\ a I B R.ARY OF THE UN IVER.SITY Of ILLINOIS 823 tMZSb v.i V ^^^z^f^^iD EECAPTURE. 115 " That is well/' said the Pilgrim ; " and now mark what I say to thee. Let thiKS body of horsemen come within twenty yards of thee. . There/' said he, pointing to a hut which advanced some distance into the road, and, with a projecting buttress upon the outer side, made the path at that spot more narrow and con- fined than in any other portion of the hamlet " There — when the horseman, w^ho rides in the centre of the group, and on the right hand of the female, reaches that spot — take aim at him — at whatever thou likest best — heart, visage, or helmet — but let it be such an aim as that thy arrow will be sure to unhorse him — do this when thou hearest me say, ' the Lord have mercy on thy soul ' — count then three slowly to thyself, and let thy arrow go. Whatever else occur, get thou quickly by my side, draw thy stout sword — fancy thou hast not men before thee, but wild beasts, for they are wild beasts, and cut them down as quickly as thou canst ; be 116 BERTHA. sure that the more of their blood thou sheddest, the less of foul crimes wilt thou have upon the fair face of God's earth." Bernhard disappeared from the side of the pilgrim, ^Yho saw himself now sur- rounded by all the men and women of the hamlet. " Women," said the pilgrim, " fly ye out of the hamlet. You can do no good here, and may occasion much harm, if the rude soldiers, who are about to pass here, should see your fair faces. It might cause you to be torn away from father, mother, hus- band, brother, lover, or children. Should you hear the sounds of a combat, do not appear, until there is no other cry coming forth, than the sad wailing of vv'ounded men. Then there je will be wanted, and then only your presence can be useful to friend or foe. Aw^ay then and hide your- selves, where best you can, from the sight of a ribald soldiery." These orders were obeyed. The pil- grim then looked to see how his new THE EESCUE AKD EECAPTURE. 117 soldiers were arrayed. He found that a few had swords, others hatchets, others forks, others spears, others reaping hooks, and that two or three stout, young fellows had brought out plough-shares. These men he planted some behind the walls of the projecting houses, so as not to be visible to the horsemen when advancing from the opposite side of the hamlet : and others he placed in the houses out of view, and to all he gave his commands in these few brief words : — " ^ly brave men of Aschaffenburg — I am sorry to place such stout soldiers as you are out of the view of an enemy ; but the truth is, that badly equipped as you are, a thousand of you could not withstand for two minutes the solid charge of twenty experienced horsemen armed with spears. Our only chance with them, is for you to attack them unexpectedly from all sides : back and front, sides and rear : but mind — not a man of you is to stir until you see 118 BERTHA. one of their men unhorsed. The moment that occurs — rush at them — do not try to strike a man of them in the breast, for there you will only be hammering or pro- bing at a cuirass — aim as well as you can at their faces — and if you are not tall enough for that, then at their stomachs — and if you cannot do that, try and ham- string their horses. You are not to strike a blow until you see one horseman down ; but the instant you see that, then stab, hackle, cut and slash away at them until you get them all down. And now, away, for they are fast approaching us." The ready, hghtsome, cheerful, and punctual spirit, with which the Pilgrim ob- served his orders were fulfilled inspired him with an almost confident hope, that the effort which he was about to make would be crowned with success. In a few minutes he saw the horsemen entering the villaoe, and he, at the same instant, perceived that not only the face, THE RESCUE AND EECAPTUEE. 119 but nearly the figure of the female was completely concealed by a robe which, fashioned like a monk's habit, covered her face with its cowl, and disguised the gar- ments worn beneath by its ample folds. His practised eye shewed him too, that the preparations he had been making for their reception had not altogether escaped the notice of the horsemen ; for they advanced slowh", and steadily, and in perfect order, and each man firmly grasping his spear, as if prepared to make a charge upon any body of persons, that might be arrayed against them for the purpose of impeding their march. The Pilgrim, who stood in front of the Abbot, so as to guard the venerable man, by his own person, from tlie possibility of any injury reaching him, here stepped for- ward so far into the high road as to attract upon himself the attention of the horse- men. His doing so brought him in advance of the projecting huts, so as to be on a 1 20 BERTHA. line with the spot to \yhich he had directed the attention of Bernhard. The unwonted silence of the hamlet evi- dently appalled the horsemen. Their loud talk, which was heard as they passed the first houses, became, as if by general con- sent, completely hushed, so that by the time they had drawn near to where the Pilgrim stood, not a sound was to be heard but the regular tramp of the horses' feet in the centre of the road. The horsemen looked at the Pilgrim, but did not deem it necessary to bestow even a passing word upon him. He waited until the central group was on the point of passing him, and then there was heard a word pronounced in a voice so distinct, and clear that the hamlet rung again with the sound. It was the simple word — " halt.'' The word, as pronounced by the lips of the Pilgrim was involuntary, almost un- consciously obeyed by the horsemen; for soldiers as they were, they could not fail to THE RESCUE AKD RECAPTURE. 121 recognize that it was given forth by one long accustomed to command, in many a hard-fought field. " Who bids us halt 1" inquired the com- mander of the troop, recovering from the momentary surprise into which he had been cast. " I do," said the Pilgrim ; " and it is to demand of thee and thy followers, in the name of the Lord Abbot of Aschaffenburg, within whose district thou now art, why and wherefore thou hast, without his sanc- tion, first presumed to arrest this maiden, and then, having arrested her, why thou hast not brought the captive before him, in order that he might ascertain whether or not she can provide herself with compurga- tors, by which her innocence of the charge alleged against her may be demonstra- ted." " Sir Pilgrim/' sneeringly answered the Commander of the horsemen, " it 7nav suf- fice the good Abbot of Aschafienburg to know that we are soldiers of the loyal city VOL. I. G 122 BEETHA. of Worms ; that we have banished our own bishop from our city, because he was not obedient to King Henry ; and that we care as little for thy Abbot; that we trample upon his authority ; that we defy his power, and that we have arrested this female, not because we allege that she has done to others or to us aught of wrong ; but because it is our pleasure to make her our captive. This is our sole answer to the question put to us by a wandering pilgrim, on behalf of the fasting, psalm-singing, discipline-using Abbot of Aschafienburg/' " Then as thy sole reply," said the Pil- grim, advancing towards the troop, "I say to thee, miserable man — may the Lord have mercy on thy soul '/' The Commander of the troop looked down with contempt upon the Pilgrim, and then gazing direct before him, he pointed with his sword, and seemed about to pro- nounce the w^ord, " onward," when he was seen to fall seemingly lifeless to the earth, and at the same moment a crash was heard ; THE RESCUE AND RECAPTUEE. 