 
 a dungeon and successfully emerged therefrom, may 
 not just as ominously plunge down into the yawning 
 throat of a mine, and return just as triumphantly to 
 the light of day. Something must be done to earn a 
 meal, and that speedily, for he was well-nigh famished. 
 And so the hungry youth presents himself amid the 
 groups of dark figures, and hires himself to work under 
 ground as a common miner. There, fathoms deep, 
 beneath the stony face of the "valley land," he wrought 
 patiently and laboriously with pick and shovel, ap- 
 proaching the citadel of greatness, like a "sapper and 
 miner," by blind galleries and underground passages. 
 
THE DISCOVERY. 135 
 
 The while he digs, he talks with the mine folk so elo- 
 quently, and upon such stirring themes, that they 
 pause, lean upon their tools, and think that they could 
 listen forever to the fine youth with the bright eye and 
 the silvery speech. He has such a noble mien also, 
 such a stately carriage, that they are never weary of 
 watching him. At length (it is a woman's eye that 
 makes the discovery) it is noticed that the collar of 
 his shirt is elaborately embroidered. That is enough; 
 the embroidered collar fits well with the stately graces 
 of his fine person and polished speech. Rumor that 
 there is a persecuted noble hiding among them runs 
 like fire-damp along the winding galleries and scales 
 the shaft, until the upper world is moved by the echo. 
 A gentleman who lived in the mine neighborhood 
 caught a whisper about ^he handsome youth who was 
 stirring the strong hearts of the people below, and he 
 went down to see about it. He looked, and saw by the 
 light of memory and of the flaming torch that it was 
 young Gustavus Vasa, with whom he had studied some 
 few years since at the University of Upsal. Gustavus 
 sees that his secret is deciphered, for his old friend 
 turns sharply away to hide a gush of tears, but not a 
 word is said between them. Night comes, and brings a 
 message from the Dalecarlian gentleman. Gustavus 
 makes his way to his wooden mansion, and there joy- 
 fully accepts his offer of a home, of friendship, and 
 of protection. In this pleasant hiding-place he tarries 
 for some time; but the college friend, faithful as he 
 is to all the passive duties of friendship, has no mind 
 to move actively in the desperate undertaking of deliv- 
 ering a conquered country, and of restoring a lost 
 
136 NOKTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 kingdom, whicli the untamed young enthusiast is per- 
 petually urging upon him. No: the cautious friend 
 would rather wait until he see hopeful signs of pros- 
 perity breaking upon the land, like the sudden summer 
 of the North, born in a moment, to gush in an over- 
 flowing stream of beauty and gladness over the frozen 
 earth. No: he would wait until the summer-tide of 
 good fortune should set in. This sober policy suits 
 not Grustavus Vasa ; his country is down-trampled and 
 wretched; there is a price set upon his own head, and 
 his heart misgives him about the fate of his mother and 
 his sisters. They must be in the power of Christian 
 of Denmark, and he can know no rest until he learn 
 their safety. He leaves the pleasant home of the col- 
 lege friend, and journeys to the house of another 
 acquaintance of former days, *whom he has discovered. 
 Peterson receives him with every demonstration of cor- 
 diality, and agrees to raise his vassals in order to help 
 forward their common cause. Gustavus's trusting 
 nature must have been easily imposed on : he has mis- 
 read this face also. Peterson slips out of the house 
 to rouse his people, of course ? Not so ; but to reveal 
 to a Danish officer who it is that is eating at his board, 
 and sleeping under his roof-tree. The Danish com- 
 mander instantly orders out a troop of soldiers, who 
 steal up in extended line, and then close round the 
 house, until the two ends meet. Is the noble quarry 
 caught in the toils at last? No: woman's kindly heart 
 and ready wit have saved him. Peterson's wife had 
 discovered the treachery of her lord, warned the poor 
 guest of his mortal peril, and sent him off to the house 
 of a friendly priest, before the two ends of the deadly 
 
DIVINELY LED. 137 
 
 circle had met ; and so, when they joined, it was as the 
 serpent biting its tail with rage. The priest shuts him 
 up in a little cell within the walls of the church itself, 
 locks the door, and quietly walks home with the key 
 in his pocket. The scent is lost, and the hunters are 
 baffled. But now and then the priest leisurely walks 
 into his church, unlocks the closet, and nourishes the 
 poor captive with a little food and a little sympathy. 
 
 Solemn thoughts must have passed through the mind 
 of the young man, now about twenty-two years of age, 
 as he lingered within the narrow hiding-place in which 
 he had taken "sanctuary," in perpetual danger of dis- 
 covery, and in uncongenial inactivity. Could he fail 
 to perceive that God's "goodness and mercy had fol- 
 lowed him all the days of his life?" that it could nor 
 be for naught that he had been thus rescued from so 
 many perils ? that there must be a lofty mission in store 
 for him, which he must work out with a lowly mind? 
 It would be interesting could we learn the history of 
 his conversion; but certain it is, that somewhere about 
 this period he embraced the religious tenets of the 
 great German Reformer; and when power and respons- 
 ibility afterward came together to him, he made the 
 Protestant religion the law of his life and of his land. 
 Luther had just emerged from his friendly prison, on 
 the lonely height of the Wartburg, carrying in his firm 
 hand the manuscript of holy Scripture, whose rendering 
 into the heart-searching tongue of the father-land had 
 been the meat and drink of his "Patmos" retirement. 
 One of his disciples, Olaus Petri by name, full of love 
 to the great cause, and fired with zeal for its difiusion, 
 was secretly laboring at a kindred work. Olaus Petri, 
 
 12'" 
 
138 NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 like his beloved master, will emerge by and by, when 
 the right hour comes for the beaming of the Northern 
 Lights ; and he will carry in his hand the version of 
 the Bible into the beautiful tongue of the Swedes, the 
 fruit of his own earnest toil. 
 
 But this is an onward glance ; for at this moment 
 Gustavus and his friend, the priest, are conferring in 
 the little cell about the safest mode of exit, and the 
 most direct means of opening a communication with the 
 heart of the people. ^'Go to Mora," said the priest, 
 "and talk to the peasants face to face; thou hast a 
 persuasive tongue and an eloquent countenance. The 
 village folk of all the valley-land will presently gather 
 together at Mora, to hold their annual feast. Go to 
 Mora;" and to Mora, on the great Lake Siljan, went 
 Gustavus Vasa. The priest was right; the people 
 replied to the words of the young patriot as touch- 
 wood replies to the spark. They resolve instantly to 
 throw off the galling yoke of the Dane. Their enthu- 
 siasm is tumultuous and irresistible; the more so for 
 this favoring token, that while their late fellow-worker 
 in the mine was pouring forth his stimulating eloquence, 
 the wind had suddenly shifted round to the north. "A 
 sure omen of success!" cried the old men with joy. 
 "St. Eric has shifted his cap!"* Gustavus avails him- 
 self of this first burst of enthusiasm, and leads the 
 miners against the castle of the Danish governor. 
 Pity that the garrison was put to the sword, when the 
 stronghold was taken. Gustavus Vasa has been 
 called, and not very unworthily, "The Swedish Al- 
 
 * The origin of the sailor's expression, "a capful of wind." 
 
THE FIELD OF MORA. 139 
 
 fred;" but our own great king would not have slaugh- 
 tered a beaten foe. Most probably he would have put 
 pickaxes into the unwilling hands of his captured 
 Danes, and sent them down into the great mine of 
 Falun, to dig their way into a new destiny, and to 
 work themselves into a better mind. However, this 
 success was supposed to be the result of the capful of 
 northern wind which had blown so propitiously over 
 the field of the great "palaver" at Mora. Peasant- 
 men and mining-men came trooping to the standard of 
 Gustavus, and soon he had 5000 herculean forms 
 around him. Money came pouring in also, to fill the 
 empty cofier, and some gentlemen of station joined his 
 cause. Christian hears that the lost youth has sprung 
 up to the light of day from some unknown hiding- 
 place in the heart of the earth, and he sends reinforce- 
 ments forthwith to Dalecarlia; but Gustavus and his 
 peasants defeat them. The terrible Archbishop of 
 Upsal, Gustavus Trolle, is also in the field, making 
 desperate eiForts to overcome the son of the murdered 
 Eric; but young Gustavus Vasa is now more than a 
 match for old Gustavus Trolle. The young hero now 
 ventures to attack Stockholm; but this is an under- 
 taking which he is not yet strong enough to carry to a 
 successful issue, and he is beaten back with loss. 
 However, the tardy Lubeck friends, seeing that peas- 
 ants from ail parts of the kingdom are now flocking 
 round the standard of revolt, think they may safely 
 venture to assist their young acquaintance, the drover- 
 lad, and they send him some welcome reinforcements. 
 And now. Christian of Denmark again drew himself 
 up to his full stature as the veritable "Nero of the 
 
140 NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
 
 North." The mother and sisters of our patriot are 
 put to death by his order, with circumstances of hor- 
 rible barbarity; and the noble race of Vasa is now 
 represented by Gustavus alone. But this savagery 
 worked no good to the cause of Christian. It only 
 gave greater firmness to the attitude of the Swedes; 
 and Gustavus was soon after publicly recognized as 
 regent of the kingdom, by the States which he had 
 summoned to meet at Wadstena. Thus endowed with 
 the sanction of legal authority, and strengthened by 
 promises of general support, he went forth with the 
 assured step of confident expectation. There was hard 
 work before him; harder than when he delved in the 
 mine; for Soren Norby, '* Nero's" general, is no despic- 
 able enemy. The struggle between Dane and Swede 
 is still a desperate one; and the ''Swedish Alfred's" 
 marvelous power of endurance is yet further tested by 
 bitter disappointments, loss following hard upon loss. 
 At last Norby was suddenly paralyzed by hearing that 
 Christian's own people, the Danes themselves, unable 
 longer to endure the load of such a frightful tyranny, 
 had unanimously risen, and driven him ignominiously 
 out of the kingdom. 
 
 And so Sweden is free ! Gustavus Vasa is elected 
 king by the Swedish Diet, with such wild acclaims of 
 enthusiastic gratitude, that to take the votes in regular 
 style was simply impossible. This was in the year 
 1523, when he was twenty-three years of age. Now 
 was the time for Gustavus to declare his attachment 
 to the Reformed doctrines; and, taking the Swedish 
 Bible from the hand of good Olaus Petri, he spread it 
 abroad throughout the whole kingdom an open Bible 
 
THE FAITH OP GUSTAVUS. 141 
 
 in the home-language of the people. More than this : 
 he invited out of Germany men learned in the Scrip- 
 tures, to expound to his subjects, so long kept in the 
 dark that they could but dimly see, the enlightening 
 doctrines of the Reformation. In the year 1527, warm 
 debates took place on the subject of religion ; but Gus- 
 tavus nobly declared, that he would lay down his hard- 
 earned scepter and retire from the land, rather than 
 rule a people doomed to be perpetually enslaved by 
 the pope. This was enough ; and by solemn decree of 
 the States, in Diet assembled, the Lutheran faith be- 
 came henceforth the established religion of the coun- 
 try. One more boon he asked of the States, in the 
 year 1542; and what could they refuse to their noble 
 deliverer? He asked that the crown should be de- 
 clared hereditary in the house of Vasa; and the Diet 
 said, "Amen." 
 
 Peace and truth established in the land, Gustavus 
 turned his vigorous mind to the cultivation of learn- 
 ing and to the spirited encouragement of commerce. 
 Favorable commercial treaties were made with England 
 and Holland ; and Eric, the handsome but worthless 
 son and heir, was even commissioned to try if he could 
 woo and win the maiden Queen of England. But of 
 course Elizabeth Tudor only coquetted with the Scan- 
 dinavian suitor. 
 
 At last, in the year 1560, when Gustavus Vasa had 
 numbered his sixty years, this bright light faded from 
 the northern sky; to be followed, after a gloomy in- 
 terval of darkness, by the brief flash of a yet more 
 brilliant "Aurora." 
 
THE "SNOW-KING/' 
 
THE ''SNOW-KING.' 
 
 Thirty-four years of confusion and unrest had 
 troubled the Swedish land since Gustavus Vasa, the 
 Christian hero of Scandinavian romance, had left 
 behind him a prosperous country and an enlightened 
 church. Thirty-four years had passed, when there 
 was born into the northern world one on whom divine 
 Providence had set its unmistakable mark from his 
 very cradle ; and truly it was a cradle that was rocked 
 by storms. Seventeen years more, and that boy will 
 ascend the throne of his noble grandsire, to bear in 
 the world's history the well-beloved name of Gustavus 
 Adolphus. Sweden may well prize "the memory of her 
 two Gustavuses. It was the grandsire who first intro- 
 duced his newly-modeled kingdom into the great family 
 of European nations ; it was the grandson who for a 
 brief period made that country the arbiter of Europe 
 and the terror of Rome. It was the great Gustavus 
 Vasa who had given to his people outward considera- 
 tion, a free hearth, and an open Bible ; it was the 
 greater Gustavus Adolphus to whom the liberty of 
 Europe made its last appeal, and who, even in dying, 
 secured to Protestantism its civil rights and religious 
 privileges. If the result of that terrible contest which 
 is known to history by the name of "The Thirty 
 13 (145) 
 
146 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 Years* War," were other than that for which Ferdi- 
 nand of Austria struggled, and Tilly exterminated, and 
 Wallenstein arose and fell, it was because Gustavus 
 Adolphus sat for a few memorable years on the throne 
 which had been founded in the North by Gustavus 
 Vasa. It is true, and sad, that he died at Lutzen, 
 sixteen years before the "Treaty of Westphalia," which 
 gave peace and rest to fainting Europe, was signed in 
 the Frieden-Saal of Miinster; but Sweden, once ani- 
 mated by the intrepid spirit of her hero, maintained 
 her ground on the soil of rescued Europe; and Gus- 
 tavus Adolphus, in dying, found an illustrious trustee, 
 who could fulfill his counsels and accomplish his be- 
 quests, in the person of his friend and servant. Axel 
 Oxenstiern. Gustavus Adolphus was not crowned 
 king in Stockholm according to the smooth succession 
 of unquestioned descent. His accession was on this 
 wise: the handsome Eric had succeeded his father, 
 Gustavus Vasa; but, headstrong and violent, his sole 
 apology is found in the fact, that actual insanity at 
 last disqualified him from reigning. His brothers, 
 John and Charles, at all events decided that Eric's 
 head ached with too incurable a malady to bear the 
 heavy circlet of a crown, and John and Charles pro- 
 cured from the Diet a solemn act of deposition. Eric 
 thus removed out of the way, John, who had some time 
 before escaped from the prison in which the hot-headed 
 elder brother had immured him, now became king of 
 Sweden. But John had strong popish tendencies, and 
 it was observed with jealous forebodings, that he was 
 carefully training his young son, Sigismund, in the 
 doctrines and practices of Rome. Now, this was in- 
 
CHOOSING A KING. 147 
 
 tolerable to the newly-emancipated Swedes. It was 
 a fundamental law in the statute-book of Gustavus 
 Vasa, that no adherent of popery could hold office in 
 the State; and all future kings were prohibited from 
 changing the religious constitution of the realm: for 
 Lutheran it was, and Lutheran it should remain unto 
 all generations. When the son, Sigismund, came to the 
 throne, his proceedings were watched with well-founded 
 distrust; and when, in addition to his treasonable 
 attempts to re-establish popery in the land, it was 
 found that his acceptance of the crown of Poland in- 
 volved a protracted residence in a foreign land, the 
 eyes of the dissatisfied nation were fixed upon Charles, 
 Duke of Sudermania, third son of Gustavus Vasa, 
 whose attachment to the Reformation was firm and 
 undisguised. And therefore Protestant Charles, by 
 decree of the Swedish Diet, was placed on the throne 
 of his Protestant father, the law of primogeniture, 
 which that father had enjoined, being waived on his 
 behalf; and Sigismund^ with all his posterity, was 
 banished from the line of succession forever. It was 
 in the year 1604 that Charles IX. obtained the sover- 
 eignty of Sweden: and to him had been born, ten 
 years before this date, our young hero, Gustavus Adol- 
 phus. This slight summary was -needed to show how 
 our fine young cadet of the Vasa family came to wear 
 the crown of his noble grandsire, and also to give an 
 intelligible reason for the enmity of his cousin Sigis- 
 mund, which burdened his early years with a Polish 
 war. 
 
 While his father yet lived, the mind of the young 
 Gustavus was rapidly expanding, in keeping with his 
 
148 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 prodigious strength and loftj stature. His accomplish- 
 ments were right royal in their character: he could 
 talk with the Germans in their expressive tongue; he 
 spoke the musical Italian and the conversational 
 French, and could even converse gracefully in classic 
 Latin. He read history, ancient as well as modern, 
 with the eagerness of a passion; was a proficient in 
 mathematics, and in all those studies which illustrate 
 the military art ; gave his attention to political economy, 
 and experimentally went through the whole laborious 
 routine of a common soldier's life. His moral and re- 
 ligious principles were lofty and pure; and his har- 
 monious practice, in keeping with the exalted standard 
 which he had set before his eyes, was such as is rarely 
 found within the perilous precincts of a court. Young 
 Gustavus Adolphus prayed his earnest prayers, and 
 read Olaus Petri's Bible, and tried to live by its rules, 
 just as if he had a soul to be saved like others, and 
 not as if he belonged to the privileged class of royal 
 sinners of his day, who, because they were born in the 
 purple, imagined themselves to be superior to the re- 
 quirements of the law and to the sanctions of the gos- 
 pel. And then his father died. But the boy is only 
 seventeen years of age, tall though he be, and athletic 
 as a young bear-hunter of the Dalecarlian forests. 
 There was a law on the statute-book, that the heir of 
 the throne should not attain his majority until he had 
 reached his twenty-fourth year. But the character of 
 the youth was so matured, his principles so fixed, his 
 genius so remarkable, and, above all, his attachment 
 to their beloved Protestantism so devoted, that the 
 Estates joyfully abridged in his favor the period of 
 
STATESMANSHIP OF OXENSTIBRN. 149 
 
 legal minority. One of the guardians who appealed 
 to the Diet for the full recognition of their young 
 charge, was that celebrated Axel Oxenstiern, who, 
 eleven years his senior, became his friend in counsel 
 and his right hand in action for the remainder of his 
 great career. Gustavus Adolphus carried himself with 
 singular modesty and grace during the ceremonial of 
 his inauguration. He spoke to the assembled senators 
 of his youth, of his inexperience, of the great diffi- 
 culties and involvements of the times : but he declared 
 that he would endeavor to acquit himself with honor, 
 magnanimity, and fidelity; that he would govern in 
 accordance with the laws of the land, and would pre- 
 serve the reformed faith as long as he lived. Rarely 
 have large promises been more righteously kept; 
 seldom has a pledge been more honorably redeemed. 
 The first act of the young King of Sweden was one 
 which gave promise of a high degree of penetration. 
 He read in Oxenstiern, then but twenty-eight years of 
 age, those indications of political sagacity, of far- 
 sighted wisdom, of immoveable resolution, and of up- 
 right principle, which soon made him the greatest' 
 statesman of the age. Can this be said advisedly 
 of an age which produced a Richelieu? Yes: inas- 
 much as good is stronger than evil, and the right wears 
 better in the long run than does the wrong. Riche- 
 lieu was born two years later than Oxenstiern; and 
 he left the world which he had made turbid with his 
 unscrupulous ambition twelve years sooner than the 
 Swede ; but, whenever or wherever their minds met, in 
 the keen fencing-school of the cabinet, or in the com- 
 plications of general diplomacy, or in the broader dis- 
 
 18* 
 
150 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 positions of the great European field of strategy, the 
 upright Axel Oxenstiern was almost always a match 
 for the subtle Armand Richelieu. 
 
 Such was the man whom a king of seventeen years 
 made prime minister and chancellor of his kingdom; 
 and right honorably did the consummate statespaan 
 justify the confidence of his young master, over whose 
 early death he lived to weep, and whose wayward child 
 he served, until his seventy-first year. 
 
 But there is a painful conflict going on within the 
 heart of Gustavus. He loves the youthful Countess 
 of Brahe; and so worthy does she seem to him of all 
 the honorable affection which he can bestow, that he 
 had determined in his untrained enthusiasm to make 
 her his queen and the partner of his throne. But, 
 alas ! for their simple and ignorant loves ! The Count- 
 ess of Brahe is but the daughter of a subject and he 
 is a king. Kings may not love, and woo, and wed like 
 their people, with the priceless freedom of choice : they 
 must love in severe obedience to State interests, and 
 may by no means make unequal matches. Perhaps it 
 was Oxenstiern who revealed to the young lover this 
 unpalatable truth; perhaps it was suggested by his 
 own sense of the general fitness of things. And so 
 Gustavus gained his first victory, turned resolutely 
 away from the lovely countess, and set his affections 
 upon his country instead. Of course it was not worth 
 while for dignified history to say if the countess were 
 equally heroic. 
 