123 but the fall seemed to precede the riving noise that was made as an arrow-head tore its way through his polished helmet. At the same moment the sword of the fallen man was seized by the Pilgrim, and before the man's companion could recoyer from his surprise, a vigorous lunge with the same sword, now wielded by the Pilgrim's hand, sent that companion senseless to the earth. As the leader of the troop fell, a cla- mourous and raging crowd of armed serfs burst out upon all sides on the horsemen. The horsemen confused, and assailed with- out sufficient space to use their spears, had to draw their swords, and aimimg as well as they could down upon the unguarded heads of the serfs, at length effected their escape, each man, however, bearing with him a wound, and leaving as the result of this short and desperate conflict, three of their men dead in the hamlet, and finding that their fe- male captive had been rescued from them. G 2 124 BERTHA. The fugitive horsemen, retreated back to that part of the hamlet by which they had first appeared, as it was the only place that they could perceive to be free from assailants. Here the men rallied, and recovering in a few minutes from the panic fear wdth which they had been first seized, they staunched their bleeding wounds, and as they did so, he who seemed to be the second in command, observed : " A sad day's works this — four of our men killed in as many seconds." " Nay, but three," replied a soldier ; " I noticed that our commander, Lieman, had no blood upon his face as he fell. The arrow that shot him down could have only stunned him ; but I warrant he will, from such a knock as that, have a head-ache for a week to come." " I doubt it much, comrade," said the second Commander. " Let us but return to the King, without that female, and neither Lieman, nor any man here will THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 125 this day week have a head upon his shoul- ders. Better the sledge hammer of a serf, than endure what, perchance, may be our own lot, a lingering death by torture under the practised hand of King Hen- ry's headsman. But mark ! something strange has occurred amongst our foes. They are all, in dismay, clustering under a tree, and they have left alone and in the middle of the road, that demon-pilgrim, and our captive. Now then is the mo- ment to make a charge upon them whilst they are in confusion. We have two things to choose between, death in the hamlet, or death on the scaffold. If we succeed we shall have full purses — if we fail, we choose the easier death." " Charge, Egen, charge for your life,'' said the Commander Lieman, here running up to his men. " I have done something to distract the attention of the serfs. Soldiers ! let the four in the first line set your lances all at the pilgrim — run him through on the spot — let the four next carry off the 126 BERTHA. woman livii:g or dead — and as to the re- mainder draw your swords, cut right and left until we get back to the river bank. I will meet you there as best I can — charge" The order was readily and promptly obeyed by desperate men, who felt that their only chance of saving their lives de- pended upon the success of the effort they were then about to make. The pilgrim, the moment that he saw unhorsed the two leaders of the troop, caught hold of the female, who was abso- lutely senseless from terror, and lifting her from her palfrey, he bore her out of the thick of the melee, wheeling, as he did so, his sword around him, and inflicting a desperate gash upon every horse, or horse- man that came within its swing. He saw that his brave rustics did their work heartily — that the troop in one moment was in utter confusion, and in the next completely routed. He stepped, with as little sense of compassion for the fallen THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 127 soldiers, over their blood-stained gashed bodies, as if they were so many logs of timber that lay in his path, and then gently setting the woman down, that she might rest upon one of the benches that had been used by the serfs, whilst sitting and listening to his tale, he, wdth the intention of giving to the poor bewil- dered captive some air, removed the deep cowl, which up to that moment had con* cealed her features. No sooner, however, did his eyes rest upon those delicate features, that snow w^iite skin, those pouting lips, and the long inky, black eye-lashes which concealed from him the full dark eyes, than he started back involuntarily, as if he had been the witness to some wondrous miracle, in which is exhibited at once the Almighty power, goodness and mercy of the Creator. " Oh, God ! oh, God ! can this be true," he exclaimed. " Is this not a dream 1 — a dream of years, and one, that I could 128 BERTHA. hardly hope would ever be realised. But can it be — that I see her now — see her at last, — and oh, God ! — she is dead — but no — no — to think that is to doubt of God's goodness. It is but a swoon — water I good Bernhard ! — hasten with water — as for me, I cannot venture to take my eyes from this face. Bernhard, some water quickly." Bernhard did not hear the Pilgrim. He was far away from him beneath the spread- ing tree. It was the only order the Pilgrim gave to him that day, which was not, on the instant, obeyed by Bernhard. The Pilgrim continued to look on the beauteous creature that still lay senseless before him. At length she was heard to sigh — then gently moved, and then opened her eyes, but shrank back appalled from the Pilgrim, for she perceived that he had seized one of her hands, and was covering it with kisses. " Ah 1" said the Pilgrim, " I see thou THE RESCUS ANt> RECAPTITE. 129 canst not know me, concealed as I am beneath this strange garb. Dost thou not know me then V " Kno^ t/iee,'^ said Beatrice, for it was she who had been thus rescued, and in whose speaking features were pourtrayed perplexity and surprise ; " know thee, Sir Pilgrim — how is it possible I should know thee since I have until this moment never before looked upon thee V " Not know me ! — '' such were the words uttered by the Pilgrim ; but he was permitted to say no more. The rally of the horsemen outside the village — the movements of Lieman upon being restored to his senses — the agitation and the com- motion of the serfs — the escape of Lieman — the return to the attack of the horse- men were alike unheeded once the unveiled features of Beatrice were looked upon by the Pilgrim. They were as completely un- noticed, as the advance of the horsemen was unheard by him, when they came clatter- ing at full charge up the high road, and G 5 130 BERTHA. four horsemen ran at him full tilt, striking him at the same moment with their lances. Of the four lances that stinick him, the shafts of three shivered to pieces, and the resistance to the fourth was so great, that the crooper was unhorsed. The blows, however, were well aimed, for hav- ing carried the Pilgrim onward for a short distance, thej flung him to the earth with the blood gushing from his mouth. As he fell — for there was none other in all that hamlet who now raised a sword in her be- half — the shrieking Beatrice was again seized on, and carried off to the river. She was swept away bj her ravishers as unheeded by the serfs of -A schaffenburg, as if they had but plucked from the soil some noxious weed, and borne it to the water's edge. And why, it may be asked, were those, who had but a few minutes before perilled life and limb to rescue Beatrice from the hands of the ruffian soldiers of Worms, now so utterly forgetful of her ? For the ^HE RESCUE AKD RECAPTURE. 131 same reason that has ever made mankind selfish in the midst of an overwhelm- ing calamity : because when the heart is smitten by some awful and astounding grief, it appears to be deprived of the ca- pability of compassionating the sorrow of another, which, though as great as its own to the sufferer, is unlike to it, in its nature and degree. The serfs of Aschaffenburg thought not of fighting in defence of Beatrice, for the hamlet in which they dwelt had been pol- luted by a sacriligeous murder ! No sooner had the perfidious 1 jeman re- covered his senses from the blow which had stricken him to the earth, and perceived that his troop had been completely routed, and the attention of the Pilgrim engaged with Beatrice, than he snatched from the ground the arrow that had felled him, and rushed at the Abbot, who was still on his knees, and engaged in prayer ; and instigated by the fell spirit of the new sect " the Paterini," of which he was 132 BERTHA. a member he experienced a malignant plea- sure in directing the weapon, with such a fear- ful aim into the back of his victim, that the arrow head went right through the heart, and, at length, caught in the w^ood of the crucifix which was, in the momentary pang of death, drawn closely up to the good old man's breast. And thus w^as the venerable Abbot Megin- herr, discovered by his serfs — dead, in the attitude of prayer — and with his own cru- cifix nailed to his heart — his pure blood oozing out on the image of his Saviour to Whose service he had devoted the eighty years of his sinless, stainless, ever-loving, ever-pure, and ever-faithful life ! To gaze horror-stricken upon such a sight as this, was the grief of griefs to the poor serfs of Aschafienburg, and they had neither hearts to feel nor thoughts to give to the misfortunes of another — and that too, a stranger who could never be as afflicted as they were for the death of the Abbot ; for they had been his serfs. THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 13*^ He had been their lord, their master, their father, their protector, their friend, their adviser, their consoler. There was not a hand there that he had not enriched by his bounty ; there was not a tongue there that had not blessed him for his thoughtfulness and his affection ; there was not an ear there that had not heard from him the sweet words of conso- lation in this world, and of hope for the world to come. To them he had been all in all, and yet almost in their presence, he had been brutally massacred ! All — men, women, and children, knelt down and prayed around the dead body of Meginherr the Lord Abbot of Aschaf- fenburg. Bernhard the forester, recognised in tae dead body of the Abbot his own arrow — he remembered too the face of him whose life he had spared in the battle. Bernhard the forester, knelt with the other serfs ; but he did not pray — he made a vow — and that was a vow that he would 134 BERTPIA. have by fair means if he could, and if not by foul — a^^e, foul as the deed itself — and with the same arrow too — the life of his lord's assassin. 135 CHAPTER V. fHE SERF, The clamour of battle had been succeeded by the sobs of men, and the piercing shrieks of women and children. Both noises had reached the inhabitants of the monastery on the topmost point of the hill, and they were speedily seen descending its declivi- ty, priests and monks as they were, and hurrying to the hamlet of the serfs, hope- ful that by their presence they might bring 136 BERTHA. spiritual consolation to the dying, and help to the wounded. With such intentions they came, and those amongst them who were practised in sur- gery, (and not a few of them were so), soon found employment for their skill on the wounded heads, gashed arms and dislocated shoulders of the serfs — others, betook them- selves with tears, to the care of the mor- tal remains of the slain Meginherr, whilst a few raised from the earth, the apparently lifeless body of the Pilgrim. To their sur- prise they found him breathing although still senseless. They removed his habit for the purpose of seeing where he had been wounded ; and then to their astonish- ment they discovered that the Pilgrim's body was covered with a coat of mail, worn close to the skin, and without leathern doublet beneath it, " Phew !" exclaimed a youthful monk at this sight ; " this is a strange garment for a pilgrim ! This man has plainly more con- fidence in his iron-shirt, than his pater- THE SERF. 137 nosten for protection against the assaults .of the wicked ones of this world." ''Brother, brother," remarked Leopold, an old monk, "• be careful, that thy jest is not a sin ; and that what thou makest a mockery of is not a reproach to thy own tepidity." " Assuredly brother, thou dost not in- tend to affirm," replied the younger monk, " that coats of mail are not far more fitted for warriors, than for penitents." " Alas ! brother," meekly answered the elder monk, " when years have brought to thee more sense and reflection than thou hast at present, thou wilt tlien perceive that nought in this world is so inventive as piety, in discovering the aptest means of chastising the body, and keeping it in per- fect subjection. The dark skin, the black eye -brows, although his hair is white as snow, of this pilgrim, conjoined with his noble and regular features, serve as proofs, that he is by birth a Roman— a true type of one of the ancient conquerors of the 138 BERTHA. Universe. Now it maj be, that this very man has been at Fontavellano, at the foot of the Appenines in Umbria, where the re- nowned Peter Daniian has a hermitage or monastery conducted according to the rules of St. Bennet, and where, I am told, there is to be found a- monk named Domi- nic, who has been surnamed ' Loricatus^ because he always, as a mortification, wears next his skin, a rough iron coat of mail. Perchance, the Pilgrim has been there — has seen Dominic, or has heard of him ; and has imitated his example. The very circumstance then that has provoked thy smiles ought rather to have elicited thy reverence. May it, at least, serve as a warning to thee in these wicked times, and in this corrupt age, when bad priests chaffer for dignities in the church, and fancy that the gifts of God's altars are to be procured by the instrumentality of filthy lucre. The holy Dominic, whom this pilgrim, 1 suppose imitates, has, al- thouf>;h dignified with the priesthood, al- THE SERF. 139 ways refused to exercise sacredotal func- tions, ever since he discovered that the bishop, by whom he was ordained, had, for discharging that duty, received a pre- sent from his parents. My dear brother, since the sin of simony is now so preva- lent, let the example of the good Dominic be a warning to thee." " It shall be so — it shall be so," rephed the young monk, who now stood abashed in presence of the elder. " We have, by chance, discovered the pious practice of the pilgrim," observed the elder monk, " let us then respect his secret, and not betray it. Cover his body again with his habit, lest others observe that which we have seen. Thou art better skilled in medicine than I — think est thou, he will ever recover from his mortal swoon 1" '' He is even now recovering ; and in a few minutes his senses will be restored to him. He has," said the young monk, " re- 140 BERTHA, ceived four bruises. The spear-points could not break through this thick and skilfully twisted coat of mail. The force, however, w4th which thej were driven has caused severe contusions, and to these is to be added a bad fall, by which one of the small blood vessels has been injured. Quick — brothers !" he shouted aloud to his fellow monks — " this pilgrim must be car- ried to our infirmary. We must have the best leeches in the monastery to attend him. In three weeks I hope to see him restored to perfect health/' Whilst this conversation was taking place in one part of the hamlet, the Prior of the monastery was to be seen in an- other, making enquiry into the circum- stances that had led to the murder of the