 First of all, on beginning to reign, Gustavus had 
 some old difficulties to settle with Christian IV. of 
 Denmark, who had invaded Sweden before he himself 
 
THE CORONATION. 151 
 
 had come to the throne, and who was evidently medi- 
 tating fresh aggressions on the territories of his young 
 neighbor. He therefore dashed into Denmark, with 
 three different armies at once, and induced Christian 
 to make a favorable peace, though at the expense of 
 some amicable concessions on the part of Sweden. 
 This was in 1613. Four years later, and the young 
 "Lion of the North," as he was beginning to be called, 
 was shaking his mane against the Muscovite czar, who 
 had supposed that it would be perfectly safe to forget 
 to repay to the crowned youth of Stockholm a con- 
 siderable sum of money which had been lent to Russia. 
 Gustavus consequently marched into Russia, seized a 
 city or two in pledge of payment, and soon returned 
 home with the account settled and signed; ay, and 
 with several fresh provinces added to the crown of 
 Sweden. A more protracted contest awaited him in 
 Poland. But between the Russian expedition and the 
 Polish war there is the grand ceremonial of a corona- 
 tion. This stately solemnity was performed at Upsal, 
 the Alma Mater of the North, amid scenes and their 
 crowding associations which would give deep signifi- 
 cance to the act. There stood the palace of the noble 
 grandsire, Gustavus Vasa, and there his tomb. Hard 
 by was the "Old Upsala," the ancestral abode of the 
 Swedish kings; and there that ancient church which 
 was built out of the unhallowed fragments of ancient 
 heathen temples; while the uneven tumuli that lay 
 around were the legendary graves of Odin, and Freya, 
 and Thor. It was the ruined shrine of a by-gone wor- 
 ship the hoary burial-ground of an extinct creed. 
 Thou hast a holier creed to contend for, young neo- 
 
152 THE "SNOW-KINa." 
 
 phyte! even "that faith which was once delivered to 
 the saints." Would we have a glimpse of our hero, as 
 he kneels to take the vows at Upsal? His face, then, 
 is a long oval, running up into a lofty, but certainly 
 retreating, forehead, which narrows as it ascends, until 
 it culminates in what phrenologists would glory in as a 
 very mound of "veneration." The nose is aquiline, 
 and finely chiseled; the mouth small and beautifully 
 molded though a pointed beard and a long horizon- 
 tal moustache somewhat mask the significance of this 
 fine feature. The brow is nobly arched, and as open 
 as daylight; but it is the lofty serenity of the eye 
 which points the moral of this grand historic portrait. 
 
 The coronation over, Gustavus Adolphus has an 
 amicable interview with the Danish king. They are 
 the northern bulwarks of the Reformed faith; why, 
 then, should they not set shoulder to shoulder, and 
 thus double their strength by unity of effort ? why not 
 "love as brethren?" why not "be pitiful, be courteous?" 
 And so, though they met as rivals, they part as friends. 
 Christian promised that he would not aid the Romish 
 cousin, Sigismund, in any of his underhand designs 
 upon Sweden: for cousin Sigismund son, be it re- 
 membered, of Gustavus's uncle. King John, and con- 
 sequently legitimist king of Sweden (saving for his 
 popish disability) was weaving a disloyal web of 
 treachery, whereby he hoped to seize the tall person 
 of his heretical cousin. However, a timely whisper of 
 hig' design saved the young "lion" from the toils. 
 
 One more little episode of romance and then Gus- 
 tavus Adolphus set his face like a flint to confront the 
 stern realities of the times. He determined to make 
 
MARKIAGE OF GUSTAVUS. 153 
 
 the tour of Germany in disguise. Who knows but that 
 his eye may alight unawares upon some royal lady, 
 who may be elected to take in his regards the place 
 which he had resolutely closed against the youthful 
 countess ? Yes : at Berlin he sees a maiden to whom 
 his heart does immediate homage. She is Maria Eleo- 
 nora, sister to the Elector of Brandenburg. It was 
 rather the fashion of the age for a young prince to set 
 forth in the disguise of a knight-errant in search of a 
 ladye-love. Gustavus made his tour in 1620; and 
 three years later, "Baby Charles and Steenie," to use 
 our James I.'s own words, "went post to Spain to fetch 
 home the Infanta ;" but on the road Charles had 
 chanced to see at a court-ball in Paris the beautiful 
 Henrietta Maria, who soon consoled him for the failure 
 of his romantic mission with the arrogant Buckingham 
 to Madrid.' A further acquaintance with Eleonora 
 only confirmed the prepossessions of the Northern 
 knight; and the royal nuptials took place at Stock- 
 holm in November of the same year. Gustavus Adol- 
 phus must have seen, when he passed unknown and 
 unnoticed through Germany, other things that touched 
 his heart and influenced his life beside the Lady Eleo- 
 nora. The Protestants were struggling against fearful 
 odds, not only for freedom of faith, but for life itself; 
 for the thirty years of war had begun to eat up the 
 land like a famine, and its lives like a pestilence. But 
 he that did his neighbor wrong knew not who it was 
 that stood by. His open and honest brow flushed r^d 
 with indignant sympathy "If I live," thought the 
 gigantic young knight with the unknown crest "if I 
 live and prosper, so as to set my house in order at 
 
154 THE "SNOW KING." 
 
 home, I will return and help my brethren in the faith." 
 But it takes a long time it takes eight troubled years 
 to set the house of his kingdom in order, and to bar 
 its doors in safety against the Polish aggressors. 
 Sigismund would not have fought on in desperation for 
 eight wretched years, if he had not been instigated and 
 supported by the cabinets of Vienna and of Madrid; 
 and so the war between Papist and Protestant was 
 fought out in disguise in Courland, Livonia, and Lith- 
 uania, while it was openly sustained between the 
 "Catholic League" and the "Evangelical Union" in 
 the desolated Palatinate and in distracted Bohemia. 
 For eight years did Sigismund protract the struggle, 
 in hopes of crippling Gustavus and of regaining pos- 
 session of Sweden; although Gustavus, victorious 
 wherever he turned, again and again frankly held out 
 his hand with offers of peace and accommodation. 
 These overtures were invariably rejected, until, mis- 
 fortune following hard upon misfortune, and the Swedes 
 showing no signs of weariness or exhaustion, Sigismund 
 submitted with an ill grace to a truce of six years' 
 duration, to expire in 1635. 
 
 During the troublous years of war, Gustavus had 
 been earnestly cultivating the happy arts of peace. 
 The king and the chancellor worked together at the 
 finances of the kingdom, with a view to rendering 
 them more productive, yet not more oppressive to the 
 people ; they made justice a more attainable good, and 
 l^fw a cheaper luxury, by reforming the administration 
 of the courts, and by making judges independent of 
 the crown; they fostered mercantile adventure, while 
 they raised a good navy. Literature was patronized, 
 
"THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR." 155 
 
 the university at Upsal endowed with munificent gifts, 
 a sister university founded at Dorp, in Livonia, and a 
 Royal Academy given to his brave little Finns at Abo. 
 What would not Gustavus have done for his country, 
 if his hand had not been so continually sheathed in 
 the iron glove of war ? Whenever he drew off that 
 mailed glove, his hand was soft as a woman's, and as 
 kindly in its touch. It could be prompt and decisive, 
 too, in its movements. For instance : he had observed 
 that the practice of dueling had grown into an enor- 
 mous evil, and he put forth severe edicts for its entire 
 suppression. But here come two fierce generals, whose 
 quarrel runs so high that it may only be settled by 
 this most heathenish of all modes of appeal. They 
 humbly beg his majesty's permission to fight. " Cer- 
 tainly, gentleman ; and you must permit me to be a spec- 
 tator of your lofty courage." He goes to the place 
 of meeting not alone, but attended by a military 
 suite. There is one sinister-looking personage in the 
 group, who looks neither courtier nor soldier. "Now, 
 gentlemen," said the king, "fight, if you please, until 
 one dies; and ?/6>w," added he, turning to the public 
 executioner, " do you instantly cut ofi" the head of the 
 other!" Somehow or other, the quarrel died out imme- 
 diately; and it was the last duel in the camps of Gus- 
 tavus. 
 
 And now at last Gustavus was free to turn his eyes 
 upon the smoking fields of Germany, where "The 
 Thirty Years' War" was living and raging in the 
 thirteenth year of its age. It is the year 1630. The 
 Elector Palatine, that unfortunate Frederic who had 
 let go his hold on his own beautiful dominions on the 
 
156 THE "snow-king/ 
 
 Rhine, in the vain attempt to catch at the offered 
 crown of Bohemia, had been driven off the field, and 
 had sought refuge in Holland. The "Evangelical 
 Union," composed of the Protestant princes of Ger- 
 many, had shrunk from ' the side of their doomed ally 
 all but two soldiers of fortune, Count Ernest of 
 Mansfeldt, who chose for his motto, "God's Friend 
 Priest's Foe," and who fulfilled the latter clause, while 
 he left the former in doubt ; and again, Duke Christian 
 of Brunswick, who wore the glove of Elizabeth, Fred- 
 eric's proud English wife, in his beaver, and bore on 
 his standards the motto, "All for God and Her." 
 The Bavarian general, that terrible Tilly whose name 
 still haunts the moldering ruins of many a Protestant 
 castle and town like an evil echo, whose wandering 
 ghost can never be laid, had successfully crushed out 
 the spirit of princes and people. When he was not 
 fighting, he was feeding feeding his great army of 
 locusts upon every green thing in the land, the while 
 he sucked the life-blood of his prostrate victims, and 
 fanned them with the wings of the Angel of Death. 
 He was a little spare man, with sunk cheeks, a broad 
 plowed forehead, a sharp chin, and a long, vulture-like 
 nose. A long red feather, which drooped from his 
 small, high-peaked hat, and hung down his back, dis- 
 tinguished him on the victorious field, or on the rapid 
 march, or in the flaming streets of a sacked town. A 
 stern and fierce bigot, he was nevertheless a trusty 
 servant and a very able commander. Tilly was too 
 terrible to be endured, as he now camped upon the 
 Protestant territory. Some of the ruined princes rose 
 up for a last effort to shake him off; and then Chris- 
 
THE DUTY OF A KING. 157 
 
 tian IV. of Denmark, alarmed at the prospect of see- 
 ing the imperial forces lining the shores of the North 
 Sea, brought an army to the aid of the Protestants. 
 But Christian, no match for Tilly, was baffled and 
 beaten; and there was no hope left to a fainting and 
 failing cause. No hope? Wait and see. 
 
 There is a high-souled hero, under the cold skies of 
 the North, with firm brow and serene eye, calmly buck- 
 ling on the armor which he had just laid aside. He is 
 only now wiping his forehead from the dust of the eight 
 years' war with Poland, into which he had been so un- 
 willingly dragged, and from which he had so gladly 
 and successfully emerged. His counselors are seek- 
 ing to dissuade him from the rash enterprise on which 
 he is bent, and this is his quiet reply, the while he 
 makes ready: "I know, as well as any man among my 
 subjects, the dangers and difficulties of such an under- 
 taking ; yet neither the wealth of the house of Austria 
 dismays me, nor her veteran force. My soldiers are 
 accustomed to temperance, frugality, and virtue; and 
 my brave troops shall never want their daily food, 
 though we carry it to them all the way from Sweden. 
 And if it be the will of God that Gustavus should die, 
 he will do so with thankful acquiescence. It is a 
 king's duty, and his religion too, to obey the great 
 King of kings without a murmur." What could be 
 said in reply to such words? And then he turned 
 round and "set his house in order, like a dying man." 
 The government of the country was intrusted to a 
 Council of State. Axel Oxenstiern, the beloved chan- 
 cellor, must not stay at home to care for the stuff, be- 
 cause his genius is imperatively called for elsewhere; 
 
 14 
 
158 ' THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 and Axel Oxenstiern is posted with 10,000 men in 
 Prussia, to watch and restrain the movements of the 
 Polish cousin. Thirty men-of-war and 200 transport- 
 ships are ready to carry 15,000 veteran Swedes to. 
 Germany. Fifteen thousand Swedes and no more 
 to reconquer for Protestantism its dying liberties ; to 
 wrestle for the life and freedom of millions with the 
 giant power of the house of Hapsburg; to meet the 
 withering anathema of the Vatican, the intrigues of 
 Madrid, and the lethargic despair of the "Evangelical 
 Union?" Only fifteen thousand Swedes and their 
 king. 
 
 On the 20th of May, 1630, Gustavus Adolphus 
 walked into the "Riddar-huus," hung round about 
 with its shields of the Swedish nobles, to bid a solemn 
 farewell to the Estates of his kingdom. His little 
 daughter, Christina, is held in his strozig arms. She 
 is only four years of age ; but he presents her to the 
 assembled Diet as their future mistress, the heir of his 
 throne and of his heart. He asks the States to renew 
 the oath of allegiance which they had already taken 
 when she lay an unconscious infant in her cradle: 
 ^^And this,'^ said he, "m case I should never return." 
 And then he read the ordinances of his government 
 for the period of his absence, or for the minority of his 
 child. Then he paused : he was about to speak a few 
 farewell words, but the strong man shook, and the 
 voice came not. They say that the whole assembly 
 was dissolved into one irresistible gush of tears. At 
 last Gustavus mastered his prophetic emotion: "Not 
 lightly or wantonly am I about to involve myself and 
 you in dangerous war. God is my witness that I 
 
THE SOLEMN FAREWELL. 
 'And thi^" said he, "in case I should never return." Page 158. 
 
FAREWELL TO SWEDEN. 159 
 
 do not fight to gratify my own ambition. But the em- 
 peror has shamefully wronged me in the person of my 
 embassador; he has supported my enemies, persecuted 
 my friends and brethren, trampled my religion in the 
 dust, and even stretched his revengeful arm against 
 my crown. The oppressed States of Germany call 
 loudly for aid, which, by God's help, we will give them. 
 Hitherto, Providence has wonderfully protected me; 
 but I shall at last fall in defense of my country. I 
 commend you to the protection of Heaven." He then 
 severally addressed each division of his audience, giv- 
 ing excellent counsel, and praying that God might en- 
 lighten them with his wisdom and crown them with his 
 blessing. "And now I bid you all an earnest, it may 
 be an eternal, farewell." An immense multitude of 
 his people attended their beloved king to Elfsknaben, 
 where his fleet rode at anchor; and the enthusiasm for 
 the cause was so great, the confidence in the leader so 
 unquestioning, that there was scarce a man in Sweden 
 a little primitive Lapp, or a hardy Finn who would 
 have shrunk from his master's side as he stepped on 
 ship- board. The fleet sailed amid the acclaims and the 
 prayers of a whole nation. On the twenty-fourth of 
 June it touched shore at the Isle of Rugen on the 
 coast of Pomerania. Gustavus Adolphus was the first 
 to spring to land; and there he knelt, in presence of 
 the whole fleet, to return thanks for the safe arrival of 
 his army on the shores of Germany. He was kneeling 
 on that interesting island whose wooded ravines and 
 little shadowy lake were once sacred to the worship of 
 the heathen goddess Hertha. 
 
 Pomerania was speedily overrun by the Swedish 
 
160 THE "SNOWtKING." 
 
 host, its master scrupulously paying his Tvay as he 
 went, and carefully protecting all private property. 
 This system was a startling novelty, after the horrible 
 excesses of Tilly, and even the free quarters of Ernest 
 of Mansfeldt and Christian of Brunswick. A con- 
 temptuous laugh rang round the Cabinet of Vienna: 
 "The Snow-King is come," they cried; "but he can 
 only live in the North: he will melt away as soon as 
 he feels the sun." Tilly's hawk's eye, however, saw 
 further into the material of which the Northern hero 
 was made. "That man is dangerous," said the old 
 marshal to his gloomy master, Ferdinand of Austria; 
 "Ae is a player from whom we gain much if we merely 
 lose nothing." And so Tilly's red feather was soon 
 seen streaming behind him as he hurried northward 
 at the head of 30,000 veterans; for the imperialist 
 garrisons were everywhere retiring before the Swede. 
 Another man and he one of the most remarkable men 
 of that fruitful age had early discovered the charac- 
 ter and intentions of Gustavus Adolphus. That man 
 was Albrecht Wallenstein. He was born in 1583; the 
 son of a German baron. If Tilly were trained as a 
 Jesuit, and then turned soldier, Wallenstein was born 
 a Protestant, and then embraced the Romish creed. 
 He was the very genius of war, and the incarnation of 
 unscrupulous ambition. Faithful to the house of Haps- 
 burg, when he could be faithful to his own aggrandize- 
 ment, he kissed his hand to his own star, believed in 
 his own great destiny, and walked alone in the light of 
 his own imperious soul. Haughty and reserved to his 
 equals, and to the men who called themselves superiors, 
 he took no one into his counsels but Seni, his Italian 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 161 
 
 astrologer, and had no friends but the adoring soldiery 
 whom he led to victory and loosed to plunder. When 
 Ferdinand awhile since had felt anxiously around his 
 coffers and found them empty, Wallenstein, now im- 
 mensely rich with the confiscated estates of Bohemian 
 Protestants, had offered to raise, clothe, and support 
 an army of 50,000 men at his own expense. The em- 
 peror was thankful for the princely aid ; but the servant 
 was henceforth independent of the master: too power- 
 ful to be trusted, too great to be set at naught. More- 
 over, Albrecht Wallenstein was mortally jealous of John 
 Tilly. He had succeeded in gathering together, not 
 50,000, but 100,000 men, who fed and reveled in the 
 land, trampling down what they could not consume, 
 and burning and slaying where they could not carry 
 away ; till the cry, an exceeding great and bitter cry, 
 rose up to heaven against them. Thus Wallenstein 
 flourished, while Germany withered away. And at 
 last Ferdinand, pressed by the angry remonstrances 
 of his injured friends, dismissed his imperious servant. 
 "The emperor is betrayed," said Wallenstein, with 
 haughty self-possession, when the imperial delegates 
 communicated to him his disgrace; "I pity, but I for- 
 give him. I grieve that with so much weakness he has 
 sacrificed me; but I obey." Calm words, but war and 
 revenge were in his heart. And then Seni shut him- 
 self up in the mystic "star-chamber" of his unhal- 
 lowed science, and cast a fresh horoscope for his 
 offended lord. The offended lord retired to his mag- 
 nificent domains, lived with the pomp and with the 
 vast attendance of an Eastern sultan, closed his firm 
 lips and never smiled. Tall, thin, sallow, his impene- 
 
 14* 
 
162 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 trable face lighted by small, keen eyes, and surrounded 
 with short, red hair, he waited in portentous silence 
 until the successes of the Swedish hero should make 
 his humbled kaiser press again into his hand the 
 baton of command. It was needful to give a some- 
 what lengthened portrait of the remarkable man with 
 whom, as well as with the impetuous Tilly, the "Snow- 
 King" from the far North must wrestle for the liberties 
 of Europe. 
 
 Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, having sullenly 
 retired within his silent palace in Prague, where whole 
 streets were blocked up with chains, lest some imperti- 
 nent noise might offend his deep abstractions, and 
 where the sycophants at his levees used to bind their 
 spurs with silken twist, lest they should jingle in his 
 sublime ear, another generalissimo was required: and 
 the rival Tilly received the command. But Gustavus, 
 meanwhile, is marching through Pomerania and Meck- 
 lenburg; and the walls of one strong town after 
 another are falling before him. Will nothing arrest 
 his steps? Surely the winter of this year (1630 
 1631) will stop the intruders? By no means; they 
 are furnished with dresses of sheepskin; and thus 
 equipped, the shapeless Northmen can take the field in 
 January as in June. "A truce: that we may retire 
 into winter quarters," pleaded the imperial emissaries. 
 "The Swedes are soldiers in winter as well as in 
 summer," replied the "Snow-King," from within his 
 royal robes. 
 