Abbot Meginherr. The confused narrative of the serfs was unintelligible to him, and he had at last to summon the forester Bernhard to his presence, and to require him to give, fully and distinctly, an ac- THE SERF. 141 count of all that had been said and done, from the moment he himself had quitted the hamlet until his return. With this demand, Bernhard strictly and literally complied. He told all, even the most minute circumstance that had made an impression on his mind, and concluded his recapitulation of those different events, with these words : " I have, Sir Prior, but one thing to re- gret — and that is my womanish weakness — that criminal dislike on my part to shed human blood ; for when I was aiming at the Commander of the troop, I could have shot him through the eye, and brain, as easily as I unhorsed him. I spared him his life, and the very arrow that had so spared him, he took up and used it against my loved lord and master." " So, sirrah !" replied the Prior Croft, " according to your own story, you are a traitor ; for you have been fighting against the King's troops — seeking to rescue a King's prisoner, and, in the conflict you 142 BERTHA. yourself provoked, for you were the first to discharge a weapon, your lord has been slain.'' " Sir Prior/' said Bernhard, "I am, as thou but too well knowest, a mere serf. It is my duty to obey my lord : if he be wrong, (and I think the Abbot Meginherr — to whose soul God be merciful ! — never did wrong) but supposing he did, the re- sponsibility would rest upon him, and not upon me. I am bound to obey my supe- rior I did so — even by not killing the miscreant, as I knew the Abbot would, if it w^ere possible, have no serf of his shed human blood." " How know I that this is not a false- hood 1 — Why am I to presume that Abbot Meginherr gave orders for attacking the troops of Worms T asked the Prior. " Because," rephed Bernhard, " the whole hamlet heard them given." " But then, slave as thou art, it is with thy arrow that the Abbot is found slain," said the Prior, glaring at his sturdy serf. TI-IE SERF. l43 " What is there to prevent thy being con- demned as his murderer 1" ^' Much, Sir Prior," said Bernhard, to whom this horrible accusation caused feel- ings of disgust and indignation, which he found it difficult to suppress, and could not fully conceal. " Much, Sir Prior. First, there will be found no one vile enough and withal brave enough to be my accuser. There can be no conviction without an accusation. And, secondly, there is scarcely a single man in the hamlet, who is not aware, that as long as the battle lasted I was not near to the Abbot, but fighting by the side of the Pilgrim ; and that the battle was scarcely brought to a close, until the Abbot was found murdered ; and that so far removed was I from him, that I was, I believe, the last of his serfs who heard that most sad intelligence." '' Thou art nimble of tongue, Bernhard — but beware ! I do not forget thy pert- ness — and if I should become Abbot of Aschafienburg, a heavier task will be im- 144 BERTHA. posed upon thee, than that of roving in the forest, or idUng in the village as thou listest. The Abbot Croft will be a far different lord from the Abbot Meginherr," remarked the Prior. " We never expect to see on this earth such an Abbot as the good Father Megin- herr," replied Bernhard. " And when thou art our Abbot, we shall offer up our prayers to him, as our patron saint, to protect us from undue exactions." " Insolent villain !" exclaimed the en- raged Prior, " for this impertinence thou shalt yet feel brand and whip." "' I meant not to offend thee, Sir Prior," was the answer of Bernhard. " Thou didst threaten, and I prophesied. But it be- cometh not an inferior to bandy words with his superior. I am aware that until the pleasure of the King be known, that thou wilt be the administrator of the tem- poralities of the monastery. Conscious as I am of this, and seeing that thou dislikest me, I have a request to make of thee." THE SERF. 145 " Seeing that I dislike thee, thou hast a request to make of me !" said the Prior, at the same time angry and puzzled. " Then be assured I will not grant it." '' Yes," said the Forester, '' I have made a vow, and it is necessary for me to fulfill it. 1 cannot do so, if I remain attached to the soil of Aschaffenburg, and am liable to be punished as a fugitive slave, if found beyond the precincts, without permission from the Abbot — and you, being Abbot, would never give it. Now, my reason for believing you will grant my request is this — that it will be for your advantage to do so." " My advantage, ha !" exclaimed the Prior. " My advantage. Thou said'st so. For my advantage. Very well — proceed, Bernhard — I am prepared to listen to thee." "Yes — for thy advantage. I am pre- pared to offer thee money," continued Bernhard. VOL. 1. H 116 BEKTHA. " Money ! money ! gold coin is it, Bern- hard V eagerly enquired the Prior. " Aye — good, shining, golden crowns !" said Bernhard. " And are they all thine own, Bernhardt' asked the Prior in ama'zement. " Aye, Prior, every piece of them — they are the savings of a long, thrifty, and sober life," said Bernhard, somewhat proudly. " The savings of a serf are the goods of his lord, if he choose to seize on them," said the Prior. " Yes — if the serf be not wise enough, when he knows the disposition of his lord, to conceal them where they cannot be found," replied Bernhard. " True — true — I forgot that," was the somewhat angry answer of the Prior, an- noyed to perceive that his avarice might be disappointed, and himself outwitted even by an ignorant serf. " But for what, Bernhard, dost thou propose to offer me thy gold r THE SERF. 147 '' For my freedom/' bluntly replied Bernhard. " For thy freedom r exclaimed the Prior, almost out of breath with surprise at such an unusual proposition. " For thy freedom ! Thou dreamest, or ravest, or hast drunk too much wine, when thou talk- est thus. Thou never canst possibly have saved a sufficient sum to purchase thine own freedom. Dost thou remember that thou art of great value to our monastery, as our forester 1 We cannot part with thee at a low price. I place much value upon thee, Bernhard — a.s a se7'f—Sind I must have a swinging sum from thee, before I make thee free. Thou never canst have so much money, as I shall ask for thee." " Nay — nay. Prior Croft," said Bern- hard, " although I do think thee a hard man to deal with — I do not suppose that where thou mayst have golden coins in thy hand, thou wilt refuse a fair bargain, and require for the horse, or cow, or serf, more H 3 148 BERTHA. than their value. Supposing any of the serfs here had been slain in the late com- bat, thou wouldst be sure to pursue their murderers until thou hadst received the blood -fine for them. For the carpenter thou wouldst have asked forty shillings ; for a ploughman thirty shillings ; for the blacksmith fifty shillings ; for the silver- smith one hundred shillings : and for that rare goldsmith, whose labours have won a fame even for Aschaifenburg monastery, thou couldst not ask, for the law would not permit thee to do so, more than one hundred and fifty shilllings. It is true, the living serf must be of more value to thee than the dead one, and, therefore, I put a higher price upon myself as being uninjured, than if I were maimed, or than thou couldst demand from my slayers, if I had fallen in the conflict ; and, therefore, do I tender to thee, ten golden crowns for my freedom." " Ten ! golden ! crowns !'' cried the Prior, pausing, as if in admiration upon THE SERF. 149 each particular word — " Ten golden crowns ! and so much money saTed by one particular serf ! Oh ! how the monastery- chest must have been defrauded during the long reign of the simple