 The utmost frugality prevailed in the Swedish camp ; 
 neither gold nor silver glittered even in the royal tent. 
 All irregularities were severely punished; gambling, 
 
A SCHOOL FOR HEROES. 163 
 
 theft, swearing, and other vices were wholly sup- 
 pressed; every regiment had its chaplain: morning and 
 evening the men were commanded to form a ring round 
 their several ministers for prayer; schools for teaching 
 the young members of this marvelous community were 
 opened day by day, just as in the reposeful quiet of a 
 country village in Sudermania or Dalarne; and as 
 soon as the brave travelers began to intrench them- 
 selves, the young folks retired to their own most 
 peaceable quarter, their own academy of the lines. It 
 is recorded that a cannon-ball one day bounded into 
 the school, and killed two or three young students in a 
 moment. But not a pen shook, nor book dropped, nor 
 cheek flushed or paled, in the school of the Northern 
 heroes. All this reads like an extravagant romance, 
 outraging all probabilities, and provoking the smile of 
 incredulity. But it is honest truth-telling history, never- 
 theless ; though one of history's most marvelous pages. 
 In the mean time, Magdeburg had declared for 
 Gustavus Magdeburg, which presently afterward pur- 
 chased by its sufferings the indignant sympathies of 
 Europe. The terrible man with the vulture-like face, 
 the slashed Spanish doublet of green satin, and the 
 red feather hanging down his back, is before its walls. 
 It was one of the strongest, richest, most flourishing 
 cities in all Germany. The Swedish deliverer was 
 within three days march of Magdeburg, and all eyes 
 within the beleaguered walls were eagerly sweeping the 
 horizon in the direction where the Swedish standards 
 should appear. Tilly's keen eye, from the outside, 
 was anxiously turned the same way; and he determ- 
 ined to hurry onward the preparations for a general 
 
164 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 assault before help could come to the doomed city. 
 That assault was successful at every point ; and then, 
 for four days, was enacted a tragedy which has scarcely 
 a parallel in all history. When the hideous work was 
 over and done, (and it is far too horrible for descrip- 
 tion,) the man with the long, sanguinary plume rode 
 through the smoking and steaming city, in order to be 
 able to report to his lord that no such feat had been 
 performed "since the razing of Jerusalem or the sack 
 of Troy." There were a few houses still standing 
 amid the charred heaps of the 30,000 corpses; and 
 fortunately the cathedral and one other church had 
 resisted the flames, so that mass could be comfortably 
 performed, and a "Te Deum" satisfactorily sung for 
 this triumphant success, while the imperial artillery 
 threw in its appropriate accompaniment. 
 
 Gustavus had now been a year in Germany. One 
 Protestant prince after another had ventured to stand 
 by his side. The czar had sent embassadors from 
 Moscow, to congratulate, to renew alliances, and to 
 offer troops. Queen Maria Eleonora landed in re- 
 joicing Pomerania with a reinforcement of 8000 enthu- 
 siastic Swedes; and the Marquis of Hamilton brought 
 over 6000 English, with a host of excellent Scottish 
 officers Mackays, and Leslies, and Munroes. But 
 Gustavus and Tilly have never yet met face to face; 
 they will meet on the morning of the 7th of September, 
 1631. Tilly was in the near neighborhood of Leipsic, 
 his army drawn up on and under the heights which 
 command the plain of Breitenfeld. On that "Broad 
 field," before the hills which stretch toward Lindenthal, 
 beside the little River Lober, was to be decided that 
 
GOD With us. 165 
 
 day the fate of the Swedes, and the life or death of 
 their cause. The numbers are not very unequal : it is 
 the cause that makes the difference. The Saxons are 
 with Gustavus, and are posted on his left. The king 
 leads his own right in person, in a plain gray dress, 
 with a single green plume on his head. He finds him- 
 self immediately confronting the famous Count Pap- 
 penheim. They number somewhere about 35,000 men 
 on each side. When Gustavus had completed all his 
 dispositions, he walked out before the whole line of his 
 arrayed host, uncovered his head, kneeled down, and 
 prayed that God would defend the right. A deep 
 murmur ran through the whole army : it was the simple 
 word "Amen." "God with us!" was the chosen cry 
 of the Swede: " Jesu-Maria !" the imperial watch- 
 word. But Tilly's intrepidity had deserted him that 
 day ; his power of rapid resolve was gone ; they say it 
 was the ghost of Magdeburg that hovered about his 
 brow, and darkened his yes so that he could not see ! 
 The Swedes were everywhere triumphant; they even 
 carried the heights, and turned all Tilly's guns on his 
 own veterans. Tilly, wounded, exhausted, and well- 
 nigh heart-broken at his disgrace, fled to Halle, with 
 only 600 fugitives around him, while the impetuous 
 Pappenheim could rally but 1400 more. These fright- 
 ened runaways were the wreck of that invincible army 
 which had made Germany tremble. And so ended the 
 battle of Leipsic ; to be surpassed in fame by that tre- 
 mendous struggle, one hundred and eighty-two years 
 further on in history, when Napoleon failed and Ponia- 
 towski fell ; that great fight which the Germans call 
 the "Yblkerschlacht," the "Battle of the Nations." 
 
166 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 Gustavus marches on over the land; the Swedish 
 colors are waving from towns and fortresses all along 
 the course of the Main: Wurzburg is his; Marien- 
 burg, Erankfort, Mayence, all Franconia, and the 
 whole Palatinate of the Rhine. The Spaniards and 
 the troops of Lorraine fled away across the historic 
 Rhine, and its beautiful tributary, the Moselle; and 
 even Munich itself saw the "Snow-King" housed .a 
 the forsaken palace of Maximilian of Bavaria. The 
 emperor knew not how long he might be safe within 
 the walls of Vienna itself. But where is Tilly ? Chafed 
 with his humiliating defeat at Leipsic, and eager to 
 disprove his inferiority to the Northern hero, he had 
 collected another army, and had followed up the track 
 of the king as far as the banks of the Lech, the river 
 which marks the western frontier of Bavaria. And 
 there Gustavus faced him once more. Tilly occupied 
 an extremely strong position, on an arc formed by a 
 bend of the river, which, swollen by the melting of the 
 Tyrolean snows, foamed angrily between its steep 
 banks. It is now the 3d of April, 1632. The black 
 mouths of Tilly's guns are making ready to speak from 
 the opposite shore. A group of gray- haired Swedish 
 generals, Gustavus Horn at their head, came around 
 the king, to entreat him to shun the extreme peril 
 of crossing, with such hopeless odds against them. 
 "What!" cried the king, "shall we, who have crossed 
 the Baltic, the Oder, the Rhine, the Danube, turn back 
 from a brook like the Lech?" He instantly planted 
 his guns, masked his movements by the smoke of a 
 great fire of wood and wet straw, hastily made a bridge, 
 and crossed the Lech, after having first gained another 
 
DEATH OF TILLY. 167 
 
 great victory over Tilly and Maximilian by means of 
 his guns from the further shore. In that lost battle 
 Tilly received his death-wound : he was carried from 
 the field, and died a few days afterward in Ingoldstadt. 
 And then came the triumphant entrance into the palace 
 of Maximilian at Munich. 
 
 This is the hour for which the haughty Wallenstein 
 has been waiting within the silent inclosure of his 
 magnificent retirement. Here comes an embassy from 
 his humbled kaiser, who knows in his secret mind that 
 in all Europe there is but one man who can save him ; 
 and that man he has mortally ofiended. Never did 
 Albrecht Wallenstein bury a dead injury out of his 
 sight : it was always embalmed as a precious memorial, 
 and kept in the dark hall of his memory. Ferdinand 
 knew not that the gloomy owner of the six-gated palace 
 in old Prague had already been tampering with the 
 Swede, for dear vengeance' sake. He knew not that 
 the open-browed Northern had given a cold and cau- 
 tious reception to the suspicious overture, because he 
 mistrusted the good faith of a traitor, and in his serene 
 honesty always called Wallenstein "That Madman." 
 And so here was another debt that must sooner or 
 later be paid to the proud despot. How then does he 
 receive the anxious embassage from Vienna? He ex- 
 patiates upon the sweetness of a peaceful retirement 
 upon the precious luxuries of repose. "Too long," he 
 said, "had he tasted the blessings of ease and independ- 
 ence, to sacrifice them to the uncertain favor of princes. 
 Glory was but a phantom tranquillity the desire of 
 his soul." At last, with a stately condescension, just 
 out of compassion for his suppliant master, he agrees 
 
168 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 to accept the unlimited command for three months 
 "just for three months." His great name is sufficient: 
 and in a few weeks 40,000 men have flocked to his 
 well-known standard. The three months expire; and 
 he ostentatiously returns his baton of command. " Keep 
 it keep it I entreat thee; nay, I command!" 
 "Then these are my conditions" and Wallenstein 
 presents a paper, in which were stipulated his own 
 arrogant terms : " That he should have the whole un- 
 controlled command of all the German armies of Aus- 
 tria and of Spain, with unlimited power to reward and 
 to punish ; that there should be no imperial authority 
 within his camp ; no peace to be concluded without his 
 consent ; that he should have the sovereignty over such 
 provinces as he should conquer ; an imperial hereditary 
 estate to be assigned to him for pay, with the promise 
 of the Duchy of Mecklenburg in the event of peace." 
 So humbled is Austria, that Ferdinand must e'en ac- 
 cept from his own servant these unheard-of conditions ; 
 and forthwith this tremendous imperium in imperio is 
 sanctioned. Endowed thus with irresistible power, the 
 mighty Wallenstein walks forth to confront the invinci- 
 ble Gustavus. The Romish cause is alive again. The old 
 star of Wallenstein is again in the ascendant ; and surely 
 the fitful "Northern Lights" must pale before it. 
 
 Everything is now closing in around the mournful 
 plain of Liitzen, every line is converging to that 
 one point. It is the early morning of the 6th of No- 
 vember, 1632; but the day, as if unwilling to break 
 upon the fatal scene, vails itself in impenetrable mists, 
 and the confronting hosts watch, and wait. The fog 
 withdraws at noon; and then Gustavus, as was his 
 
BATTLE OF LUTZEN. 169 
 
 wont, kneels down in front of the lines, and prays his 
 accustomed prayers. His whole array drops also on 
 their knees, and then chants a solemn hymn. It was 
 that fine hymn of Altenburg, written on occasion of the 
 battle of Leipsic, and this is its concluding stanza: 
 
 "Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer ! 
 Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare ; 
 
 Fight for us once again ! 
 So shall thy saints and martyrs raise 
 A mighty chorus to thy praise, 
 
 World without end. Amen." 
 
 And the voice of Gustavus Adolphus mingled with the 
 voices of his people. Then the king mounts his 
 charger, and rides along his lines. He wears no armor 
 this day, for he had been wounded; and a leathern 
 doublet is his slight defense.' Again, "God with us!" 
 is the word of the Swedes; "Jesu-Maria!" the cry of 
 the Austrians. Victory all that day wavered along 
 the struggling lines, swaying to and fro, as if irreso- 
 lute where to alight. There was victory wherever 
 Gustavus appeared; and there was seeming victory 
 again wherever Wallenstein rallied his shaken force. 
 At last news reached the king that his left wing was 
 beginning to yield, just when he had broken the Croats 
 and Poles, and was following up his success. He in- 
 stantly galloped away to the left to support his sorely- 
 pressed infantry; and the noble charger, in his blind 
 zeal, carries his beloved master so far in advance of 
 the men he is leading to the rescue, as to place him 
 almost alone in the front of the enemy. The king's 
 ov,n shortness of sight prevents him from seeing his 
 mistake, until too late ! He turns to reconnoiter the 
 
 15 
 
170 THE "SNOW-KING." 
 
 Austrian lines, when an imperial officer of subordinate 
 rank sajs to a musketeer, "Fire at him^ yonder; that 
 must be a man of consequence." The musketeer takes 
 aim, and the king's left arm drops by his side. Then 
 up comes his outridden squadron, and there is a cry of 
 agony among them : " The king bleeds ! The king is 
 shot!" "It is nothing follow me!" cries the king: 
 but, see ^he is near fainting ; and turning to a dark 
 man who has been riding all day at his side, he says in 
 French, "Lead me away unobserved." That dark man 
 is Francis Albert, Duke of Lauenburg. "What is he 
 doing there, close as a shadow to the king, haunting 
 him like a spirit of evil ? A horrible suspicion, a mis- 
 shapen doubt, clings to the name of that man. Who 
 is he? An old corrosive hate has been rusting in his 
 mind against Gustavus, because of some slight offense 
 received at the Swedish Court long time ago. He has 
 since then been in the service of Austria; he is an in- 
 timate of Wallenstein. Strange to say, he had sud- 
 denly quitted the Austrian service, and had volunteered 
 to serve Gustavus. "Beware of the new-comer," said 
 Axel Oxenstiern to his dear lord; but the king was 
 above suspicion, and made the man his friend. This is he 
 who is now leading the king aside because of his shat- 
 tered arm. See ! he makes a wide sweep behind the 
 contending infantry and just then Gustavus receives 
 a shot through the back. "Brother," he says, with the 
 voice of a dying man, "brother, I have enough I Look 
 only to your own life." More shots follow, and he 
 drops from his charger, which rushes, stained and 
 riderless, among the Swedes, spreading everywhere 
 the astounding news. And then his men, frantic with 
 
GUSTAVUS DIES. 171 
 
 grief, rush to the spot; but the terrible Croats are 
 there already, and have begun to pillagorwhile Gus- 
 tavus yet lives. He has spoken, and said, "I am the 
 King of Sweden; and I seal with my blood the liber- 
 ties of the German nation." Another thrust from a 
 sword; and with the words, "My God! my God! 
 Alas, my poor queen!" dies Gustavus Adolphus. 
 
 His Swedes fight for the possession of the poor man- 
 gled corpse, until it is literally buried^buried under a 
 mound of the slain. And where is Francis Albert, 
 Duke of Lauenburg? He is the first that whispers 
 the great news into the thrilling ear of Wallenstein ! 
 It was said that he escaped the fire of the imperialists 
 by showing a green scarf, the color of the empire. The 
 intrepid Bernard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar, then took the 
 command of the Swedes, and worked out with them 
 their mournful and costly victory. Pappenheim, on 
 the side of Austria, brought up a fresh detachment 
 while the fight of Lutzen was still raging in its fury; 
 and Pappenheim, the flower of Austrian chivalry, fell 
 on the same field as the great Gustavus. But Wallen- 
 stein ? Wallenstein lived to die by an assassin's hand 
 two years later. And what did Ferdinand thereon ? 
 Ferdinand dowered the assassin with dignities and 
 estates, with golden chains of reward and golden keys 
 of office ; but he likewise dropped an imperial tear, and 
 commanded that three thousand masses should be said 
 for the good of his servant's soul. And the queen of 
 Gustavus the loving Maria Eleonora? He had parted 
 with her at Erfurt, with such moving farewells as 
 seemed to forebode the issue. She saw her lord 
 again; and it was at Weissenfels. They drew the 
 
172 THE "snow-king." 
 
 body, after long and anxious search, from beneath the 
 heaped-up slain. They knew it first by its great stat- 
 ure; for it was so trampled and dinted by the horses' 
 hoofs, that the weeping soldiers scarce knew their mas- 
 ter's face. He bore eight wounds five gun-shot 
 wounds, two cuts, and one stab. The doublet was 
 gone: it was plundered by the Croats, and sent off to 
 Vienna as the greatest trophy of the Thirty Years' 
 War. And it was thus that the Lady Eleonora saw 
 her lord at Weissenfels, while the veteran generals 
 stood around in speechless grief. 
 
 He was but thirty-eight years of age; but the Ger- 
 mans, half jealous of the glory of their deliverer, think 
 it was good for his fame that he thus died at noonday. 
 They think he would never have been satisfied to return 
 from his wondrous crusade a simple king of Sweden, a 
 chivalrous and high-souled defender of the faith ! 
 "Doubtless," say they, "he aimed at displacing Fer- 
 dinand, and would have sat as kaiser on his throne." 
 "Doubtless," say other moralists, more generous in 
 their tone, "his God delivered him from a great tempt- 
 ation." But the lover of great men and good, as he 
 stands under the poplars that shadow the great " Schwe- 
 denstein," ("Stone of the Swede,") which marks the 
 spot where he fell, will think only of his virtues, and 
 mourn for him as for a friend. That rude block of 
 unshaped granite is one of those remarkable boulders 
 (mysterious travelers they, impelled by unknown forces) 
 which would seem to have swept down from the far 
 Scandinavian hills, to rest as strangers on the plains 
 of Germany. A fitting monument this for the great 
 Scandinavian hero. 
 
SCENES IN THE LIFE 
 
 WILLIAM THE SILENT, 
 
 15* 
 
SCENES IN THE LIFE 
 
 OP 
 
 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 If the republic of Venice sprang from the sea with 
 the marvelous growth of the coral isle, and reared 
 upon her mysterious roots, as soon as they rose above 
 the wash of the waves, palaces for the merchant- 
 princes of the earth, the remarkable cluster of prov- 
 inces, so appropriately known as the Low Countries, 
 bravely built out the sea with mound and causeway, 
 and then reared upon the reclaimed marsh-land the 
 broad quays and great warehouses of a world's com- 
 merce. The amphibious people who dwelt behind these 
 marine mud-banks had brought with them out of their 
 native German soil the roots of German character, and 
 the seeds of German institutions. The Frisii, the 
 Belgae, and the Batavi were very brave "barbarians" 
 in the Roman period. They were spirited horsemen ; 
 for the Flemish steed was thought something of even 
 at that early day. They were courageous and trust- 
 worthy, and were therefore selected to furnish the 
 body-guard of the Roman emperor of the day. They 
 would swim across the Danube, when out on service, 
 just like alligators, whose habits of life closely resem- 
 
 (175) 
 
176 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 bled their own ; and when Agricola came over to sub- 
 due our own island, the Batavians formed an excellent 
 "army-corps," whose education, as a nation of "nav- 
 vies," would peculiarly qualify them for assisting in the 
 construction of the massive Roman works. In the 
 eighth century, Charles Martel was perpetually "ham- 
 mering" at Friesland, whereby he at last broke up a 
 road for the entrance of Christianity; and the mighty 
 Charlemagne afterward united the several provinces 
 under his broad imperial rule. But the Netherlanders 
 soon began to assert the rights of their true calling as 
 the merchants and traders of the world. They coasted 
 along the shores of Britain, brought back wool, and 
 wove it into the Flanders cloth for the doublet of the 
 stout German burgher and the cloak of the ruffling 
 French cavalier. The ship-captain had no compass to 
 steer by; but he swept round by the northernmost 
 cape of Russia, quietly saluting the North Pole with 
 a grave nod as he passed. And when the showy and 
 impetuous Charles the Bold of Burgundy established 
 himself as suzerain over the provinces, he could only 
 claim to be the first citizen in a jealous republic; while 
 he lent the sanction of his redoubtable flag to the ships 
 which brought the wealth of India from the ports of 
 the Levant, after its long overland journey on camel- 
 back. In the sixteenth century Antwerp was known 
 as the busiest city in Christendom, and withal the most 
 prosperous. The flax which afterward made the Hol- 
 land shirtings so famous was growing in the fields ; the 
 comfortable cattle were multiplying in the rich pas- 
 tures ; the corn-fields were waving amid the net-work of 
 intersecting canals; and ships were floating up to the 
 
ORIGIN OF BILLS. 177 
 
 broad quays of the inland cities, to be laden with the 
 goodly manufactures of Flanders and Brabant, for the 
 bazaars of Persia and Arabia, and the markets of dis- 
 tant Ind. A great commerce in bills sprang up to 
 meet the necessities of money exchange; and the great 
 trading houses of Italy and Germany had their 
 branches in the Low Countries, with their Fuggers, 
 Welsens, and Bonvisi to discount their paper and man- 
 age their money transactions. It is said that more 
 extensive business was transacted at Antwerp in the 
 course of a single month, than Venice in her prime 
 could compass in a couple of years. The Nether- 
 lander, where he had not the genius to invent, had the 
 perseverance to imitate, and the skill to improve. He 
 improved the compass ; made almost, if not quite, the 
 earliest use of typography; painted glass windows for 
 his cathedrals; engraved finely on copper; was the 
 first to make a pocket-watch, to confirm his strong 
 views of punctuality; the first to set up a sun-dial 
 amid the straight walks of his garden ; and made the 
 world frantic with envy over his splendid tulip-beds. 
 More than this : he established a school of painting, 
 which is a mirror of himself, his mind, his wife, and 
 his country : literal, imitative, minutely exact, perfect 
 in its reproduction of truth and its rendering of nature, 
 often great in its coarse strength; but rarely rising 
 into the unknown world of the ideal, where he himself 
 had never been. 
 
 The doctrines of the Reformation struck deep root 
 at an early hour into the favoring soil of the Nether- 
 lands. Truth and liberty were home-words among the 
 people. They loved the real, disliked pretensions, and 
 
178 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 approved of every man's right to think a matter over 
 for himself, and to decide upon its merits in the quiet 
 council-chamber of his own mind ; instead of submitting 
 thought, will, and action to the authoritative teaching of 
 a privileged order. Above all, they detested persecu- 
 tion; and the flying bands of hunted exiles that soon 
 came crying for sanctuary at their peaceful thresholds 
 awoke their indignant commiseration. These poor 
 fugitives were received within their sober homes, and 
 soon pity for the confessor melted the phlegmatic nature 
 of the host into love of the faith. 
 