Megiuherr ! AVhy, if one has saved so much, there must be a mine of wealth concealed some- where about the hamlet, by the serfs. iJut I shall discover, and recover it too, some- how or another, I warrant. Mark what I say, Bernhard," he said, turning to the serf, " I know thou hast many kinsmen in the hamlet. If they wish for thy freedom, they must contribute their savings to pur- chase it. How much, thinkest thou, can be collected from them V ^' I know not," replied Bernhard, " but this I tell thee now, once, and for all, that if a single shilling, collected out of the savings of a hundred of them, could procure my freedom, I would not take it from them, and for these reasons — first, to fulfil my vow, it is necessary I should publicly renounce all my relations. It 150 BEETHA, will be the act with which I shall initi- ate my freedom, if ever I am a free man ; and secondly, I will never, myself, — help to impoverish those, who, what- ever they have saved, have only collected it by pinching themselves continually and by subjecting themselves to many a bitter and painful deprivation. It is thus, and thus only, that I have gathered together the ten golden crowns that I now tender to thee, if thou wilt make me free/' " Begone ! serf as thou art — and serf as thou ever shalt remain, unless, instead of ten, thou canst bring to me one hun- dred crowns in solid, good, red, gold. Begone, I say,'' cried the Prior, flinging himself back in the chair where the good Meginherr had sat, and in front of which he had died. " I go. Sir Prior," said Bernhard, bend- ing his knee to his angr}^ master. " I go —and as I must now for ever despair of obtaining my freedom — in ten minutes my THE SERF. 151 ten golden crowns shall be cast into the waters of the Maine or the Aschaff, and those who love wealth may fish for them in either place, in the hope of finding them. " Ten golden crowns — and saved by a single serf!" Thus spoke the Prior Croft to himself, as he sat in the Abbot Megin- herr's chair in the midst of the now de- serted hamlet ; for all its inhabitants had accompanied the body of the Abbot in its fimereal procession to the monastery. " Ten golden crows !" he thus sohliquised. " A fortune for such a caitiff! But at whose expense has that fortune been made 1 At that of the monastery — of mine — as the administrator of its revenues. And I want it all— more than it all. I want boundless riches, because my ambition is boundless, and I have a king, whose desire to possess gold is boundless as my ambition. Oh, Henry ! Henry ! German King, and Emperor as thou art, in all but the performance of an empty ceremony — how fortunate it is 152 BERTHA. that the German Church is ruled by one like thee! Thou bestowest not its mitres upon men who have nought to re- commend them but their humility, their piety, or their virtue. No— thou art far more discriminating in thy choice. Thou lookest not to their deeds but their hands, — and if these be filled with gold, thou re- war dest the giver fairly — for a little gold there is promotion ; for much, an abbey ; for more, a mitre ; and for a vast deal, an archiepiscopal see ; and, wherefore, should not I be yet an archbishop *? Why not be able, like Adelbert, the Archbishop of Bre- men, and king^s favourite, to sieze upon rich abbeys, like that of Corbie, and pour into my own purse all the enormous wealth belongiug to it ? Why not laugh to deri- sion, if I were even a prelate, the predic- tions of a pious idiot like Meginherr, when he told Burchard the Bishop of Magdeburg for seizing upon the tithes of the monas- tery in Herefield, that many months could not elapse before both would stand before THE SEE?'. 15S the judgment-seat of God, and that there he, AleginheiT, would be his accuser for that spoliation ? Poor Meginherr ! he be- Heved what he said, but the wiser bishop retained w^hat he had the power to seize, and to hold it — as I would have done — as I still hope to do — as I am sure to do ; for my riches are fast accumulating. Aye, even now, I have enough to buy me a bishopric. And wherefore not do so at once ? Wherefore wa.ste my time longer in this monastery 1 I have nearly exhausted it of its wealth. My cousin Werenher stands high in the King's favour — and then I have Henry's greatest favourite of all — gold. With a rich episcopal see 1 can accumu- late money more quickly than here — and then — yes then assuredly I shall be an Archbishop — a Prince- Archbishop !— with nobles to wait upon me, with knights to guard me, with wealthy vassals to tender me fealty — with rich monasteries to seize upon — with all their jewels — their costly* covered books — their altar-vessels and 154 BERTHA. vestments encrusted vrith diamonds, and stiff with massy, solid gold but eh ! vrhsit is this !" exclaimed the Prior, start- ing to his feet, and falling back with a strong, oppressive sense of a swooning sick- ness upon him — " what can be the meaning of this ! " Why," continued he, after pausing for a few moments — panting, exhausted, and with a creeping chill of terror in all his limbs — '* why or wherefore is it, that when I let my mind rest upon these things — upon that archiepiscopal mitre to which I aspire — upon that richly -gemmed crozier that 1 yet expect to hold — upon the closely-con- cealed riches of monasteries, which I intend to rifle and to riot in — why is it that such thoughts are almost invariably followed by a sudden rush of blood to the head — that my brain appears for the moment to be plunged into a fervent mass of red hot flame — that there is then a sudden choking of the throat, as if some demon had seized upon and was THE SERF. 155 about to throttle rae — and that all this is followed by that aching chill in every limb which makes me tremble, as if I were afflicted with palsy — tremble— as I do now. " What can all this indicate 1 Let me think. If I were superstitions — if I believed in omens or forewarnings I w^ould say — nay, I must say — that Heaven had sent these sudden dizzinesses upon me to intimate to me that I shall be short-lived. " Short-lived ! Can it be so ! I, who have been ever careful of my health — by constitution free from all passion — and, from habit alone, untouched by any vice — w^ho scarcely ever taste wine, who live on the simplest food — whose frame is strength- ened by moderate toil, and whose cheek is ruddy with health — I short-lived, who am but in my fortieth year ! — and who have this day seen, even in his eightieth winter, an old man die, not from age, but accident. But then the Abbot Meginherr's heart was 156 , BERTHA. not like to mine— it was not corroded by ambition, neither was it elevated by the aspiring thoughts that ambition gene- rates. " I live as moderately and temperately as Meginherr, and therefore it is reasonable to suppose — for I am a stouter, stronger, and more muscular man than ever he was — that my span of existence shall be pro- longed to the same duration as his. " Short-lived ! Oh, it is absurd even to think of it . . . but then these sudden attacks. He never had them. He did not think — as I do. Aye, there it is — I must avoid those delicious thoughts which ambition presents so vividly to my heart. Their intensity induces such attacks. I must then avoid them. I must, for the future, think less and do more. I must con- vert these speculations into realities ; and when I do that, then my life must be as tranquil as that of Meginherr ; but I shall differ from him in this respect — his hairs THE SEEF. 157 grew white in the coDtented obscurity of an Abbotical cowl, and I — I shall not feel old age coming upon me, amid the pomps of courts, the smiles of courtiers, the dazzling splendours of wealth and the favour of my sovereign. " Yes, yes — I must think less than I do,'^ said the Prior Croft, and as he said so, losing himself so deeply in thought, that many minutes elapsed, before the quick and hasty tolling of all the bells in the monastery reached his ears, and aroused his attention to external circum- stances. " Bless me V he cried, starting up from his seat like a man, whom a sudden noise at midnight awakes from a sound sleep. " Bless me ! what is this, what is this ! All the monastery bells would not be thus rung out if some disastrous circumstance had not occurred. 1 must hurry back, and enquire of the community what it means." And so saying, the Prior was seen 158 BERTHA. making all speed up the path that led to the great gate of the monastery ; but still nurturing as he went, those ambitious thouglits, on which his mind alone loved to dwell. J 59 CllAPTEU VI. ANCIENT CUSTOMS. One month had elapsed from the day on which the good Abbot Meginherr had been slain. There was an immense assembly of prelates, of nobles, of knights, of burghers, from various towns, and even of serfs from the adjoining districts, collected within the aisle and naves of the great church in the Monastery of Aschaflfenburg. All these persons had gathered together with the 160 BEKTHA. same object ; to join their prayers with those of the priests at the high altar, and the other altars in the church, and which were all offered up for the repose of the soul of the Abbot Meginherr, and of Burchard, the Bishop of Magdebourg, both of whom had expired on the same day, and both deprived suddenly of life ; the first, slain by an arrow ; the second, killed by a fall from his horse, and who, having been brought in a dying state into the Monastery of Aschaffenburg, had lived long enough, to express his sorrow for the unjust exactions he had practised upon several monasteries ; but especially for his spoliation of the tithes of Herefield, which had been the property of Meginherr as Abbot. It was the sudden accident to the Bishop Burchard which had recalled the Prior Croft to the Monastery, and in him there was observable no change of manner, from the deaths of the Abbot and Bishop, but one : that ever since the Pilgrim in the jvnciekt customs. 161 infirmary had sent for him, he was remarked to be constantly gazing at a small cross, which seemed to be but one solid mass of sparkling diamonds. From that day too, it was remarked by the monks in atten- dance upon the infirmary, that Bernhard the forester-serf passed more of his da}'s there, than in the forest ; and that he was permitted, unreproved by the Prior, to do so. No sooner were the solemn ceremonies for the dead at an end, than it was inti- mated to all present, that their presence was required to witness the legal sale of a serf belonging to the monastery. A few moments afterwards, three per- sons were seen ascending the steps of the high altar. These were the Prior Croft, the Pilgrim, and the serf, Bernhard. They turned round to the multitude, so that they might be known and recognised by all pre- sent. The serf, Bernhard, then knelt down by the side of the Prior, and placing the Prior's hand on his head, intimated that he 162 BERTHA. was the Prior's serf. The Prior then pro- duced a parchment bearing his signature, and read its contents aloud. They were as follows : — " This is to testify that I, Croft, Prior of the Abbey of Aschaffenburg, have sold, and do now sell to thee, Sir Pilgrim, this Bernhard, my serf, and at the same time declare that he is not a thief, nor a run-a- way, nor labouring under any corporeal ailment ; but that he is sound alike in mind and body. I do hereby also testify by this instrument, that I have received from you the price of this serf — to wit, ten crowns of pure gold, and full weight, in exchange wdiereof, I now give up to you this serf to have, and to hold, and to do with him as thou wilt, now and henceforth. And I do also declare by this instrument, that if I do that, which is most improbable I would ever attempt to do — viz., that is by myself, or my legal representatives, in my name, invalidate this sale, or infringe upon ANCIENT CUSTOMS. 163 its conditions, then I, or they, shall be liable to a mulct of twenty golden crowns over and above, whatever may be the higher value of the serf at the time. And this is now subscribed by me, in order that this sale may ever be regarded as last- ing, binding, and irrefragable." The ten crowns of gold — the very crowns of gold which Bernhard had saved and the Prior had previously refused, were now placed upon the altar, along with the deed of sale. The Count of the district then ascended the steps of the altar, and he gave to the Prior the gold, and to the Pilgrim he handed the charter. The Pilgrim then turned to Bernhard, and Bernhard then knelt down before him, as he had done for the Prior Croft, but the Pilgrim eagerly stretclied out his hand and said — " Not for an instant can I permit a man like thee to remain in such a position. Here," he continued, drawing from beneath 164 BERTHA. his robe, the very arrow with which the Abbot Meginherr had been slain. " Here is a weapon for thee, of which I feel as- sured, thou canst make a proper use. In my own land — in those provinces over which the Langobards once ruled — the pre- sentation of an arrow from master to slave, was the only ceremony necessary to shew that the slave had been metamorphosed into a free man. It is not so here ; and in compliance with the custom that pre- vails in this land, I have prepared a char- ter of enfranchisement for thee. I call," said the Pilgrim, raising his voice so as to be heard in the remotest cor- ner of the church : " upon all here pre- sent, to witness this deed of Enfranchise- ment. I have taken care. Bernhard, that it should be in the proper and legal form." The Pilgrim stood on the steps of the altar, and read aloud the document he held in his hand, and which was to this effect : — ANCIEKT CUSTOMS. 165 " He who frees another from that ser- vitude which is due to himself, may hope to receive the reward of a good action from God, in a future Hfe. Hence it is that, in God's name, and for my soul's sake, 1 do free thee, Bernhard, my serf, now, henceforth and for ever more, from the bond of slavery. I free thee as com- pletely as if thou wert born of free parents, and in order that thou may est lead the life of a freeman, and owing no service of any description to me or my heirs, but having as thy master God alone, to whom are subjected all men, and all things. At the same time I concede to thee all the property of which thou dost now stand possessed or may hereafter acquire. And if it should so happen, that for the purpose of preserving thy freedom, necessity should compel thee to place thyself under the protection of any monastery — but still guarding thy freedom — thou hast my per- mission to do so ; and moreover, I do hereby declare, (which God forbid should 166 BEKTIIA. ever happen) that any of my heirs, ' or any enemy of thine should seek to annul, or render void this Charter of Enfranchise- ment, and reduce thee again to a state of servitude, then I pray that they may be overtaken by the Divine vengeance, and for ever excluded from the Church, and the communion of the faithful ; and also that they be mulcted by the temporal authorites, with a fine of one pound weight in solid gold ; for I declare by this Instru- ment, that it is my desire that thou shalt be now, and for ^11 time to come, a free The charter was laid on the high altar. The signatures of the Count of the District, of the Prior, the Pilgrim, and some of the monks were attached to it, and Bernhard the Forester was proclaimed to be a free man. '' I am free !" exclaimed Bernhard, " free to fulfil my vow— thank God !" He fell upon his knees, and remained in that at- ANCiENT CUSTOMS. * 