 Into the midst of this great community of thriving 
 merchants, prosperous manufacturers, industrious arti- 
 sans, and enterprising mariners, stalks an imperious 
 lord, with a long train of haughty hidalgoes, rapacious 
 generals, and gloomy bigots behind him. This is 
 Charles, Emperor of Germany, King of Spain, of the 
 Two Sicilies, Lord of Jerusalem, of Lombardy, and 
 of the golden world of the "West. The suzerainity 
 of the Netherlands had passed to the house of Haps- 
 burg, as the appanage of Mary of Burgundy, heiress 
 of Charles the Bold, when the guardian burghers of 
 Ghent gave her in marriage to the Archduke Maximil- 
 ian. Maximilian became emperor in 1493. Three 
 years afterward his son, and the son of the deceased 
 Mary of Burgundy, married the weak-minded or the 
 wandering Joanna, daughter of the astute Ferdinand 
 of Aragon and the gentler Isabella of Castile. In 
 the year 1500 there was born of this union the cele- 
 brated Charles V., and this is the whence and the 
 wherefore of that stately cavalcade which marched with 
 portentous tread along the dykes of the lowlands and 
 
THE FRUITS OF MASTERY. 179 
 
 through the mistrustful streets of their cities. It was 
 soon evident that the imperial Charles meant to treat 
 the Netherlands as a conquered country. But as the 
 land was rich, and the enormous expenses of his wars 
 kept him needy, it was important that imposts and 
 taxes should be productive; therefore commerce was 
 to be fostered, in order that his subjects might fill 
 their purses for his royal use. Yet as to freedom of 
 thought and liberty of conscience, these were danger- 
 ous heresies, which must be trampled out in as sum- 
 mary a fashion as was found to be so eminently success- 
 ful in his own fair Spain. Searching edicts came forth 
 from the imperial mind, announcing that the gospel 
 should never be read by private individuals ; that assem- 
 blies which partook in the remotest degree of a religious 
 character should be instantly put down ; and that house- 
 hold talk on the objectionable topic of religion around 
 the stove or the table should be forbidden, under severe 
 penalties. Special courts were set up to enforce these 
 grinding edicts. Criminals convicted on such counts 
 were to be buried alive, or otherwise executed; relapsed 
 heretics were to be burned to death ; and he who re- 
 nounced his errors and said, "I recant," was to be ten- 
 derly preserved from danger of future falls, by being sent 
 into another world just while he happened to be in his 
 right mind. Under these terrible edicts, as adminis- 
 tered by Mary, Dowager-Queen of Hungary, Charles's 
 sister, and regent, thousands of his Dutch and Flemish 
 subjects parted with their lives ratlier than with their 
 faith. And now the Spanish ideal good, the establish- 
 ment of the Inquisition, came into the mind of Charles. 
 The project was mooted; and this was the instantane- 
 
180 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 ous effect: the great tide of commerce, which swept 
 along the bustling marts of Antwerp, was suddenly 
 arrested, and came to a dead pause; the foreign mer- 
 chants began to pack their chests and settle their 
 accounts, preparatory to "flitting;" the buyer and the 
 seller stopped in the midst of their bargain, and the 
 work-shops closed their doors. Charles saw that he 
 had ventured a step too far; and he, in his royal turn, 
 said, "I recant;" the foreign merchants need not fear: 
 the Holy OflBce shall pass them by; the agent of my- 
 self and of my church shall not be called Inquisitor 
 he is only "Supreme Judge." 
 
 Thus Antwerp indeed was spared; but in the rest 
 of the provinces the fearful tribunal exacted its full 
 tale of victims. Fifty thousand persons perished, dur- 
 ing the rule of Charles over the Netherlands, for ques- 
 tions of faith alone: some in the walled-up graves of 
 the "Holy Office," some by soaking the land with their 
 honest blood, while many were borne away by the swift 
 wheels of a chariot of fire. And still from their ashes 
 the dust left behind by those glittering wheels 
 sprang up the undying phenix of Protestantism. 
 Charles blessed himself under the illusion that he had 
 killed out the malignant race; but Philip, when he 
 came to reign in his father's stead, found that multi- 
 tudes must have been passed over through inadvert- 
 ence, or that verily the seed of the martyrs had 
 brought forth a hundredfold. But, with the vital ex- 
 ception of the religious question, Charles ruled the 
 land with no impolitic sway. He visited the provinces 
 again and again ; he allowed easy access to his person ; 
 the people remembered, with a something of national 
 
PHILIP. 181 
 
 pride, that the mighty lord of half the known world 
 was born among them, was the direct descendant of 
 their old Burgundian suzerains, and that through him 
 they had a sort of ownership in the crown jewels of his 
 diadem in sparkling Italy, broad Germania, glowing 
 Africa, and the burning gold of the far-off Spanish 
 main. They were conscious that through his ascend- 
 ency they were privileged traders with the open ports 
 of the world. Ten times did Charles revisit his sturdy 
 Hollanders: he spoke their language, adopted their 
 homely customs in his private life, and liked to refresh 
 himself among a straightforward, manly people, who 
 knew not the stately ceremonial of Vienna, the grace- 
 ful duplicity of Lombardy, the smiling hatred of Na- 
 ples, and the lofty yet cringing servility of Castile. 
 
 Charles was anxious that his son Philip should be a 
 favorite with his future subjects; and therefore, with a 
 view to cultivate affection betwixt them, he sent for the 
 hopeful lad, and showed him with paternal solicitude to 
 his good people of Brussels. The people flocked out 
 into the streets with a broad smile of honest welcome 
 on their good-humored faces, and opened wide their 
 purse-strings, in order to make a costly festival for the 
 heir-apparent of a realm on which the sun never went 
 down. What did they see ? A diminutive youth, with 
 a chest so narrow, that truly the heart had never room 
 to expand; with a fair complexion, and thin, fair hair, 
 which intimated his Teutonic ancestry ; with a triangu- 
 lar face, broad at the forehead, and narrowing off into a 
 protruding chin, which was afterward pointed by a short, 
 sharp, yellow beard; an eye blue, like his father's; an 
 aquiline nose ; a broad, ungainly mouth, with an under 
 
 16 
 
182 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 lip coarse, hanging, and heavy. It was that lip, which 
 was a deformity in his father, which became celebrated 
 in himself as the Burgundian feature, and which has 
 become an heir-loom in the house of Austria. That 
 heavy lip would not part from its stern fellow above to 
 let out a single smile on this festal day; neither would 
 the cold, glass-like blue eye soften into a glance of 
 friendly meaning. That entry into Brussels, from 
 which the generally politic father had hoped so much, 
 lost for Philip all the hearts of the Netherlanders. 
 His look was a prophetic shadow cast onward from the 
 unseen future. They saw in that hard countenance the 
 youthful tyrant, full of promise already sealed, full of 
 purpose already formed. The father's propitiating 
 affability was wholly neutralized by the haughty and 
 sullen gravity of the son; and from that hour may be 
 dated the "Revolt of the Netherlands." Born in 
 Spain, and half a Spaniard by descent, Philip was 
 wholly a Spaniard in temperament and by training. 
 He spoke no other tongue than his own stately Castil- 
 ian ; had been bred under the iron rule of the Romish 
 church; had chosen churchmen and monks as his 
 favored associates; and could brook none but Span- 
 iards about his person. The story of his education 
 was but too legibly written on his face of sullen re- 
 serve, which the honest Flemings looked, at with dis- 
 may, and then made a memorandum in their minds for 
 future reference. 
 
 Philip was born on the 21st of May, in the year 
 1527, at Valladolid. Six years after this date, on the 
 twenty-fifth of April, in the year 1533, there was born 
 at Dillenburg, in Nassau, that William of Orange who 
 
WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 188 
 
 received from his contemporaries the surname of "The 
 Silent." His house had given an emperor to Germany 
 in Adolph of Nassau. His ancestors had been Dukes 
 of Gueldres before the house of Burgundy claimed 
 sway over the Low Countries; they had owned large 
 possessions and sounding titles in Brabant, Luxem- 
 bourg, Flanders, Holland; but they took their name 
 from the small principality of Orange, which occupies 
 a pleasant region near the poetic Vaucluse and the 
 historic Avignon, and which still preserves its fine old 
 Roman remains. William had inherited, through the 
 will of his cousin. Prince R^n^, great estates and titles 
 when he was only eleven years of age. His parents 
 had embraced the Lutheran faith, and had instilled the 
 same doctrines into the mind of the boy. But his 
 future was too important to be thus intrusted by 
 Charles V. to the dangerous training of heretics ; and 
 he induced the too yielding parents to give up the boy 
 of twelve to his own careful guardianship. He placed 
 William in the household of his sister, the regent, Mary 
 of Hungary, who, while she educated him liberally as 
 became his fortunes, bred the boy as a strict Catholic, 
 in accordance with the traditions of her house. But 
 the keen eye of the emperor had discovered the re- 
 markable qualities of the boy, and in order to keep 
 him near his person, and subject to his own molding 
 hand, he removed him from the vice-regal household to 
 the imperial. William, at fifteen, became page to his 
 august master. As he grew in years and in discretion, 
 he was sent hither and thither on various important 
 missions; and it implies no small merit in the young 
 page, that he should be selected as message-bearer 
 
184 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 for such a monarcli as the astute and sagacious 
 Charles. For nine years he was honored with this 
 distinguished training; and it was remarked that when 
 the subtle kaiser gave audience to foreign embassadors, 
 young Nassau alone was allowed to be present in the 
 apartment ; proving by this token that he was already 
 earning the title of "William the Silent." The Silent? 
 Ay, but at the same time "The Listener." If nothing 
 passed his sealed lips, nought escaped his acute ear. 
 A youth who knew all the winding-passages, secret 
 corridors, and back-stairs of kaiser-craft, and who was 
 placed as if behind the arras of secret conference, was 
 certainly in a more favorable position for sharpening 
 the intellect than for cultivating the moral sense. His 
 favorite author at this time was Macchiavelli ; and it 
 must be admitted that he afterward showed himself too 
 apt a pupil of too subtle a master. But before long 
 an occasion was to arise in which his excellent gift as 
 a silent listener was to be of priceless worth. In the 
 mean time he was selected by Charles to hold the high 
 office of general-in-chief of the army employed on the 
 frontier of France during the absence of the Duke of 
 Savoy; and this when he was but twenty-two years 
 old. The sagacity of the master was justified by the 
 able conduct of the servant during this temporary 
 command. 
 
 THE HALL OF STATE AT BRUSSELS. 
 
 On one great historic occasion, the three remarkable 
 men who have been described above, Charles of Aus- 
 tria, Philip of Spain, and William of Orange, were 
 
HALL OF STATE. 185 
 
 grouped together with fine scenic effect on a stage 
 which fixed the attention of waiting Europe. The 
 scene is as memorable for the character of the actors 
 as for the significance of the act. The day was the 
 25th of October, 1555 the place, the great hall of the 
 royal palace at Brussels. Every accessory that could 
 give effect to a grand State representation was present; 
 every name which could give an imposing sanction to 
 the last act of one great drama and the opening act of 
 another, was lent for the occasion : the scenery was 
 fine, the costume characteristic, the actors of consum- 
 mate skill. Some of the spectators looked in each 
 other's face, to see if it were held to be a comedy, a 
 burlesque, a farce ; but the more part knit their brows, 
 while they whispered behind their hand, "A tragedy 
 and a dark one; for the plot is yet hidden." It was 
 something to get inside the great hall on that day, to 
 be a spectator of such a scene: the world would not 
 see its like again. It is the apartment in the old 
 palace of John of Brabant, wherein the solemn chapters 
 of the knights of the golden fleece are held; and the 
 arras which clothes the walls is the woven story of 
 Gilead, the Abi-ezrite, who is invoked as the patron 
 saint of the "Toison d'Or." Beneath a gorgeous 
 canopy, on a raised platform, are placed three golden 
 chairs of state, but the destined occupants have not 
 yet appeared. The hall is already lined with silent 
 spectators: grave men and brave men, false men and 
 true; deputies from the provinces, knights of the fleece, 
 robed magistrates in their civic chains, solemn burghers 
 with stolid looks but anxious hearts, imperial guards, 
 haughty courtiers from Vienna, arrogant hidalgoes 
 
 10* 
 
186 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 from Spain, fiery lords from Italy, courtly embassa- 
 dors representing the various thrones of Europe. The 
 clock strikes three; and with a clash of arms the door 
 flies open. A personage clad in black, (for he still 
 mourns for his mother,) and distinguished only by the 
 glistening collar of the golden fleece, enters the hall. 
 With one arm he leans on the shoulder of a young 
 nobleman, while the other rests on a stafi". It is Kaiser 
 Charles, and he leans on the shoulder of William the 
 Silent One. And Charles is reduced to this pitiful 
 state ! Bowed into a very curve, with limbs distorted 
 by disease he who was once so strongly knit together, 
 so athletic, so supple, that he had been the pride of 
 the tourney, had shared the privations of the com- 
 monest soldier, had himself mastered the poor victim 
 bull of Andalusia amid the plaudits of the cruel ring, 
 had baffled all his foes by the marvelous rapidity of 
 his movements, and in the pride of his princely strength 
 had despised the needful restoratives of sleep and of 
 repose. He has not yet counted out his fifty-six 
 years, and yet all this weighty decrepitude has fallen 
 upon him. His countenance, and especially the fore- 
 head, with its right royal expanse, is chequered with 
 the deep care-lines of anxious thought, rather than 
 with the common furrows which Time traces on the 
 surface ; and yet it wears a majesty of its own, which 
 the yellow hair of the head and of the beard, now 
 thickly powdered and crisped with white, the heavy 
 lower lip, which has before been mentioned as the last- 
 ing type of the house, and the distortions of the bend- 
 ing figure, cannot seriously impair. There is a tinge 
 about him of that melancholy fancy which haunts him 
 
THE FOUR BRIDES. 187 
 
 in his lonely moments, and which even now, in the 
 midst of that brilliant crowd, makes his pulse beat with 
 feverish and uncertain action. Ever since the death 
 of his poor distraught mother. Queen Joanna, daughter 
 of Ferdinand and Isabella, he fancies he has heard her 
 pitiful voice calling him as if from a distance to follow 
 her. 
 
 Behind this care-worn and broken-down man of 
 might walks the son and heir. What the burghers of 
 Brussels had seen in the boy is now matured in the 
 man. He is twenty-eight years of age by this time. 
 He has married a youthful Portuguese bride, and lost 
 her ; he has married a gloomy English bride, (too much 
 like himself to be a congenial partner,) and in three 
 more years he will be free from her also. Even then 
 he will have run through but half his marriage com- 
 pacts. There is a beautiful young French bride to be 
 wooed and married and buried; and, lastly, there is 
 the same fate in store for an amiable Austrian maiden, 
 less than half her sullen husband's age, young Anne 
 of Austria, his fourth and last spouse. His cousin, 
 Mary of Portugal, was the bride of his choice, before 
 his nature had become thoroughly indurated by his 
 monkish education, before he had advisedly put on the 
 whole armor of the bigot, before he had drawn up his 
 own code of laws written in letters of fire, before he 
 had deliberately determined to be "a king without a 
 subject remaining to him, rather than be a king 
 over heretics." They were both but sixteen years of 
 age; and if Philip ever loved, he possibly loved his 
 cousin, Mary of Pdrtugal. She bore him the mourn- 
 fully-celebrated Don Carlos; and then she died, before 
 
188 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 she had reached her eighteenth year. The second 
 wife, Mary Tudor, had been betrothed to his father, 
 Charles V., in his youth; and though she loved her 
 Spanish lord, Philip, who was her distorted ideal of 
 the Christian monarch all will and no weakness all 
 head and no heart yet he in return loved not her^ but 
 her fair dower of England. The beautiful Isabella of 
 France was the betrothed of his own son, Don Carlos; 
 and though she was the idol of two nations, the soul 
 of her haughty lord was too busy with State involve- 
 ments, and with watching and thwarting his wayward 
 son, too deep in the secrets of the Inquisition, too hard 
 at work writing his own State papers and signing 
 orders for autos-da-fe^ to unbend in the society of his 
 fascinating wife. Anne was her successor but two 
 years after the lovely Isabella was laid in her tomb ; 
 and Anne, again, had been plighted to the unfortunate 
 Carlos. Few fathers have thus twice supplanted their 
 own son, after having taken the allotted bride of their 
 own father. And Anne too was laid with Isabella in 
 that splendid palace of the dead, the gigantic Escurial, 
 which it was the fascination of Philip's life to rear in" 
 the midst of a desert, and which became the royal 
 mausoleum of Spain. 
 
 But to return from this long matrimonial excursion. 
 Philip, while he walks with somber gravity behind his 
 decrepit father, is at this moment but the recent bride- 
 groom of his Mary Tudor, (it is not pleasant to say our 
 Mary.) He is magnificently dressed and decorated; 
 and the splendid jewel of the Toison d'Or, of which 
 order his father had made him grand master but a few 
 days before, is one of the most conspicuous and bril- 
 
WORLD-TLRED SOULS. 189 
 
 liant of his ornaments. It was j&tting that he who was 
 assuming the pomps and cares of sway should be splen- 
 didly attired. It was also fitting that he who was re- 
 nouncing its vanities, and retiring from an empire to a 
 cell, from the splendid throne of old Charlemagne, with 
 added regions of which Charlemagne never dreamed, 
 lying beyond the golden line where the sun of his 
 empire dipped behind the ripple of the western waves 
 it was fitting that he should be clad in the mourning 
 garb of the devotee. It was one solemn reading and 
 there are various readings of the "going out and 
 coming in" over the threshold of this mortal life. 
 Charles the Imperial is now supported to one of those 
 three gilded seats, by the arm of The Silent One. 
 Philip takes his place on the second of those chairs; 
 and the third is occupied by the retiring regent, Mary, 
 Queen-Dowager of Hungary. For twenty years has 
 she been ruling all those impracticable burghers, and 
 all those freedom-loving guilds, administrating to them 
 the terrible edicts which have been before mentioned. 
 She is tired ; and no wonder. She is impatient to get 
 over this great State ceremonial, in order to accompany 
 her far-worn brother into some genial retirement in 
 Spain. There is another lady of mark in the cortege, 
 but she sits not under the lofty canopy whereon are 
 blazoned the old arms of Burgundy. That widowed 
 lady is relict of the chivalrous Francis I. of France, 
 who was so perpetually wrestling with his imperial 
 brother-in-law in most unequal conflict. The two 
 sister dowagers are ready to bear their brother com- 
 pany to the land of the South. They will plead to be 
 tolerated, as world-tired neighbors, in some hidden 
 
190 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 spot near his future monastic home of Juste, amid the 
 leaping waters, the bowery myrtles, and the golden 
 orange and lemon groves of Estremadura. But the 
 lofty recluse waves his weary hand to his sisters, and 
 chooses the society of St. Jerome's monks in their 
 stead. 
 
 But the young man on whose shoulder the emperor 
 leaned as he entered the hall of abdication? Let us 
 have his portrait. One likes to know the character in 
 which a great name is writ upon the parchment scroll 
 of a chronicle the colors in which an initial letter of 
 a new and grand chapter are traced upon the illumi- 
 nated manuscript of history. William of Orange was 
 a tall spare-built young man; one of those who sleep 
 little and think much. The finely cut features were 
 chiseled rather after a Spanish than a Flemish mold; 
 and they followed those delicate lines which imply fine 
 perceptions and keen discrimination. His complexion 
 was dark, and his hair dark; while the lower part of 
 the face was masked by a dark moustache, and sharp- 
 ened by a pointed beard. The dark eyes were expres- 
 sive of profound thought. But it was the high and 
 broad forehead which looked the doomed council-cham- 
 ber of meditation. What the subject under debate in 
 that council-hall, no man living could know, unless in- 
 vited to conference; there was no such thing as eaves- 
 dropping; nothing to be caught by looking in through 
 the chance crevices of an unguarded look, or through 
 the open door of accidental revelation. Schiller finely 
 says of William the Silent: "The calm tranquillity of 
 a never-varying countenance concealed a busy, ardent 
 soul, which never ruffled even the vail behind which it 
 
PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM. 191 
 
 worked." This masterful self-command was one of 
 the most noticeable features in the man. His mind 
 was ever at work, gathering materials for opinion from 
 unconscious men, who knew not that the calm eye of 
 the Taciturn was reading their innermost soul as if it 
 were a child's horn-book. He was ever sorting and 
 arranging his miscellaneous intelligence, and then 
 quietly retiring to make up his great resolves opinions 
 which rarely had to be revised ; resolves which never 
 were changed. He was too proud to be servile ; but 
 when a kindness came from one so reserved, it was 
 irresistible; when a smile dawned slowly upon a coun- 
 tenance so impenetrable, it insured a friend or bought 
 a partisan on the spot; when the tight lips were un- 
 locked with a purpose to let forth that flow of elo- 
 quence, which was ever there in full reservoir, and 
 which was only held back by the firm tide-gates of 
 systematic reserve, men were carried away by the 
 unlooked-for flood. William never threw away a word ; 
 never wasted a look ; was never elated by success, be- 
 cause he had calmly taken it into account beforehand ; 
 was never disheartened by failure, because he had 
 coolly provisioned himself against reverse. Such was 
 the future leader of a great national conspiracy. 
 Charles V. cannot have read him aright, with all his 
 sagacious penetration; but Philip has and he will 
 soon show it. 
 