167 titude for a few minutes. He then rose, and addressing the Count of AschafFenburg, said : " I have, Sir Count, a vow to fulfil, which it was impossible for me to accom- plish, unless I were freed from all bondage and servitude : I am now free as most men are free ; but I desire to be more free. I desire to repudiate my relations — I desire that no one in this world shall be rendered responsible for my actions. I claim a right to do this, Have I your permission to exercise if?" " The right thou speakest of," rephed the Count, " is an ancient custom. It is one so seldom resorted to, that I have never before witnessed it. Thou art by birth, a Frank — thou art now a freeman. I can- not, even if I would, refuse thee what thou dost desire ; for T am commanded by the law to be a party to it." Bernhard, who had prepared himself for the performance ot this strange ceremony, here appeared before the Count, bearing in 168 BERTHA. his hand four straight sticks of the alder- tree. " Sir Count/' he said, '' I, Bernhard the Forester, now a freeman, do appear before thee, and declare that I renounce father, mother, sister, brother, uncle, aunt, cousin, nephew, with all my kinsfolk, and relations, now and for evermore — I renounce all in- heritance from them, by them, or through them ; I renounce, if they be slain, any right to any porton of blood-fine that otherwise might be payable to, or receive- able by me ; and if I be slain, I declare them disinherited from any right to blood- fine for my death — to claim it, to seek for it, or to receive it ; and as I break upon my head, these four alder-sticks, and cast them to four corners away from me, so do I now declare that all connexion, and all affinity between me and my relations is broken off, and cast away for ever." As he uttered these words Bernhard broke the sticks of alder, and flung them ANCIENT CUSTOMS. 169 away from him. He then turned to the Pilgrim, and said, in a low voice : " And now, Sir Pilgrim, whither goest thou r " To Frankfort," answered the Pilgrim " King Henry is there, and it is near the King I hope yet fear to behold that which I have long and vainly searched for." " And it is near the King, that I hope and trust to see the troopers of Vv^orms," answered Bernhard. With these words, the Pilgrim and Bern- hard departed from the monastery. Neither of them ever again appeared, in Aschaffenburg. VOL. I. 170 CHAPTER YII. THE CAPTI"VE ON THE RIVER MAINE. The barge in which Beatrice was con- veyed from Aschaffenburg was one that appeared to have been constructed for the double purposes of luxury and security ; for between its centre, and its stern, there had been elevated what might be called an apartment rather than a cabin, com- posed of wood, so solidly constructed, and the matting outside kept in such a constant state of moisture, that the noon-day heat THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. l7l was not felt by those enclosed within its precincts. On the outside, it was covered with the richest silks, and its floor strewed with soft cushions and ottomans, whilst attached to one of its walls was a table, on w^iich lay, in vessels of gold, the most tempting fruits and viands, with the richest and most cooling wines. To this apartment there were no windows, so that the person enclosed could neither see what was passing outside, nor could any prying eye from without behoLI what was going on in the cabin. Abundance of light and air were admitted through the roof, which was covered with a species of lattice work, that could be turned, either from wdthin or without, so as to keep the apart- ment constantly shaded from the rays of the mid-day sun. At the stern of the boat there was a space left for three persons — a helmsman and two others, and in front of the cabin were the seats for the rowers, and for those I 2 1 72 BERTHA. who might be in personal attendance upon the master of the vessoL This barge was, upon the present oc- casion, preceded by a large boat, and fol- lowed by two others, and all of them filled with soldiers who were armed with short pikes, swords, bows and arrows It was thus escorted that Beatrice was carried away from Aschaffenburg, and aided by the current and the sturdy strokes of the rowers she was wafted swiftly along the water o f the Maine. Poor Beatrice ! she, whose life it might be said had passed away until the last forty-eight hours, in one unbroken course of tranquillity, who had unconsciously risen from infancy to girlhood, and from girl- hood to womanhood, and who had no re- collection of ever encountering in the face of any one who looked upon her, any other than loving glances, now found herself, well knowing she had never offended a human being ; seized upon by the ruffian hands of THE CA PTI VE ON THE Hi VER MAINE. 1 73 Utter strangers, arrested as a malefactor, and carried away a captive she knew not whither. Bewildered by the sudden pur- suit of her by armed men, when peacefully riding through the forest ; horrified at the frightful conflict in which she saw hereelf involved ; addressed to as she had been by the stranger pilgrim, who called upon her, as if he had a rightful claim to recog- nition by her ; and then his brutal murder, as she fancied, by those who were her un- provoked persecutors, followed by her re- capture, and last of all the mysterious prison in which she was confined, and the rapidity with which it was moving through the waters ; all these circumstances com- bined together, came rushing upon her brain, and whilst they deprived her of the power of thought, yet left her a prey to the most fearful agony. Hour passed away after hour, and yet Beatrice remained in the same posi- tion, apparently senseless, moveless, voice- less, tearless ; with parched lips, aching 1 74 BERTHA. head, and trembling hands stretched upon the cushions that strewed the floor of that luxurious cabin, which seemed to be constructed for a Sybarite. Thus lay she who never before knew what real sorrow had been ; and who, even yet ; was unconscious how much of vice and sin, and wickedness may be found in this world. Had she any idea of these things, or of the fate that was des- tined for her, perchance, she would have thought more of herself ; but as it was, her greatest horror was occasioned by the thoughts of her mother — of her mother, who, perhaps, even up to that moment was not conscious of what had become of her, (as she had ridden out unaccompanied by Agatha, for the purpose merely of bestow- ing in charity a piece of gold upon the sick wife of a serf,) of her mother who w^ould wait, perhaps, all day, expecting her return every moment — of her mother, who, when the shades of evening began to fall, would feel convinced, and not tiU then, that some THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 1 75 calamity had befallen her, and then — she thought how her mother would feel when she was told of all the scenes that had occurred in the hamlet of Aschaffenburg ! Poor Beatrice could think no more, when her imagination presented to her the distress of her mother. And her father — she pitied him, when she reflected what would be his state of mind, when he heard of these events, and thinking of him she was almost disposed to melt into tears ; but such thoughts were fugacious, they did not come but by snatches ; they were all absorbed in the sympathy of her soul with her mother, as of a portion of her existence — a part of herself, of which she had been despoiled by the rude hands of wicked strangers. Thus lay poor Beatrice for hours a prey far more to despair than grief when sud- denly, and almost unexpectedly there came to her ears, and as if borne to her from a distance over the waters, the tones of a 1 76 BERTHA. voice which thrilled to her heart. The words spoken were these : " I tell thee, Magnus, there is no use of thy toiling in troubled waters. If there be any fish in the net, the number of the captors are so many as to affright others from following it." " Nay,'' replied the voice of him who had been addressed as Magnus, " I tell thee, Dedi, it must be a very stupid fish if it does not catch at the bait we use. I can assure thee that if there be any fish in the river, I know how to discover it.'' It was the voice of Magnus! of her Magnus that Beatrice listened to ! The moment she heard his name pronounced, she started to her feet, and when she heard his words she listened, as if each syllable was far more precious to her existence, than the air she breathed ; and when his words had ceased, she rephed to them in a voice that was now weak and hoarse, and the accents of which, it seemed toiler, could scarcely be heard even by herself — THE CAPTIVE ON" THE EIVEK MAINE. 