 But the long-drawn ceremonial is moving on, at the 
 usual slow and stately pace of Castile chastened by 
 Vienna. Philibert de Bruxelles has been making a 
 ponderous oration by command of the emperor; and 
 while he has been bowing his deferential adieu to the 
 
192 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 setting sun, and, Persian-like, worshiping the rising 
 one from the glowing hill-top of anticipation, time has 
 been given to sketch the portraits of the remarkable 
 persons assembled in the hall of State. And now, 
 having wound up his harangue, Philibert de Bruxelles 
 proceeds to read the regal document whereby the whole 
 splendid Burgundian inheritance, the seventeen prov- 
 inces of the Netherlands, are made over with their 
 busy and panting millions to that somber son and heir, 
 who, even before this new deed of gift, has entered on 
 his fair inheritance of the Two Sicilies and of Lom- 
 bardy ; who already writes after his name the shadowy 
 titles of King of England, King of France, King of 
 Jerusalem; and who before long will own as real 
 estate the whole splendid domain pertaining to the 
 Spanish crown. He even will speak, by arrogant 
 habit, of "My fine City of Paris" '^ my fine City of 
 Orleans," and so forth. Ah! mayhap his possessions 
 will shrink a little before he is ready to leave them; 
 mayhap his rent-roll will shrivel up into%i somewhat 
 briefer list before the very flames of his own kindling. 
 But the devisee of kingdoms, the abdicating emperor, 
 is making ready to speak. He rises with painful diffi- 
 culty ; and then, resting his right hand on the shoulder 
 of young William of Nassau, and glancing occasionally 
 at some notes which he holds in his left hand, he pro- 
 ceeds to address his subjects for the last time. It is 
 the French tongue in which he speaks, probably as the 
 neutral language of diplomacy among the many nations 
 represented in that hall. He briefly tracked his own 
 remarkable life upward from his seventeenth year to 
 the culminating point of the present hour. He had 
 
A RETROSPECT. 193 
 
 been born among his own well-beloved Netherlanders ; 
 six times had he made expeditions into his maternal 
 Spain; nine times into his imperial Germany; seven 
 times into subject Italy; twice to England; twice to 
 Africa; four times into France; eleven voyages had 
 he made on the seas; and ten times had he revisited 
 the prosperous land of his birth. Forty years had 
 elapsed since the scepter of the Netherlands had passed 
 into his youthful hand. He would not willingly part 
 from his own people without giving a few words of 
 farewell from his own lips. He had always remem- 
 bered the interests of the dear land of his birth, even 
 when a more extended empire had laid its weighty 
 responsibilities upon him ; but above and over all had 
 he been mindful of the great interests of his religion. 
 If any one in such licentious times had harbored doubts 
 in his breast, let those doubts be extirpated and at 
 once. Were there any here whom he had wronged ? 
 Let them believe it was in ignorance, and let them 
 grant him their forgiveness. 
 
 There was a deep hush through the assemblage ; and 
 then the multitude, moved by a generous impulse of 
 regret, broke forth into tears and sobs. But in very 
 truth it was the young men, the heirs of the future, 
 who had reason to weep, and not the old men who re- 
 membered the past. The sons of hope were in worse 
 case on that day than were the sires of memory. And 
 so might think the least intelligent observer, as he 
 turned from the father who was now blessing and en- 
 dowing his son, to the son who in silence was receiving 
 the same. "Go on as you have begun," says Charles 
 to Philip; "fear God; live justly; respect the laws: 
 
 17 
 
194 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 above all, cherish the interests of religion; and may- 
 God bless jou with a son to whom, when old, infirm, 
 and stricken with sickness, you may be able to resign 
 your kingdom with the same good-will with which I 
 now give mine to you." And then even Philip II. 
 dropped a tear so says tradition; but it adds, it was 
 the last which moistened his cheek. Now Charles sank 
 back into his chair, exhausted and deathly pale. Philip 
 bent his knee and received the sign of the cross on 
 his head from his father's feeble hand; while the em- 
 peror, looking round on his sobbing people, whispered, 
 with unfeigned emotion, "God bless you! God bless 
 you!" and then the curtain dropped. 
 
 THE FOREST OLADE. 
 
 The scene is entirely changed. It is now the year 
 1559, and the spot on which the light falls is a green 
 valley in the ancient Bois de Vincennes. The court 
 of Henry II. of France was at this time tarrying for a 
 season in the old castle of Vincennes, whose lofty walls 
 and deep ditches marked it out much more appro- 
 priately for the State prison which it afterward became, 
 than for the abode of the pleasure-loving son of Fran- 
 cis I., or for the scene of the disgraceful triumphs of 
 Diana of Poitiers. Take one second-sight glance down 
 the long vista of years, and a view may be caught of 
 one of the blackest State tragedies in history; when 
 the young Due d'Enghien, the Prince of Condi's only 
 son, was led out by the wild glare of midnight torches, 
 and shot in that very fosse, to appease the suspicious 
 
THE TIRED HUNTERS. 195 
 
 jealousy of Napoleon. But it was daylight, and the 
 dew lay fresh on the wood-paths of the forest, when 
 Henry pricked forth to the chase. There had been 
 much hard riding and eager scouring through the forest 
 glades, when two tired hunters found themselves alone 
 together in a long aisle of the wood, where the tall 
 trees, lacing their branches high above them, made a 
 welcome shelter for the hot heads of the hunters. 
 Henry II. lifts off his plumed cap of velvet, and wipes 
 his forehead. The young cavalier who rides by his 
 side, with a look of deferential reserve on his handsome 
 but impenetrable countenance, is Prince William of 
 Orange ; and this is the memorable day on which he 
 wins his surname of "The Silent." Hot heads, did 
 some one say ? Ay, Henry's may be hot ; but the 
 head of the other is always cool. How comes it that 
 young Nassau is riding so confidentially beside the 
 king of that country with which his master, Philip of 
 Spain, has lately been struggling in war ? The young 
 man has been chosen by Henry as one of the hostages 
 for the fulfillment of that treaty of peace which bears 
 in history the name of Chateau-Cambresis. The in- 
 itiatory steps had been taken by the old Constable 
 Montmorency and the Cardinal Lorraine on the part 
 of France, and by the terrible Alva, by Anthony Per- 
 renot, Bishop of Arras, best known as the detested 
 Cardinal Granvelle, and by young William of Orange, 
 on the part of Philip of Spain; and William was an 
 honored hostage at the court of Henry. Yes, Henry's 
 head was much heated, for it was racked with exciting 
 subjects of recent debate. The new allies had agreed 
 together upon a notable scheme, which formed the 
 
196 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 matter of a secret convention betwixt them. This 
 was, to destroy heresy, by tearing it up by the roots 
 out of the whole soil of France, and out of the broad 
 Spanish realms. It was to be a perfect extirpation. 
 It was highly desirable to get rid of it, root and branch, 
 at once and forever. It would save them a world of 
 trouble to get the whole business settled at once, and 
 then to wash their royal hands of the affair. So rea- 
 soned the contracting parties. Henry was an honored 
 son of the Inquisition, as well as Philip, and he had 
 unbounded faith in the wisdom and untiring zeal of 
 that secret and irresponsible tribunal which bore the 
 pious name of the Holy Office. But it was somewhat 
 too slow, in its solemn and stately movements, for the 
 anxious haste of the son of Francis I. and the son of 
 Charles V.; and so their "most Christian" and "most 
 Catholic" majesties had agreed upon a secret rider to 
 the treaty, whereby they should enter into a solemn 
 league and covenant, to cure their tainted lands by a 
 general massacre of all those who were infected with 
 spiritual disease. 
 
 Philip, on his part, had intrusted the arrangements 
 of this secret convention to a most fitting agent, who 
 was fellow-hostage with William of Orange Fernando 
 Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva. He was some- 
 where about fifty years of age at this period. Early 
 orphaned by the death of his father in the African' 
 expedition, he was bred by his warlike grandfather in 
 the midst of camps. He was early placed near the 
 person of Philip, and the two kindred souls shared the 
 same court life, the same State journeys, and the same 
 peculiar tastes. But Alva was too haughty and too 
 
A FIT INSTRUMENT. 197 
 
 stern to cringe to the heir-apparent, or even to his 
 imperial and imperious master; and Philip, who ap- 
 proved of the unbending strength of Fernando's char- 
 acter, foresaw in him the right hand to execute his stern 
 decrees, and the unshrinking zeal to support his steps 
 all through that unswerving path which lay in dark 
 vision before him. The man with the singularly long, 
 narrow face, with the long, narrow beard, whose lines 
 precisely continued downward the straight lines of the 
 face; with the long, aquiline nose; with the short, 
 compressed mouth, whose lips just separated the down- 
 drooping moustache, which sought to follow the pre- 
 vailing tendency of the beard ; with the small eyes set 
 as near as possible to the nose, and which were yet 
 caverned under pent-house brows, that threw a dark 
 shadow from beneath their overhanging eaves; with 
 the full but low forehead, which bore a diverging 
 furrow, like that singular mark in the form of the 
 letter "v," which is said always to betoken the viper; 
 with the large ear and the short growth of crisp hair; 
 the man with such a face as this, as preserved to us by 
 the inimitable pencil of Titian, was the very man of 
 all others in the Spanish world to be the chosen agent 
 of Philip in the secret convention with Henry II. of 
 France. 
 
 Now, the weak-minded Henry, who was fit for little 
 but hunting, fighting, and being disgracefully ruled by 
 the beautiful Duchess de Valentinois, presumed that 
 William of Orange was quite. as deep in his master's 
 counsels as the Duke of Alva; and hence, after fanning 
 his hot brows with his plumed cap, as they drew rein 
 in the gr^en alley of the Bois de Vincennes, he began 
 
 17* 
 
198 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 to talk with his companion on the interesting subject 
 of the Protestant massacre. For Henry had no pre- 
 monition concerning the point of Montgomery's lance 
 at the fatal tourney of Paris, which overturned both 
 him and his schemes, but a few months later ; and he 
 had no intention of leaving the great work to be par- 
 tially wrought out by his widow, Catharine de Medicis, 
 and his young son, Charles IX., on the fete day of 
 St. Bartholomew, some fourteen years further on in 
 history. He fully intended to do it all himself, and 
 not to leave it as a legacy in trust. He talked to his 
 deferential listener with deep concern of the lament- 
 able increase of the "accursed vermin," as he called 
 the Huguenots, and said that his conscience would never 
 be at ease until they were destroyed. Why, there were 
 even princes of the blood royal who had caught the 
 contagion! A country was in a sorry case when dis- 
 ease had spread so near to the head; and the extension 
 of the malady must instantly be stopped by stringent 
 measures. But with the blessing of Heaven, and the 
 firm aid of his future son-in-law, Philip the Catholic, 
 he hoped to have his land again in a healthy state. 
 
 William was all attention; he listened with his whole 
 soul ; but not a change of color, not a quivering of eye- 
 lid, not a movement in the serene lines of the mouth, 
 not a lifting of the brow, revealed the faintest emotion 
 of surprise or horror, as Henry, led away by his ardor 
 and by the intrinsic fascination of the subject, revealed 
 the intended machinery of the great international plot. 
 Still William was all deferential attention: a good 
 listener is ever of inappreciable value in society; and 
 the king, as he so entirely possessed the ear of his 
 
THE LISTENER. 199 
 
 audience, "went into the rich details of the scheme 
 whereby all heresy was to be detected, and all here- 
 tics were to be destroyed. In that shady glade, at 
 that hour of secret horror, William of Orange won his 
 title. It was like the vigil through which the young 
 hero of chivalry had to pass before he earned his 
 knightly rank and the honors of his peculiar order. 
 And so the horsemen rode back to the banquet in the 
 old hall of Vincennes. William allowed a few days to 
 pass, and then he sought and obtained leave of absence 
 in order to revisit his native provinces. Thither he 
 carried intelligence of inestimable worth; and forth- 
 with he began to prepare, in secresy and in silence, a 
 counter-plot which in time should defeat the great plot 
 of the kings. When Philip mined, William counter- 
 mined : and as is sometimes the case in obstinate siege, 
 the two parties often met under ground, and struggled 
 for the mastery in the secret heart of the earth. Wil- 
 liam had not yet embraced Protestantism ; he had not 
 yet returned to the faith of his father; he had but 
 small sympathy at this time with the religious tenets 
 of the suffering party. But he would not stand by, 
 honored and courted, wealthy and powerful, to see this 
 cruel wrong done to the confessors of an oppressed 
 faith. His country should not be down-trodden by the 
 heel of a stranger and a foreigner, her best blood 
 poured out like water on the sodden earth, her pros- 
 perity withered by the hot breath of persecution. "I 
 cannot but feel compassion for so many virtuous men 
 and virtuous women thus devoted to massacre." These 
 were the honorable words of a mere man of the world ; 
 but that feeling of compassion initiated a career of self- 
 
200 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 sacrifice, of unswerving purpose, of noble wrestling 
 with despair, of gigantic and unremitting effort of 
 future deliverance for his country and of cruel death 
 for himself. William may not have seen the whole dif- 
 ficult course which lay before him, when he entered his 
 sumptuous Orange-Nassau palace in Brussels on this 
 hasty return from France: perhaps he would have 
 smiled incredulously, if told that he would live to 
 become an earnest supporter of the creed which he 
 now only aspired to protect from wrong. He heard 
 not the echoes of the future proscribing his own name, 
 or the rabid Spanish cry ofiering the 25,000 crowns for 
 his head. He had no vision of the cowardly assassin, 
 Balthazar Gerard, and his fatal aim; nor could he fore- 
 see Philip's unguarded exultation when he said, "If 
 that blow had been struck two years earlier, the Catho- 
 lic religion and I should have been great gainers." 
 But he had penetration enough to take into full account 
 the character of the master, Philip, and of the servant, 
 Alva ; and sagacity enough to perceive that one step on 
 the path of opposition involved a whole life of revolt. 
 
 "YIYENT LES GUEUX!" 
 
 Another scene. Time had dragged on painfully 
 enough. Seven years of intrigue and counter-intrigue ; 
 of arbitrary measures and of earnest expostulation; 
 of conspiracy offensive against liberty, and of con- 
 spiracy defensive against wrong. The year 1566 had 
 come. A great national confederacy had been formed 
 to resist the systematic encroachments of Spain. Men 
 
COUNT BREDERODE. 201 
 
 had enrolled themselves in a secret league, and it bore 
 this emphatic title: "League of the Nobles of Flan- 
 ders against the Spanish Inquisition." Many great 
 names were already affixed; but the greatest names of 
 all, those of William of Orange and of the splendid 
 and chivalrous Count Egmont, were not appended to 
 the ' national petition which the league was about to 
 present to Philip's vice-regent in the Netherlands, 
 Margaret, Duchess of Parma, daughter oC Charles V. 
 That remonstrance bore the singular name of the 
 "Compromise." It was said to have been drawn up 
 at the princely residence of Orange ! and Count Louis 
 of Nassau, a younger brother of William, had already 
 affixed to it his name. Louis was a high-hearted young 
 nobleman, generous, intrepid, and a zealous Lutheran 
 the "5(?w chevalier,'' as the elder affectionately called 
 the ardent and devoted younger brother. The hand 
 which held the pen for the covenanting lords was said 
 to have been that of the scholarly and accomplished 
 Philip de Marnix, Lord of St. Aldegonde, one of the 
 nearest friends of William of Nassau's secret heart': a 
 brave and wise man, who yet threw in his lot with the 
 rebels, and chose for his device the Tfords, '^Repos 
 ailleursJ" 
 
 But there was a noisy, turbulent, blundering man 
 among the confederates, who was likely enough, by his 
 headlong precipitancy, not only to break his own neck, 
 in leaping the deep gulf rebellion, but to drag better 
 men than himself with him to destruction. This was 
 Henry, Count Brederode^a brave, brawling, kind- 
 hearted, coarse-minded man, descended in direct line 
 from some old "Dirk the Third," who had called him- 
 
202 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 self king in " Hollowland" five hundred years before 
 Count Henry came storming along the causeways or 
 floundering in the dykes. Henry Brederode had 
 squandered away all his lowland wealth excepting the 
 lordship of Viana; and as he had nothing to lose, and 
 everything to gain by an overturn, he thrust himself 
 forward as leader in this forlorn hope. 
 
 William of Nassau had not set his name to the 
 "Compromise," because he was as yet standing beside 
 the agitated Duchess Margaret of Parma, seeking to 
 modify her views and to influence her actions; and 
 Count Egmont also still stood beside the vice-regal 
 chair, as counselor and mediator betwixt the two irrec- 
 oncilable extremes. A man of bold and generous im- 
 pulses, but of a certain infirmity of will ; brilliant, yet 
 vain; eager, yet vacillating; such was the favorite 
 flower of Flemish chivalry, the splendid hero of St. 
 Quentin and of Gravelines Lamoral, Count Egmont. 
 His features were fine and delicate almost as a wo- 
 man's; his eye was of almost tender softness, yet 
 capable of emitting those sudden gleams of light which 
 belong to his impulsive temperament; his hair long 
 and flowing, and his stature tall. Alas, for the ill- 
 fated Lamoral Egmont, that he should have fallen 
 upon such times! There was scarcely a hero of the 
 day, who stepped forth to claim redress of grievances 
 or to assert the independence of the Low Countries, 
 who died other than a violent death. 
 
 Associated with Egmont's name in frequent council 
 now, as it had been associated with it on the victorious 
 field of St. Quentin, and would still be on a far more 
 mournful occasion, as yet hidden behind the gloomy 
 
KNIGHTLY PETITIONERS. 203 
 
 vail of the future, was the honored name of Philip de 
 Montmorency, Count Hoorne. He was a tall, manly 
 personage; but his face wore a discontented meaning; 
 for he was too honest to look smooth when he was in- 
 wardly ruffled. He was an outspoken man, inferior in 
 fine breeding and in grace of carriage to the chivalrous 
 Egmont; but still his was a noble enough type for the 
 indignant spirit of the times to follow; and there were 
 many men in Flanders and Brabant who were molded 
 after the model of Philip, Count Hoorne. 
 
 These are some few of the per sonde : representative 
 men, who partly took their shape and color from the 
 age, partly molded it after their own pattern; and a 
 many-shaped, many-sided embodiment it was. 
 
 On the evening of the third day of April, year 1566, 
 Brussels was heaving with irrepressible excitement, be- 
 cause a long cavalcade of the noble confederates had 
 just entered the city, and was winding through the 
 thronged streets. This was at last an open declara- 
 tion ; for the knightly band counted two hundred cava- 
 liers, all proper specimens of Netherland chivalry, all 
 worthy to be sons of kings. The great athlete at their 
 head was Count Brederode, whose long, fair hair curl- 
 ing upon his broad shoulders still asserted his direct 
 descent from old Dirk of Friesland, or rather from 
 Sikko, Dirk's younger brother. The stately cavalcade 
 paused before the palace of William of Nassau, and 
 then dispersed to the several quarters of the protest- 
 ing knights; while the "Bon Chevalier" and the tur- 
 bulent Brederode entered the mansion of The Silent 
 One. Next morning there was a rendezvous at Kulem- 
 burg House; for in the mean time Count Kulemburg 
 
204 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 had ridden into town at the head of another long line 
 of brilliant cavaliers, adding some hundred and fifty 
 more to the number of petitioners. Two and two, two 
 and two, magnificently appointed, marched the knightly 
 procession at noon, clanking along through the fine 
 street that stretched between Kulemburg House and 
 the vice-regal palace of Duchess Margaret. The vast 
 concourse of people left a narrow lane through which the 
 petitioners tramped; but its living walls were shaking 
 with the irresistible outbursts of applause and trembling 
 with deepest sympathy. It was the "God speed you" 
 of a whole nation. And they had good reason to wish 
 well to the noble Leaguers in this last appeal the last, 
 save that of arms ; for men and women, ay, and young 
 children, too, had been perishing by thousands, and by 
 tens of thousands, from their midst. The hot smoke 
 of their burnings had curled upward to the sky from 
 thousands of autos-da-f^; and their "cinders" (that 
 was the official word) their "cinders" had been 
 flung abroad upon the face of the streams. Hideous 
 entries may even now be seen in official archives: so 
 much for "torturing so and so;" so much for "execut- 
 ing them by fire afterward, and for scattering their 
 cinders over the river." A man's thoughts were not 
 his own. Heaven's high prerogative of reading the 
 heart was claimed by the gliding emissaries of the 
 "Holy Office," who heard the boards creak when a 
 man knelt in his closet, and poured out his sorrowful 
 soul to his Father who seeth in secret. Thoughts were 
 discovered, and registered in fatal note-books. Looks 
 were noticed, and brought up in evidence against 
 startled victims ; and there was scarce a sound stirring 
 
A SCENE IN THE LIFE OF WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
APPEAL TO THE VICEROY. 205 
 
 in the air whose echo was not caught bj the great 
 listening Dionysius's ear of the Inquisition. It was 
 no marvel that the people broke forth into that irre- 
 pressible "God speed ye," when the nobles walked, 
 two and two, to the vice-regal abode, with their great 
 national petition their bill of rights. 
 
 They marched through the hall of abdication, where, 
 ten years ago, Charles had bequeathed them, body, 
 soul, and estate, to his son Philip. Margaret of Parma 
 received them in royal state, supported by a brilliant 
 retinue. But she was observed to be agitated and 
 ashy pale while Brederode read the petition. It 
 claimed that she, as viceroy, should forthwith dispatch 
 an envoy to their king in their name, who should pray 
 for the suppression of the odious edicts, which were, 
 as they stated, on the point of driving the whole com- 
 munity into open rebellion. Tears actually coursed 
 down the hard cheeks of Charles's daughter, and as 
 soon as she could command her voice, she dismissed 
 the Leaguers, with the promise that she would advise 
 with her council concerning their appeal. In truth, 
 Margaret of Parma had again and again represented 
 to Philip that this stern policy was driving the people 
 to desperation. And now Orange, unlocking the lips 
 which could be so eloquent at will, told the regent that 
 the confederated nobles were loyal men and true, gen- 
 tly born, honorably connected, impelled by no vulgar 
 ambition, no seditious spirit, but by the honest purpose 
 to rescue their country from ruin. Whereupon the 
 Lord Barlaimont, minister of finance, who stood beside 
 him, cried out with indignant contempt, "What! 
 Madam, is it possible that you can be afraid of these 
 
 18 
 
206 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 beggars?''' The word used was gueux; and a phrase 
 flung off in random passion was caught up by the 
 echoes, first of the court, next of the city, soon of the 
 country, and then of the age; while near three cen- 
 turies of subsequent time, under the grave teaching 
 of history, have preserved the catch-word. Next day, 
 and again two days later, the "beggars" called at the 
 palace, to enforce the prayer of their petition. Things 
 were waxing serious. But nothing could be done in 
 the sixteenth century, any more than in the nineteenth, 
 without a great dinner ; and the banquet was given to 
 his friends by the convivial Brederode. While the wine 
 circulated in goblets of gold and silver, the huge host 
 arose, and told the story of the "Gueux" to his nobly- 
 born guests. "They call us beggars!" cried he. "Very 
 well; let us accept the name. We will rebel against 
 the Inquisition, but remain loyal to the king, even if 
 driven to wear the beggar's sack. Bring me the wallet !" 
 And an attendant page produced a leathern sack and a 
 wooden bowl, just such as formed the equipment of 
 regular mendicant monks in their professional rounds. 
 And then the noisy descendant of old Dirk of Fries- 
 land flung the sack across his broad shoulder, and 
 pouring the foaming wine into the wooden bowl, drank 
 it dry without drawing breath. With the next panting 
 breath he shouted out, " Vivent les gueux !" Each noble 
 in his turn threw around his neck the medicant's wallet, 
 and drained the wooden beaker, passing them on from 
 shoulder to shoulder and mouth to mouth, while the 
 banquet hall and the neighboring street rang with the 
 strange, wild cry, "Vivent les gueux !" That thought- 
 less shout of the revelers was the watchword of a great 
 
"LONG LIVE THE BEGGARS." 207 
 
 rebellion. A symbol was wanted, a badge, a battle- 
 cry, a password. It mattered little what these were: 
 Barlaimont had provided them, and it was enough. 
 
 William of Orange and the Counts Hoorne and Eg- 
 mont chanced to be passing before the Brederode man- 
 sion at the moment when the future motto of the 
 "Revolt of the Netherlands" first broke from the lips 
 of the excited revelers. " We shall want these men in 
 conference by-and-by," said the wise Silent One, *'^nd 
 they are making themselves unfit for debate." Where- 
 upon the chiefs entered the banqueting hall, to learn 
 the reason of the tumult, and to counsel moderation. 
 But they were instantly beset by their stormy confed- 
 erates, and made to pledge the covenant from the edge 
 of the wooden bowl, amid frantic shouts of "Long live 
 the Beggars!" Only a few moments did the stately 
 leaders linger in such an outrageous scene. But those 
 moments yielded sufiicient ground on which to reSt one 
 of the chief heads of accusation against the upright 
 Hoorne and the brilliant Egmont; and the ax which 
 descended upon their necks two wretched years later 
 in time, on the scaffold of Brussels, amid the frantic 
 sobs of their compatriots, was suspended above them 
 from that hour. 
 
 The great cavalcade of princely "Beggars" passed 
 out of the city on the tenth of April, in the same order 
 as they had swept in; but in acknowledgment of the 
 sympathy they had experienced, each turned round in 
 his saddle as he left the walls, and fired off his pistol 
 by way of salute. The rebellion took shape from that 
 time. High-born young noblemen flung away their 
 velvets, satins, and gold lace, and assumed doublets 
 
208 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 and hosen, coarse in material and ashen-gray in color. 
 Over their shoulders hung a short, gray cloak, round 
 the neck or the waist was suspended a leathern wallet, 
 and at the side clattered a wooden bowl. In this quaint 
 costume even the gallants and cavaliers of the day 
 lounged about the streets. They carried in their 
 hands staves of elaborately-carved wood, still more 
 closely to represent their mendicant calling. A knife 
 was*an understood symbol, a spoon, a cup, often of costly 
 material and beautifully inlaid. Coins were struck in 
 copper, gold, or silver, bearing the head of King Philip 
 on one side, and on the reverse two clasped hands, 
 surrounded by the motto, "Fideles au roi jusqu' sL 
 porter la besace:" ("Faithful to the king even to 
 bearing the wallet.") These were the celebrated 
 ^^guesen'* pence, which were stuck as jewels in the 
 beavers of the confederates, or hung as medals round 
 their neck. The princely merchants of the land struck 
 a gueux penny of their own, on which, instead of the 
 hands clasped in brotherhood, they placed two pilgrim's 
 staves ; to show that, if need be, they were ready to re- 
 nounce all, and to become world-wanderers for the faith. 
 Instead of the troops of liveried retainers which had 
 crowded the courts of the wealthy nobles in the showy 
 costume of the house, there were now bands of men 
 clad in the ashen colors of their lords. All this was 
 no passing whim, the idle caprice of a moment: it was 
 a badge of brotherhood which bound its wearers, one 
 and all, to a life-long struggle. It was still full of 
 vitality when, thirteen years later, William the Silent 
 accomplished his great scheme of binding together the 
 provinces of Holland, Zealand, Friesland, Utrecht, 
 
TOMB OF *' FATHER WILLIAM." 209 
 
 Groningen, Overyssel, and Guelderland, into one great 
 union, under the famous name of the *' Seven United 
 Provinces;" alive when they struck their first national 
 coin, representing a ship contending with the furious 
 waves, with no sails, no oars, but with this legend 
 around her, ^'Incertum quo fata ferant," ("Uncertain 
 whither our fate may bear us;") and it died not even 
 in that mournful hour when William of Orange fell at 
 Delft, at the feet of Balthazar Gerard. 
 
 In the province of South Holland, about eight miles 
 from Rotterdam, stands the ancient City of Delft, per- 
 haps the oldest in the Netherlands. It is a quaint place, 
 mapped out into blocks of stiff buildings by the canals 
 which cut it in all directions. These watery streets 
 are tied together by a multitude of bridges, perhaps 
 seventy in number. In the midst of this net-work of 
 canals stands the Orange palace, the Prisen-hof, where 
 fell William the Silent ; and in one of the churches of 
 the reformed faith is the stately tomb of him whom the 
 fond people call "Father William." Other members 
 of his honored house lie around; and hard by is the 
 tomb of Hugo Grotius. 
 
 Another assassin hand, before that of Balthazar 
 Gerard, had tried to take William's life. A Biscayan 
 merchant, Gaspar Anastra by name, over whose cor- 
 rupt soul the 25,000 crowns of head-money had gained 
 a mercenary power, succeeded in bribing one of Wil- 
 liam's own domestic servants, by the tempting bait of 
 one-half of the reward. The wretched man watched 
 his moment when the prince was passing from the 
 dining-hall into another apartment. He took aim, 
 fired his pistol, and wounded William very danger- 
 
 18* 
 
210 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 ously just behind the ear. The prince fell, senseless 
 from the force of the ball. But he rallied from this 
 desperate injury. 
 
 In the year 1584, Balthazar Gerard, a man who 
 had served William with seemingly zealous faithful- 
 ness, was admitted into the Prisen-hof, at Delft, to 
 confer with his master concerning an important mis- 
 sion with letters into France. William supplied him 
 with money to meet the outlay of his expedition; and 
 from that very purse Balthazar Gerard bought the 
 pistols with which he assassinated his lord. But 
 Spain gained nothing by the dark deed. William, 
 indeed, was removed out of the way ; but there sprang 
 up in his place, with all the elasticity of youth, with 
 the fire of military genius, with the early promise 
 even at eighteen years of becoming ere long the great- 
 est captain of his age, William's brilliant son, the 
 young Stadtholder, Maurice of Nassau. 
 
 It has been remarked that the name of no one man 
 is more frequently mentioned in the Low Countries, 
 than the name of William I., Prince of Orange. And 
 surely the hearts of the Hollanders need not that tune- 
 ful reminder, which, hour after hour, rings forth over 
 the flat land from the great square tower of the church 
 in old Delft, whose musical chimes sound a requiem 
 over the tomb of William the Silent. 
 
THE POLISH "WIZARD 
 
 y^ 
 
THE WIZARD HIMSELF. 
 
 A LOOK THROUGH THE WINDOW OF THE PAST. 
 
 "Allah! but the Wizard is among them sure enough!" So spake the Khan of the Tar- 
 tars, as he stood outside the walls of beleaguered Vienna, on the morning of September 12, 
 1683. Page 213. 
 
THE POLISH "WIZAKD." 
 
 "Allah! but the Wizard is among them sure 
 enough!" So spoke the Khan of the Tartars, as he 
 stood outside the walls of beleaguered Vienna on the 
 morning of September 12, 1683. The man whom he 
 addressed was the G-rand Vizier, Kara Mustapha; and 
 together the keen eyes of Tartar and Turk looked in 
 the direction of distant Tuln. A warlike host was 
 approaching in rapid march: it numbered 70,000 men; 
 and above it floated the standards of Bavaria, of Sax- 
 ony, of Austria, and of Poland. It was not the array 
 of the 70,000 that made Turk and Tartar turn pale; 
 for a perfect ring, made of 200,000 men, most of them 
 turban ed, and all of them under the terrible stand- 
 ard of Mohammed, encircled the crumbling walls of 
 Vienna; and Vienna was starving. But the khan 
 knew the look of the pennoned lances of the Polish 
 hussars; and he recognized the masterly handling of 
 the cavalry that were rapidly sweeping up toward the 
 very spot where stood the gorgeous tent of Kara Mus- 
 tapha. That was the meaning of the startled words 
 which he spake to the vizier; "Sure enough, the 
 Wizard is among them himself!" And who was the 
 "Wizard?" 
 
 (213) 
 
214 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 A tremendous storm had made the year 1629 mem- 
 orable in Polish history ; and on the day when that storm 
 raged its worst was born the celebrated John Sobieski, 
 at the feudal castle of his ancestors, beside the sources 
 of the Eivers Bug and Bog, under the shadow of the 
 Carpathian Mountains, and near the confines of Lithu- 
 ania, His father was James Sobieski, Castellan of 
 Cracow, a man of learning and a distinguished general. 
 The father bestowed much personal care on the training 
 of his little sons, Mark and John; and then he sent 
 them off to Paris to complete their education. It was 
 the Paris of Cardinal Mazarin, when Louis XIY. was 
 yet in his infancy, and when the restless minds of a 
 brilliant community existed upon the excitements of 
 intrigue and on the daily food of party politics. When 
 John was old enough to enter on the military career, 
 he was received among the "mousquetaires," or body- 
 guard of young Louis. The handsome young Pole 
 was admitted as a favored guest into the most brilliant 
 saloons of Paris. In the sparkling reunio7i8 of the 
 beautiful Duchess de Longueville he used to encounter 
 the great Cond^, whose eye recognized the yet unde- 
 veloped power which gave meaning and character to 
 his face. "There is a splendid destiny in store for 
 that young mousquetaire," said the great Condd. But 
 the Polish brothers were not disposed to spend their 
 lives in the antechambers of the Palais Royal, or in 
 the saloons of the H6tel Longueville ; and they set 
 forth on their travels through Italy and onward to the 
 East. They were at Constantinople when news reached 
 their ears that a terrible irruption of Cossacks was 
 sweeping over the plains of Poland, and that these 
 
POLAND IN PERIL. 215 
 
 hordes had been joined bj a formidable mass of Polish 
 serfs. And so the young travelers instantly returned 
 to their distressed country. They found that the hard- 
 riding Cossacks were wreaking their persecuting pro- 
 pensities especially upon the priests and the Jews; 
 while they made every monk and nun whom they over- 
 took marry each other on the spot, under instant pain 
 of death. To stop this scandal, so abhorrent to a 
 Romish mind, and to help their trampled country, the 
 brothers offered their strong arms and their yet un- 
 stained swords. The prince who wore the elective 
 crown at this juncture was the feeble John Casimir, 
 who was but ill adapted to the tempestuous times upon 
 which he had fallen. The yoiing John Sobieski served 
 with distinction in the conflicts which ensued; but 
 Mark, the elder brother, died in battle, leaving to 
 John the inheritance of the vast wealth and broad 
 estates of the Sobieski family. Our hero was now 
 twenty years of age; and such was his first launch 
 upon the stormy sea. He had much to do in battling 
 with the wild currents of invasion ; for Poland was in 
 this age, as afterward, the object of covetousness to 
 all neighboring countries; and under the desolating 
 invasions of Russians and Tartars, Turks and Swedes, 
 she well-nigh ceased to exist as a separate nation. 
 John turns this way and turns that, beats everybody, 
 and is occasionally beaten himself. His name is begin- 
 .ning to be known to all the echoes of Europe as the 
 preux chevalier of the day; and now he writes him- 
 self "Grand Marshal and Grand Hetman of Poland." 
 But about this time, the year 1665, he made a false 
 move, which involved the remainder of his days in 
 
216 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 difficulties worse than those from which he had so bril- 
 liantly extricated himself with Muscovite or Mussul- 
 man. When Louise de Gonzague had come into 
 Poland as the bride of the king, John Casimir, she 
 had in her sparkling train a young lady of singular 
 beauty and of keen wit. This was the celebrated 
 Marie, daughter of Henri de la Grange, Marquis 
 d'Arquien, a gentleman of a fine old French family. 
 There was that flash of beauty about Marie, and that 
 restless activity of mind which insured power wherever 
 she went; but it was that sort of power which is 
 gained by fascination and preserved by intrigue. The 
 brave and honest soldier was not proof against the 
 wiles of the siren, and gave her a hearty affection, 
 which lasted, notwithstanding all provocations, to the 
 day of his death. 
 
 The year 1667 saw another terrible inundation 
 of Cossacks and Tartars: but these Tvere rebellions 
 rather than invasions; for the shadowy outlines of the 
 Polish kingdom, or rather republic with an elective 
 crown, (perhaps the most vicious and impracticable of 
 all forms,) faded away into the vast steppes of Mus- 
 covy. The eagles of Poland were accustomed to 
 spread the wing in one wide stretch from the Baltic to 
 the Euxine, from Smolensk on the east to Bohemia on 
 the west. It was the broad Scythia of the ancient 
 times. In the great straits and stress of the moment, 
 the republic found itself without an army, and with 
 empty coffers. The grand hetman pledged his private 
 property, and gathered 20,000 men around his colors, 
 turned the victorious career of the 100,000 Cossacks 
 and Tartars into swift flight, and saved Poland. But 
 
THE CRESCENT AGAIN. 217 
 
 a more inveterate danger menaced the land. The 
 Crescent, which had set in the West more than nine 
 centuries before, over the field of Tours, rises again on 
 the east of Europe, and resumes its victorious career. 
 Again it sets forth to subdue Christendom, and to bend 
 it to the creed of the Prophet. Let us see if another 
 Charles Martel will arise for the defense of the Chris- 
 tian world; let us see if a "Hammer" will again be 
 found, hard enough to break the edge of the cimeter. 
 In the sixteenth century, the empire of the Otto- 
 mans had been the most powerful in the world, and the 
 most aggressive. Every conquered land became in- 
 stantly a military colony, wherein prevailed despotism 
 in its purest, that is to say, its most complete and per- 
 fect type. The turbaned lord of this great empire, 
 the chief of this vast camp, used to date his decrees 
 "from the imperial stirrup;" and every head which 
 was lifted up in expostulation was instantly ridden 
 down, and trampled into death's passive obedience. In 
 the full persuasion that now at last the hour was come, 
 in the tardy lapse of centuries, for the Koran to be the 
 statute-book of Europe, and for the great name of the 
 Prophet to be cut with the point of cimeter on the 
 turf of every Christian land. Sultan Mahmoud IV. 
 rode into Poland at the head of 150,000 Turks and 
 100,000 Tartars. The King of Poland was no longer 
 the feeble John Casimir; he was the yet feebler 
 Michael; a man who wept and trembled when the elec- 
 tive nobility on the broad plain of Vola placed the 
 painful crown on his throbbing head. Once there, 
 however, he owned the spell of power which dwelt in 
 the glittering circlet, and was by no means willing to 
 
 19 
 
218 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 lay it aside, though broad were the hints Avhich were 
 whispered by kind friends that it fitted ill, and that his 
 temples would be easier without it. Michael weakly 
 temporized with the sultan, while Sobieski was scouring 
 about and beating the Osmanlis wherever there was 
 the faintest hope of success. The Turks had overrun 
 Podolia, and the Crescent was shining from the great 
 fortress of Kaminiec, which was ever held to be the 
 stronghold of Poland, and the very bulwark of her 
 border. Michael thereon made an ignominious treaty 
 with the Turk, whereby he ceded not only Podolia, but 
 the Ukraine ; and he at the same time soothed his own 
 jealousy, by outlawing the only man in his kingdom 
 who could help him, and by setting a price upon his 
 head. The disgraceful treaty of Boudchaz, signed 
 betwixt Crescent and Cross in October, 1672, was so 
 intolerable to the Polish Diet, and particularly to the 
 grand hetman, (whom the foolish king had been obliged 
 by this time to restore to his just rights,) that they 
 carried a resolution declaring it void, because passed 
 without the concurrence of that body. It is too late 
 now to decide whether a lofty standard of international 
 morality were lowered by this resolution of the Diet, 
 or whether the nobles had right and justice on their 
 side. It reads like a more than dubious passage of 
 history, when we go on to find that the Diet resolved 
 thus to rescind the treaty and to resume the war. At 
 all events, John Sobieski was again free to act; and 
 he determined to assail the intrenched camp, where 
 80,000 Turks were living and reveling in oriental 
 luxury. 
 
 Hussein Pasha was the great man of the host. The 
 
THE MOSLEM STRONGHOLD. 219 
 
 strong castle of Kotzira, or Choczim, as it is sometimes 
 called, frowned over the Dnieper from a flying buttress 
 of giant rocks which ran out into the river. On the 
 landward side, profound ravines, bristling with rocks, 
 plowed up all avenue of approach, and trenched the 
 Moslem citadel. The hosts of the misbelievers were 
 even defended by ramparts scarped out of the hard 
 face of the living rock ; and there, within trenched 
 camp and battlemented castle, planted with a powerful 
 artillery, Hussein and his 80,000 sipped their Mocha 
 and smoked the long pipe of dreamy security. Pres- 
 ently the eagles of Poland and the pennoned lances of 
 John Sobieski's own hussars were seen sweeping up to 
 the very front of the forbidding intrenchments. It 
 was the 11th of December, 1673; and no wonder that 
 the Moslems stroked their beards, and called the man 
 a "Wizard" who came to work his incantations at such 
 an hour and in such a place. The hetman drew up his 
 tired men, (they were only half the number of the 
 Turks,) planted his forty guns, and battered something 
 like a breach in the intrenchments of the Moslem 
 camp. When night fell, there was a movement in the 
 Turkish lines, and over came the Christian bands of 
 the Moldavians and Wallachians, to shake the hands 
 and to share the fortunes of their brethren in the faith. 
 This was a cheering omen to the sleepless Sobieski ; 
 but the night was a season of untold misery, of wild 
 winds, and driving snows. The Polish ranks were 
 half buried in the frozen drifts, and yet all night were 
 they under arms. In the late dawn of the morning, a 
 tall figure, his shoulders and arms piled with snow, his 
 crisped hair hung all round with pendant icicles, his 
 
220 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 moustache drooping with the same, plunged through 
 the deep drifts, and said, in a cheery voice, "Com- 
 panions ! it is for us to save the republic from shame 
 and slavery. Recollect that you fight for your coun- 
 try, and that Christ is with you." 
 
 It was a curious coincidence that this memorable 
 day in Polish history was the fete-day of St. Martin 
 of Tours that Tours against whose walls the great 
 western wave of Moslem invasion broke, and then re- 
 tired in foaming dismay behind the sheltering sierras 
 of Spain. "Doubt not," cried the priests who had 
 accompanied Sobieski to the snow-fields of Kotzim 
 "doubt not that the blessed St. Martin of Tours will 
 give us the help of his intercession this day. Know 
 ye that St. Martin was himself a Slavonian? And 
 what may we not expect from his zeal for the holy 
 cause ? He is pledged to aid us by miracle-working 
 on this his very festival." And the confident priests 
 said mass three times in succession on the snow. 
 
 Not because of "the intercession of a dead saint ; not 
 because of the thrice-chanted mass; not because a 
 mortal fight, with all its fell outbursts of deadly pas- 
 sions, deserved a victory, did the intrepid Sobieski that 
 day plant the standard of the Cross and the eagle of 
 Poland on the stormed ramparts of the Turk; but be- 
 cause God in his mercy saw fit to deliver Christendom 
 from its great peril. We must undoubtingly refer all 
 these great and decisive events in history to the over- 
 ruling will of Him who is "wonderful in counsel, and 
 excellent in working." So ended the great day of 
 Kotzim. Europe resounded with joyful congratula- 
 tions, and with the swelling chant of the "Te Deum;" 
 
A VAST ASSEMBLAGE. 221 
 
 but it is no pleasure to count the blood-stained turbans 
 which floated away on the half-frozen flood of the 
 Dnieper, or to compute the value of the booty jeweled 
 attaghans and priceless shawls, silken tents and Damas- 
 cus blades with which the heavy-laden Poles broke 
 their ranks and returned, in twos and threes, to their 
 homes, leaving their brave leader almost alone and 
 helpless on the border-land of Christendom. At the 
 news of Hussein Pasha's defeat, the Capitan Pasha, 
 who was marching a fresh army into Poland, set fire 
 to his camp, turned his horse's head, fled across the 
 Danube, and never drew rein until he could shelter his 
 'frighted host at the foot of the Balkan. At the news 
 that the conquering army had itself melted away like 
 the snow-drifts, the Capitan Pasha wheeled his horse 
 round again, and looking back at his flying foot-tracks, 
 thought that th*^ pleasant western world might yet be 
 won to the C. ^dcent. 
 
 The scene shifts to the banks of the Vistula. There 
 is a vast assemblage of turbulent nobles on the great 
 plain of Vola, within sight of the spires of Warsaw. 
 What mean this tented city, these silken pavilions, this 
 waving army of banners, this swaying forest of lances, 
 these tempests of party cries? Here are huge piles 
 of arms ; here are enormcus banquet- tables, glittering 
 with goblets golden and jewel-set, and surrounded by 
 brawling guests; and here are showy cavalcades of 
 velvet and fur-clad gentlemen discussing State interests 
 at a hand-gallop, and suddenly wheeling round in the 
 saddle, to point their argument with the prick of a 
 saber. Magic apart, can this be a scene in Europe ? 
 In Europe, and in the heart of the seventeenth cen- 
 
 19* 
 
222 THE POLISH "WIZAKD." 
 
 tury; for it is the 1st of May, 1674. What then are 
 these palaces of Persian silks, and Indian muslins, and 
 Siberian furs, these domes, and minarets, and gilded 
 pagodas? They are in very truth the tents of the 
 Sultan Mahmoud, and many of the glittering treasures 
 are the rifled spoils of Kotzim. But the meaning of 
 all this display? the common-sense clew that runs 
 through all this labyrinth of barbaric luxury? Not 
 much common sense, forsooth; but this is the great 
 election to the crown; and these are the polling-booths 
 of empire. The man upon whom the suffrages of this 
 Slavonian constituency shall settle, will be elected to 
 sit among the stately brotherhood of kings and kaisers; 
 yet not on the raised dais of hereditary descent; be 
 sure the haughty figures with the heavy crowns of 
 ancient make upon their heads, the Bourbon Louis or 
 the Hapsburg Leopold, will place '' beneath the salt" a 
 parvenu who has had to go to the hustings of Yola. 
 Any single member of the arrogant crowd of nobles is 
 himself eligible for the throne; and the consciousness 
 that the trembling candidate must go round hat in 
 hand to beg for the votes of the privileged orders, gives 
 to the bearing of the elector that insolence and this 
 fierce independence. Here come the princes, pala- 
 tines, and prelates. Each noble has drawn off the 
 glove from one hand, in order to display the signet-ring 
 on which are graven the arms of his ancient house. It 
 is the symbol of his membership in the equestrian 
 order. Look at the costly magnificence of their arms : 
 battle-axes enchased with silver, that is itself green 
 with emeralds and blue with incrusting sapphires; 
 shields of exquisite workmanship; cimeters whose 
 
KING MICHAEL DEAD. 223 
 
 handles are rough with brilliants; and the gilded bows 
 and arrows that represent the ancient Slavic races. 
 It is said that many of the poorer gentlemen carried 
 their whole fortune about them in furs and weapons ; 
 and that many had sold their vote to one or other of 
 the candidates for the glitter of an added diamond or 
 the weight of another gold chain about their neck. 
 Those fierce men with the caps of panther-skin, plumed 
 with the feathers of the eagle or the heron, are half- 
 reclaimed barbarians from the eastern confines of the 
 kingdom. Their robes are of the finest sables and 
 ermines, and the girdle which confines them is stiff" 
 with brilliants. But the humble chief-pastors of the 
 flock, the bishops and archbishops? They indulge in 
 the bravery of red pantaloons, or else yellow ones, set 
 off" with many-colored embroidery, and topped with 
 hats of green or gray. The outer edge, the torn hem 
 of all this costly array, is made up of the miserable 
 starving people, who have come with their haggard 
 stare to devour the hollow pageant; truly a sorry 
 fringe for so brave a garment ! 
 
 The impracticable king, Michael, is dead; and sev- 
 eral candidates are on the field. There is Charles of 
 Lorraine, who is supported by the influence of Austria, 
 and there is the Prince of Neuburg, who is backed by 
 Louis XIV. The suffrages seem to be nearly equal. 
 The excited constituencies send off" in haste for their 
 grand hetman, to know what is his mind in the mat- 
 ter. They had not seen their hero since the great day 
 of Kotzim. The senate and high noblesse ride forth 
 to meet him, as he comes with a small retinue along 
 the road from Varsovia ; but there is sufficient effect in 
 
224 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 his approacli, because there are borne before him the 
 captured standards of the Moslem host. The assem- 
 bly greets him with wild enthusiasm. "And what will 
 their hetman say? Shall it be the Lorraine or the 
 Neuburg?" "Give the crown to the great Cond^," 
 said John Sobieski. This is a new perplexity; and so 
 for twenty days the palatines, prelates, and nobles 
 rode about, and wrangled, and feasted, and intrigued, 
 until the well-esteemed palatine, Stanislaus Jablanowski, 
 arose and said: "Let a Pole reign over Poland. I pro- 
 pose the conqueror of Kotzim." It was as if an elec- 
 tric spark ran through the whole multitude. "Long 
 live King John the Third!" was the cry. "We will 
 all die, or we will have John Sobieski for our king!" 
 cried the fiery nobles whom he had so often led to vic- 
 tory; while they shook their sabers in the air with 
 ominous meaning. And so on Monday the 21st of 
 May, 1674, John Sobieski was proclaimed king by the 
 voice of the whole nation ; and the good news resounded 
 throughout Europe. This was a great day for Marie- 
 Casimire, the beautiful and brilliant French woman. 
 And then John III. looked around upon his showy but 
 poverty-stricken land. The very crown jewels were in 
 pledge to the Jews; the treasury was swept clean; and 
 but a few thousand men held together as a standing 
 army : and yet, here come the Turks again ! John re- 
 deems the jewels from his private funds, collects a few 
 fresh regiments, and rides forth to meet the Crescent. 
 Mahmoud IV. had again been dreaming; and he 
 dreamed that the Crescent was now to shine over all 
 the fields of Christendom, over all the kingdoms of the 
 West; and that the road to universal empire lay 
 
"SHA'iTAN" AND THE "WIZARD.'* 225 
 
 through Poland. But no! The Muezin crj for all 
 the kingdoms of the world to turn their face toward 
 Mecca, must have sounded an hour too soon; for be- 
 hold, the mighty general, Achmet-Kiuperli, has to march 
 the army of the Faithful back again over the frontier, 
 just because a "Wizard" riding at the head of a few 
 mounted peasants had waved them back. Whereon 
 Mahmoud IV. took a fresh pipe, and said to his grave 
 divan of viziers and three-tailed pashas, "Next year, 
 and I will send 'Shaitan'* himself to meet this wily 
 wizard." Now the man who bore in the wars of the 
 East the terrible name of "Shaitan," was the Pasha 
 of Damascus. This formidable captain of the dark 
 host sure enough led a tremendous array into Poland 
 at the coming of the next season. But John was 
 again ready with a small following, although he had 
 but just emerged from a great domestic danger. Con- 
 spiracies, created by jealousy, had been formed to take 
 away his life; but with his wonted magnanimity he 
 pardoned the discovered criminals, and stopped all 
 legal process against them. And now for the combat 
 betwixt "Shaitan" and the "Wizard." The latter 
 held his ground for weeks within an intrenched camp, 
 from which no power of the Moslem could drive him; 
 and at last he led out such a little, wasted band of vet- 
 eran followers, that the startled Turks cried out and 
 said, "Mishallah! but it can never be a mere man who 
 would risk such odds as these ! It is useless to con- 
 tend with a wizard king. In the name of the prophet, 
 let us make haste and go home again!" Now "Shai- 
 
 * Shaitan, i.e. Satan. 
 
226 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 tan" knew better than this; but he did not relish the 
 look of the loftj-browed man with the little crisp curls 
 all gather.ed together on the top of his fine head: and 
 he knew, moreover, that a levy "en masse' of the 
 whole kingdom was nigh at hand. And so he said to 
 the tall man with the little tight curls, the intrepid 
 eye, the firm mouth, and the double chin, "Let us be 
 at peace;" and an honorable peace was signed between 
 these two high contracting parties on the 29th of Octo- 
 ber, 1676. The disgraceful tribute imposed by the late 
 King Michael's humiliating treaty of Boudchaz was 
 canceled, while two-thirds of the disputed Ukraine 
 were restored to Poland. 
 
 Peace was a strange visitant in Poland; a strange 
 sound. It was like a sweet echo that had lost its way, 
 and wandered from some more favored land. But 
 actually there was peace for Poland, and the weary 
 land kept its Sabbath of rest for seven years. John 
 Sobieski was not great as a statesman, and the nobles 
 were too lawless to tolerate any of the reforms which 
 he from time to time attempted to introduce. More- 
 over, his "charmante Mariette," as he still called her, 
 was the evil influence of his hearth and of his realm. 
 Mariette's veto and Mariette's intrigues were as fatal 
 to John Sobieski's prosperity as the veto of the privi- 
 leged nobles, wherewith they contrived to dissolve every 
 Diet in which any wholesome measure emanated from 
 the king. There was a strange welding together of 
 strength and weakness in the iron and the clay of John 
 Sobieski's character. With a better wife and a purer 
 creed, he might have left a yet more heroic inscription 
 upon the age in which he lived. But the seventeenth 
 
VIENNA BESIEGED. 227 
 
 century had not yet forgotten the beloved name of its 
 Gustavus Adolphus. John Sobieski, however, will 
 soon be in his proper element again. His firmest seat 
 is the saddle of his charger; and Mariette is always 
 left at home when her lord rides to the wars. John 
 had conceived the idea of uniting the powers of Chris- 
 tendom in solemn league against the encroaching career 
 of Islam. He had seen from his Polish confines that 
 Mahmoud IV. was again making vast preparations for 
 the realization of his life's one great vision, the plant- 
 ing of the moony Crescent upon the towers of every 
 capital of the West. But he will try another road into 
 Christendom this time, and it shall lead through Hun- 
 gary, whose brave people, driven to rebellion by the 
 cruel oppression of Austria, will be willing guides to 
 the gates of Vienna. Peradventure the curse will 
 work now, the incantation prosper. 
 
 It was now the 14th of July, 1683, and the grand 
 vizier, Kara Mustapha, at the head of 200,000 men, 
 had marched up out of Hungary, and had pitched his 
 great city of silken pavilions all round the walls of 
 Vienna. The Emperor Leopold and his family had 
 just fled in terrified haste from the city, which he had 
 not the courage to defend. He had given the com- 
 mand of the garrison to the brave Count Stahremberg, 
 the imperial forces without the walls to Charles of Lor- 
 raine; and he now busied himself in sending flying 
 couriers to the diff'erent courts of threatened Europe, 
 entreating their instant aid against the common foe. 
 Sobieski had no personal friendship with the proud 
 house of Hapsburg. Leopold was continually in- 
 triguing against him. But as a Christian king he 
 
228 THE POLISH "wizard." 
 
 felt bound to defend a Christian country imperiled 
 by the misbelievers; and having collected an army of 
 16,000 men, he set forth for the banks of the Danube, 
 on chivalrous knight-errantry. In the mean time the 
 artillery of the grand vizier had been pounding away at 
 the feeble walls of Vienna for eight weeks, and they 
 had crumbled before it. The garrison at the first con- 
 sisted of 20,000 men, but hunger, sword, and sickness 
 had already mown down two-thirds of their number. 
 The dismal sound of falling bastions was continually 
 heard; and the hungry inhabitants, together with the 
 harassed soldiers, were ever at work, throwing up in- 
 trenchments in the streets, and blocking the way into 
 their poor houses by such hasty barricades as despair 
 could devise. Every night there were fiery signals of 
 distress gleaming out from the tops of the steeples, re- 
 peating with eloquent tongues of flame the forceful 
 words of Stahremberg's last dispatch to Charles of 
 Lorraine, *'No more time to lose, my lord; no more 
 time to lose." And now the brave commandant knows 
 that the city can hold out but three days longer; for 
 he sees that the breaches are practicable, and that his 
 handful of men would be but as reeds stemming a win- 
 try torrent, when the terrible foe should mount to the 
 assault. On the night of the eleventh of September, 
 the anxious watcher on the top of the steeple of St. 
 Stephen's sees an arrow of flame suddenly shoot up- 
 ward from the heights of the Kalemberg, which over.- 
 look Vienna in the direction of Tuln. The imperial 
 forces had been awaiting on the banks of the Danube 
 the tardy aid of Christendom. It seemed as though 
 they dare not stir until the wonderful man from Cra- 
 
THE DELIVERER. 229 
 
 COW should march into their camp with his Polish hus- 
 sars. At last John Sobieski with difficulty gathered 
 together his troops, and appeared at the rendezvous. 
 There were princes of almost all the sovereign houses 
 of Europe, (among them the youthful Eugene of Sa- 
 voy,) electors of the empire, imperial generals all 
 awaiting in impatient anxiety the coming of the Pole; 
 and when he came, riding at the head of his oriental- 
 looking cavalry, with their gorgeous dresses, splendid 
 arms, and beautiful steeds, he was welcomed with tears 
 of joy as the one deliverer of Europe. The Polish 
 foot-soldiers made a very inferior show to the dazzled 
 eyes of the imperialists, but John Sobieski extended 
 his mailed hand, as he pointed them out to the by- 
 stander, and said, "Look well at those men: they have 
 vowed never to change their clothes until they can 
 dress in Turkish vestments." 
 
 The Duke of Lorraine had thrown a bridge across 
 the great river of Austria; but there were still five 
 leagues of mountain paths, of wild ravines, deep, rocky, 
 and wooded, between the delivering host and the crum- 
 bled battlements of Vienna. There had been long 
 rains; there were swollen streams; and the German 
 auxiliaries demurred about the march across the bridge. 
 "There is nothing to fear," cried Sobieski; "the gen- 
 eral at the head of 300,000 men who allowed that 
 bridge to be made, is sure to be defeated." And so 
 they defiled across the bridge, and scaled the heights 
 of the Kalemberg. It was the Mons ^tius of the old 
 Roman period; and there, on the barren ridge, camped 
 the Christian host on the night of the 11th of Septem- 
 
 20 
 
230 THE POLISH "wizard." 
 
 ber, 1688. It was then that the pledge of help blazed 
 up to the evening sky, in answer to the fiery pleadings 
 from the turrets of the leaguered city; and there was 
 that blessed thing, Hope, for the starving, the wounded, 
 and the fajLnt within the yawning walls. There was, 
 in truth, a sight on the morrow for Christian and for 
 Infidel: for the former there was the broad plain of 
 Vienna, with its rolling Danube and its tributary Wien 
 there, the countless tents, domed and gilded, and 
 there the great scarlet pavilion of Kara Mustapha; 
 for the Infidel, there was the unwelcome sight of the 
 Christian army, painfully threading its way downward 
 through the five encumbered ravines, in five narrow 
 rivers of moving life, with the standards of Austria, of 
 Bavaria, of Saxony, of this elector and of that sover- 
 eign, flashing and playing like foam upon their surface : 
 ay, and one other standard beside the royal ensign 
 of the Pole. And then said the khan of the Tartars, 
 "Allah! but the Wizard is among them sure enough!" 
 Kara Mustapha and the khan then watch to see those 
 cataracts break against the parapets which they had 
 thrown up across the stony mouths of the ravines. 
 But no : the tides swept over them, and carried onward 
 the recoiling bands of Spahis posted there in order to 
 stem their course. While the turbaned chiefs were 
 anxiously gazing hillward, there was confusion in the 
 ranks behind them ; for Stahremberg and his revived 
 followers were lining every breach in the walls, and 
 making bold sallies at the tented host. As the Chris- 
 tian squadrons debouched from the gorges of the hills, 
 they all formed in perfect order, and moved toward 
 the city. In the afternoon of this memorable day, 
 
THE SALLY AND THE CHARGE. 231 
 
 just when the Turks unfurled the great standard of 
 Mohammed, Sobieski, with his waving plume on his 
 head, and his golden bow and quiver of old Slavonia 
 slung at his shoulder, dashed at the Turkish array. 
 "Non nobis, Domine, sed tibi sit gloria!" cried he, as 
 he charged directly against the spot where towered 
 above the tented field the great scarlet pavilion. The 
 stupor of Moslem fatalism had by this time steeped the 
 senses of the grand vizier, and he was sipping cofiee 
 at the door of his magnificent tent, with his two sons 
 at his side. But the excited horses of the Polish lan- 
 cers cleared the wide ditch at a bound, and crashed up 
 against the opposite bank with such an irresistible 
 shock that many of the lances were fairly shivered into 
 bits. Kara Mustapha set down his jeweled coflfee-cup, 
 and sought to atone by a paroxysm of spasmodic 
 bravery for his fatal lethargy. Too late. " Canst not 
 thou aid me?" said Kara to the Crimean chief. "It is 
 the Polish king himself," was the reply; ''I know him 
 well ! Did I not tell thee we had nothing to do but to 
 be off as fast as possible?" And they were off very 
 fast indeed. But all the pashas were not so swift 
 of foot. The pasha of Aleppo is down before the 
 sabers of Jablanowski; and so is he of Silistria; and 
 there are four other pashas among the slain. The 
 grand standard of Mohammed is down too. It is now 
 six o'clock in the evening, and John Sobieski is him- 
 self the first to reach the scarlet pavilion. It is like a 
 vast sumptuous palace; and at the door of the silk- 
 hung court a slave stands, holding the beautiful charger 
 of his vanished lord by its golden bridle. And then 
 Sobieski plants his own standard above the broad cur- 
 
232 THE POLISH "WIZARD." 
 
 tained city of the slain or of the fled. They say that 
 the moon that very night suffered eclipse, and that the 
 flying Moslems gave up all for lost when they saw the 
 symbol of their faith paling in the evening sky. And 
 what a day in European history was the morrow after 
 the " Raising the Siege of Vienna," when Sobieski 
 rode through the deserted camp, and then entered the 
 metropolis of the German Empire through the great 
 breach in her wall ! Without, the silent semblance of 
 a great oriental city, a "caravanserai," as it has well 
 been called, "of all the nations of the East:" nay, it 
 was like a huge caravan, bent on mysterious pilgrim- 
 age, and heavy with the gorgeous offerings which 
 were vowed to the shrine of its unhallowed worship; 
 but some strange panic had startled the pilgrim multi- 
 tude, and it had fled under the curtained moon of the 
 night. There crouched the patient camels awaiting the 
 burden of the day; there were the Arab horses, and 
 the fleet barbs of Africa, and the Tartar steeds, gor- 
 geous with the housings and trappings of the East, 
 neighing for the master's hand upon the bridle, and 
 pricking their ears as they listened for his jingling 
 tread. There were the piled arms glistening with their 
 inlaid gems; the silken sofas and the velvet hangings; 
 the jeweled pipes, and the cups flung to the ground: 
 for the great banquet of pilgrim conquest had broken 
 up in haste, and the revelers had all fled. Within the 
 walls of Vienna, there was such joy as comes with a 
 sudden reprieve from impending death. Haggard 
 figures crept up out of cellars and from the dust- 
 choked recesses of tottering homes, and clinging round 
 the stirrup of Sobieski in weeping crowds, hailed him 
 
DEATH OF SOBIBSKI. 233 
 
 as their deliverer. If "Soljman the Magnificent" 
 dated his edicts of extermination from his golden stir- 
 rup, the deliverance of rescued Europe may be said to 
 have been dated from the stirrup of Sobieski. Never, 
 since the 12th of September, 1683, has the power of 
 the Crescent seriously threatened the peace or the 
 faith of Christendom. 
 
 The rest of the tale is soon told; it is tame and 
 yet troublous. Sobieski was rewarded with the grati- 
 tude of the Austrians, and with the ingratitude of 
 their jealous kaiser. He returned home to a rest- 
 less people and an intriguing wife, neither of whom 
 could he reform or subdue. He gave the golden bridle 
 of Kara Mustapha to his Mariette; and he sent the 
 great standard of Mohammed to the pope, with this 
 paraphrased laconism of the Roman, "I came; I saw; 
 God hath conquered.'' 
 
 On the 17th of June, 1696, died John Sobieski, 
 aged sixty-seven. That day was the double anni- 
 versary of his birth and of his election to the throne 
 amid the acclaims of the field of Vola; and again a 
 tremendous storm was chronicled in the history of 
 Poland. 
 
 Wordsworth's fine sonnet on Filicaia's canzone ad- 
 dressed to John Sobieski, upon his raising the siege of 
 Vienna, may fitly conclude this historical sketch : 
 
 " Oh for a kindling touch of that pure flame 
 Which taught the offering of song to rise 
 From thy lone bower beneath Italian skies, 
 G-reat Filicaia ! With celestial aim 
 
 20* 
 
234 wokdsworth's sonnet. 
 
 It rose, thy saintly rapture to proclaim, 
 
 Then, when the Imperial City stood released 
 From bondage threaten'd by the embattled East ; 
 
 And Christendom respir'd ; from guilt and shame 
 Eedeem'd, from miserable fear set free, 
 By one day's feat, one mighty victory. 
 
 Chant the Deliverer's praise in every tongue 1 
 
 The Cross shall spread, the Crescent hath wax'd dim, 
 
 He conquering, as in earth and heaven was sung 
 He conquering through God, and God hy him" 
 
INNSBEiJCK AND ITS ECHOES; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE KESCUE, THE RUN, THE BRIBE, 
 AND THE RUIN. 
 
INNSBKUCK AND ITS ECHOES; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE RESCUE, THE RUN, THE BRIBE, AND THE RUIN. 
 
 Have you ever noticed what slight regard to local 
 beauty has been shown by the founders of many of our 
 European capitals ? A glance at' their situation sug- 
 gests the idea, that the somewhat mythical personages 
 (whoever they were) who planted the first stakes and 
 mapped out the first streets of many a metropolis of 
 the West, must have been singularly deficient in appre- 
 ciation of natural beauty. Look at Paris : it is a bril- 
 liant and a beautiful capital! but it is so rather in 
 despite, than in consequence of, its position on that 
 featureless plain beside the winding Seine. Look at 
 Madrid: planted apropos to nothing at all, in the 
 midst of an arid flat, which in summer is parched into 
 thirst by the hot breath from the drowsy sierras in the 
 distance, and in winter shivers under the unbroken 
 sweep of the winds from those same sierras, now 
 wrapped in their glittering shroud of snow. Look at 
 Munich, on its bare and lofty platform: there are ex- 
 quisite sites hard by, amid those green slopes, where 
 the beautiful Tyrolean Alps are shaded oif into the 
 dull plains of Bavaria. But the monks who founded 
 
 (237) 
 
238 INNSBRUCK AND ITS ECHOES. 
 
 Munich, and gave a name to the city, (Munchen,) had 
 only an eye to their profitable merchandise in salt; 
 and hence, around their old warehouses were crystal- 
 lized by degrees those rude elements of civilization 
 which have now developed themselves into a splendid 
 capital, glowing with frescoes and shining with marbles. 
 Our remark would apply with similar force to St. 
 Petersburg, fighting its way into supremacy against 
 the frowns of nature in winter, and its hard, dry smile 
 in summer, while the Neva thunders forth a vain but 
 tremendous protest as soon as its frost-shackles are 
 riven in the spring. It is true that there are brilliant 
 refutations of this theory: such as Naples, with its 
 perfect dower of beauty, or Florence, scarcely less 
 bountifully endowed by the hand of the Creator. But 
 one of the most marked exceptions to the general rule 
 is to be found in Innsbruck, the little mountain metrop- 
 olis of the Tyrol. It is a perfect gem, this small city 
 of Innsbruck ; and it is deeply set in such a circlet of 
 magnificent mountains, as scarcely another capital in 
 the world may boast. The River Inn, which has been 
 making its willful way through one profound valley 
 after another, is here spanned by a bridge, which gives 
 its name to the little city [Innsbruck) standing on its 
 green banks. Mountains 6000 and 8000 feet high 
 gather around the town, as if to keep watch and ward 
 about its walls. Indeed, so close is their vigil, that it 
 is said the wolves can look down into the streets be- 
 neath their own craggy fastnesses, and speculate in 
 their hungry minds upon which of the portly burghers 
 and of the plump /rai/Zems they would like to sup. In 
 truth, one of the most impressive features in the Tyrol 
 
THE RESCUE. 239 
 
 is the suddenness of the spring which is made bj the 
 mountains from the deepest depth of the valleys. You 
 may draw your finger along the very line where the 
 foot of some mountain, which wears its silver coronet 
 on its royal brow 10,000 feet above you, is planted in 
 the green vale below. And thus, from the ground- 
 floor of your hotel in Innsbriick, which was once the 
 house of the patriot Hofer, you look up to the roofs of 
 the six-storied houses on the opposite side of the ex- 
 tremely narrow street, and you see the white forehead 
 of a mighty mountain serenely looking down upon you, 
 where you thought to see naught but a narrow strip of 
 blue ether, or the light wing of some roving cloud. 
 
 But the charm of Innsbruck lies not only in its glit- 
 tering peaks, with their dark girdle of pine forest 
 clasped by shining glaciers, and draped around their 
 feet with festooned vines and golden fringes of maize. 
 You feel that history has made an atmosphere of its 
 own around you, other than that which is woven of the 
 fleecy mists of the valley, or elastic with the pure 
 ether of the mountain-top. Let us take our stand for a 
 moment in the whispering gallery of the past, and catch 
 some few of the echoes which are vibrating in the air. 
 
 THE EESCUE. 
 
 You are standing on a narrow, thread-like road, 
 which has barely room to draw itself along between 
 the rocky bank of the River Inn, and the base of a 
 frowning buttress of the Solstein, which towers many 
 hundred feet perpendicularly above you. You throw 
 
210 - INNSBRUCK AND ITS ECHOES. 
 
 your head far back, and look up ; and there you have 
 a vision of a plumed hunter, lofty and chivalrous in his 
 bearing, who is bounding heedlessly on after a chamois 
 to the very verge of the precipice. Mark ! he loses 
 his footing he rolls helplessly from rock to rock! 
 There is a pause in his headlong course. What is it 
 that arrests him? Ah, he puts forth his mighty 
 strength, and clings, hand and foot, with the gripe 
 of despair, to a narrow ledge of rock, and there he 
 hangs over the abyss ! It is the Emperor Maximilian ! 
 The Abbot of Wiltau comes forth from his cell, sees 
 an imperial destiny suspended between heaven and 
 earth, and crossing himself with awe, bids prayers 
 be put up for the welfare of a passing soul. Hark ! 
 There is a wild cry ringing through the upper air! 
 Ha! Zyps of Zirl, thou hunted and hunting outlaw, 
 art thou out upon the heights at this fearful moment ? 
 Watch the hardy mountaineer! He binds his cram- 
 pons on his feet ; he is making his perilous way toward 
 his failing emperor, now bounding like a hunted chamois, 
 now creeping like an insect, now clinging like a root of 
 ivy, now dropping like a squirrel. He reaches the faint- 
 ing monarch just as he relaxes his grasp on the jutting 
 rock. Courage, kaiser ! [emperor] there is a hunter's 
 hand for thee, a hunter's iron-shod foot to guide thee 
 to safety. Look! They clamber up the face of the 
 rock on points and ledges, where scarce the small hoof 
 of the chamois might find a hold : and the peasant folk 
 still maintain that an angel came down to their mas- 
 ter's rescue. We will, however, refer the marvelous 
 escape to the interposing hand of a pitying Providence. 
 Zyps the outlaw becomes " Count Hallooer von Hohen- 
 
THE RUN. 241 
 
 felsen," ("Lord of the wild crj of the lofty rock;") 
 and in the old pension-list of the proud house of Haps- 
 burg may still be seen an entry to this effect, that six- 
 teen florins were paid annually to "one Zyps of Zirl." 
 As you look up from the base of the Martinswand, you 
 may with pains distinguish a cross which has been 
 planted on the narrow ledge where the emperor was 
 rescued by the outlaw. 
 
 THE RUN. 
 
 Here is another vision, an imperial one also. The 
 night is dark and wild. Gusty winds come howling 
 down from the mountain passes, driving sheets of blind- 
 ing rain before them, and whirling them round in hiss- 
 ing eddies. At intervals the clouds are rent asunder, 
 and the moon takes a hurried look at the world below. 
 What does she see? and what can we hear? for there 
 are other sounds stirring beside the ravings of the 
 tempest in that wild cleft of the mountains which 
 guard Innsbruck on the Carinthian side. There is a 
 hurried tramp of feet, a crowding and crushing up 
 through the steep and narrow gorge, a mutter of sup- 
 pressed voices, a fitful glancing of torches, which now 
 flare up bravely enough, now wither in a moment before 
 the derisive laugh of the storm. At the head of the 
 melee there is a litter borne on the shoulders of a set 
 of sure-footed hunters of the hills; and around this 
 litter is clustered a moving constellation of lamps, 
 which are anxiously shielded from the rude wrath of 
 the tempest. A group of stately figures, wrapped in 
 
 21 
 
242 INNSBRUCK AND ITS ECHOES. 
 
 rich military cloaks, with helms glistening in the torch- 
 light, and plumes streaming on the wind, struggles on- 
 ward beside the litter. And who is this reclining there, 
 his teeth firmly set to imprison the stifled groan of 
 physical anguish? He is but fifty-three years of age, 
 but the lines of premature decay are plowed deep 
 along brow and cheek, while his yellow locks are 
 silvered and crisped with care. Who can mistake that 
 full, expansive forehead, that aquiline nose, that cold, 
 stern, blue eye, and that heavy, obstinate Austrian 
 under-lip, for other than those of the mighty Emperor 
 Charles V.? And can this sufiering invalid, fiying 
 from foes who are almost on the heels of his attend- 
 ants, jolted over craggy passes in midnight darkness, 
 bufi'eted by the tempest, and withered by the sneer 
 of adverse fortune can this be the Emperor of Ger- 
 many, King of Spain, Lord of the Netherlands, of 
 Naples, of Lombardy, and proud chief of the golden 
 Western world? Yes, Charles, thou art reading a 
 stern lesson by that fitful torch-light ; but thy strong 
 will is yet unbent, and thy stern nature yet unsoftened. 
 And who is the swift "avenger of blood," who is fol- 
 lowing close as a sleuth-hound on the track? It is 
 Maurice of Saxony, the unscrupulous but intrepid 
 leader of the Protestant cause a match for thee in 
 boldness of daring and in strength of will. But 
 Charles wins the midnight race; and yet, instead 
 of bowing before Him whose " long-sufiering would 
 lead to repentance," he ascribes his escape to the 
 "star of Austria" ever in the ascendant, and mut- 
 ters his favorite sentiment, "Myself and the lucky 
 moment." 
 
THE BRIBE. 243 
 
 THE BRIBE. 
 
 Now turn into the Hof-Kirche in Innsbriick. Here 
 stands a most remarkable tomb, prepared for himself 
 by the Emperor Maximilian I., but never destined to 
 receive his royal dust. A colossal band of twenty- 
 eight bronze statues forms a solemn avenue leading up 
 to a sarcophagus of exquisitely sculptured Carrara 
 marble, surmounted by the kneeling effigy of the mon- 
 arch. These giants of old are all held to have borne 
 relationship to the proud house of Hapsburg. But 
 the links of consanguinity must have been sorely 
 strained to embrace all these dark watchers of the 
 royal tomb. They would seem to have been grouped 
 pretty much at random from the dusty sepulchres of 
 Time, and to have hurried hither, by mysterious con- 
 sent, to keep tryst and hold vigil round the empty 
 tomb of their kinsman. Here is old Clovis, ancestral 
 sire of France; Theodoric, barbaric king of the Os- 
 trogoths ; Godfrey, come home from Palestine to assert 
 brotherhood with Austria; and Arthur, our own chiv- 
 alrous Arthur of Britain, all banded tegether, with 
 Rudolph of Hapsburg and his stately line, in holding 
 this solemn chapter of the dead. 
 
 But watch that peasant-man: a bold chamois hunter 
 he would seem to be. See how he turns away from 
 this stately procession of Old World heroes, and 
 stands riveted in mute reverence before the simple 
 tomb of Hofer ! The dust of summer travel is on his 
 feet and on his hot brow; but he knows no weariness 
 while he stands, long and fixedly, before the marble 
 effigy of his peasant patriot. The pointed hat. with 
 
244 INNSBRUCK AND ITS ECHOES. 
 
 its eagle's feather and its bouquet of mountain flowers, 
 which he holds in his strong hand, is shaking with his 
 silent emotion : and presently the great round tear, fresh 
 and clear as the rill which trickles from the crystal urn 
 of his own glacier, rolls slowly down his weather-stained 
 cheek. Let us challenge the mournful thoughts which 
 have filled thy eye and mind, thou hunter of the hills. 
 
 Canst see, in the far distance, that humble village 
 inn on the banks of the Passeyer, with its sign of the 
 crown and the name of "Hofer" over the door? And 
 dost thou see a plain and thoughtful man on its thresh- 
 old listening, and resolving while there comes creep- 
 ing up the valley the distant mutter of the gathering 
 tempest of invasion? That meditative man disap- 
 pears ; but it is to scale the heights, chamois-like, and 
 to drop down in some distant valley. Five times in 
 one year shall the victorious legions of France, which 
 have left the print of their iron heel on the sod of every 
 European country save one five times in one year 
 shall they be driven forth from the valleys of the 
 Tyrol; and this is Hofer's work. 
 
 But the scene changes : look again. That same man, 
 worn and sorrowful, is hiding in a wretched chalet on 
 the very edge of the glacier which guards the wild pass 
 of the Timber Joch. A peasant-man now and then 
 creeps up the steep height, with just such slender store 
 of food as may sustain life in that hunted patriot. 
 And now we know why the breast of the chamois- 
 hunter, who is standing before the tomb in the Hof- 
 Kirche, is heaving with indignant grief For, listen ! 
 There is the stealthy tread of a thousand French sol- 
 diers, who are swarming up the pass, and silently sur- 
 
THE RUIN. 245 
 
 rounding the chalet. How can strangers have learnt 
 these almost inaccessible paths, and who can have 
 mapped out for their guidance the rock, and the ledge, 
 and the pine lying across the torrent, and the bridge 
 of ice over the unfathomed gulf, which have led right 
 upward to the heather bed in the chalet where Hofer 
 quietly sleeps in the very shadow of death? Shame! 
 It is a plumed and belted man of the Tyrol who is 
 pointing upward with a shaking finger, while he turns 
 away his false face from the light of the early morning. 
 That man's pocket was heavy with French gold ! Ay, 
 it will feel heavy enough, wlien he sees him led off in 
 chains, and when he hears, three weeks after, that 
 Hofer the Patriot was shot at Mantua by order of 
 Napoleon. 
 
 THE EUIN. 
 
 One more scene: it is the year 1809. Bonaparte 
 has decreed, in the secret council-chamber, where his 
 own will is his sole adviser, that the Tyrol shall be 
 cleared of its troublesome nest of warrior-hunters. 
 Ten thousand French and Bavarian soldiers have pene- 
 trated as far as the Upper Innthal, and are pushing 
 boldly on toward Prutz. But the mountain-walls of 
 this profound valley are closing gloomily together, as 
 if they would forbid even the indignant river to force 
 its wild way betwixt them. Is there a path through 
 the frowning gorge other than that rocky way which 
 is fiercely held by the torrent? Yes; there is a nar- 
 row road painfully grooved by the hand of man out of 
 the mountain side, now running along like a gallery, 
 
 21* 
 
246 INNSBRUCK AND ITS ECHOES. 
 
 now dropping down to the brink of the stream. But 
 the glittering array winds on. There is the heavy tread 
 of the foot-soldiers, the trampling of horse, the dull 
 rumble of the guns, the waving and flapping of the 
 colors, and the angry remonstrance of the Inn. But 
 all else is still as a midnight sleep, except indeed when 
 the eagles of the crag, startled from their eyries, raise 
 their shrill cry as they spread their living wing above 
 the gilded eagles of France. Suddenly a voice is heard 
 far Up amid the mists of the heights not the eagle's 
 cry this time not the freak of a wayward echo but 
 human words, which say, ''''Shall we begin f Silence! 
 It is a host that holds its breath and listens. Was it a 
 spirit of the upper air parleying with its kind ? If so, 
 it has its answer countersigned across the dark gulf. 
 ''Noch niohtF' not yet! The whole invading army 
 pauses ; there is a wavering and writhing in the glitter- 
 ing serpent-length of that mighty force which is help- 
 lessly uncoiled along the base of the mountain. But 
 hark ! the voice of the hills is heard again, and it says, 
 "iVbz^;/" Now then descends the wild avalanche of 
 destruction, and all is tumult, dismay, and death! The 
 very crags of the mountain-side, loosened in prepara- 
 tion, come bounding, thundering down. Trunks and 
 roots of pine-trees, gathering speed on their headlong 
 way, are launched down upon the powerless foe, min- 
 gled with the deadly hail from the Tyrolese rifles. 
 And this fearful storm descends along the whole line 
 at once. No marvel that two-thirds of all that bril- 
 liant invading army are crushed to death along the 
 grooved pathway, or are tumbled, horse and man, into 
 the choked and swollen river. Enough of horrors! 
 
THE RUIN. 247 
 
 Who would willingly linger on the hideous details of 
 such a scene ? Sorrowful that man should come, with 
 his evil ambitions and his fierce revenges, to stain and 
 to spoil such wonders of beauty as the hand of the 
 Creator has here molded. Sorrowful that man, in 
 league with the Serpent, should writhe into such scenes 
 as these, and poison them with the virus of sin. 
 
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