177 " Magnus ! Magnus ! — help ! help ! — rescue ! — It is I — Beatrice — thy beloved — thy betrothed calls upon thee I — Rescue 1 dearest Magnus ! — Rescue ! rescue !" " Holloa !" cried out the voice of some one, so close to her ear, that the person seemed to stand at her side. " Holloa ! what means all this. Strike up men one of your Paterini hymns, we must drown by our noise this wench's squalling.' The command was instantly obeyed. Beatrice heard the noise made by the singers, but not the blasphemous words that were now chaunted forth by the boatmen. She hstened watchfully in the hope of hearing these joyous notes interrupted by the rough shouts of men engaged in con- flict — such as she had heard a few hours before in the hamlet of Aschaifenburg. She listened in vain : the song of the boatmen suddenly ceased. The silence, with which she appeared before to have been surrounded on all sides was resumed. I 5 178 BERTHA. She beheld herself again left alone, and hel23less in that solitary and splendid cham- ber, and no sound now reached her ears, but the rippHng of the water, and the stroke of the oars, as the barge hurried onward. Beatrice, however, had heard a.fjain the voice of Magnus. Its loved tones had come to her, at the very moment when she ap- peared to have been shut out from the sym- pathy, and cut off from the aid of every creature on this earth. The Beatrice, there- fore, who now stood up in that prison-cabin was no longer the same poor, helpless, despairing girl that had lain there for hours lost in wretchedness, and motionless from despair. She was still most miserable, but there was a gleam of hope that such misery would have an end, she knew not how% or by what means ; but her whole soul was now filled with a complete confidence in the mercy and the protection of God. The voice of Magnus had forewarned her to prayer. THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 179 and to prayer she betook herself; cast- ing herself upon her knees, she gave up her whole thoughts to her devotions — and there, from that sin-blotted apart- ment, in which vice had so often revelled, and debauchery had begrimed itself with the most hideous deeds, there arose up to Heaven, out of a pure and stainless soul supplications, sweeter than incense, because impregnated with the purest aspirations of heart-felt piety. And so prayed Beatrice until the barge bore her down the Maine, and was drawn close up to the pathw^ay that led from the bank to the grim fortress of Frankfort. Meanw^hile w^e must turn to describe those circumstances which her close prison prevented her from observing. The troopers of Worms in the last charge they had made through the hamlet of Ascnaffenburg, and by w^hich they had recaptured Beatrice, were so completely unopposed by the serfs, that they were able to bear away with them the dead bodies 180 EERTHA. of their three slain companions. These were deposited in the same barge with Beatrice, and confided to the care of the two commanders Lieman and Egen. " These three men," observed Lieman to Egen, when thej had proceeded many miles down the river, " were like ourselves, and all the sensible men of Worms, avowed Paterini- — they hated monks, de- tested priests, and abominated bishops, as idlers, and debauchees, who robbed the people so thoroughly, as to leave nothing for themselves to lay hold on I can then safely, and surely interpret their last wishes, when I say they would prefer 7ict having what is called ' Christian burial.' Honest fellows they were too in their own way — they would much sooner that whatever money may be found on them should be expended by their living loving comrades on good eating and drink- ing, than cast away upon priests in burial fees, or in buying masses for the repose of their souls, when they did not believe, if THE CAPTIVE ON THE ETVER MAINE. 181 they had souls, that any number of masses could purchase for them peace. What say you then, comrade, shall we strip the dead, fasten weights to them, and fling them into the Maine V " I say," replied Egen, " that I can but approve of a proposition by which there is a chance I may be a gainer, and a cer- tainty I cannot be a loser. Here, friends !'* he said, to four of the rowers, "lay by your oars for a moment — remove their habihments from those dead bodies — fasten stones to their necks, and then cast them overboard.''' These orders were executed in the course of a few minutes. The bodies were thrown with as little respect into the river, as if they were those of the vilest animals, and not images of the Creator, in which had been enshrined immortal souls. " Poor fellows !'' exclaimed Lieman, " if those moveless things that nov/ lie at the bottom do but feel, the only regret, I 182 BERTHA. am sure they would have, would be the belief, that what was once a portion of themselves may, in process of time, be converted into a fish, that is eaten by an abbot, and thus they may be made a partj when dead, of that which when living they most abhorred." " That which is dead thinks as little as it feels," observed Egen. " And how do you know that what is dead does not feel V enquired Lieman. " Did you never remark how the body of that which we call a dead eel writhes, as if it endured the most intense agony^ when cast into the red-hot embers V " Yes — but I remember a learned monk, who was also a greater curer of diseases, declare that such contortions were merely what he called ' muscular action/ " replied Egen. *' I do not know what you mean by mus- cular action," continued Lieman. " It is at best, methinks, but a phrase, and not an explanation. I see in the twists, and turns, THE CAPTIVE ON THE EIVER MAINE. 183 and distortions of the body of the decapi- tated eel, the same manifestations exhibited, as if it ^Yere aUve, and which shew me that it does feel pain — and these^manifestations continue until life is burned out of it. Then it reposes as moveless as if it were a vege- table that was roasting in the flame. It is then, and then only I am disposed to be- lieve that it is really dead. Now, the eel when living, exhibits its faculties by what you call its muscular action — and the ces- sation of that action is the proof it is dead. It is not so, with us, Egen. Our muscular action is never developed, but as a result of our will — and that receives its impulse through our senses, w^hen those are passive — when, in fact, they are acted upon by circumstances that are external to ourselves. How many things do we do in our sleep, when w^e are to those who look upon us, as if dead. How much sa^ we, and t/iiJik we then, when our senses seem to be in a state of suspension ? And if it 184 BERTHA. be so in our sleep, why should we suppose that it would be otherwise when we are deprived by death, but of those faculties which, we know, during our life-time, are but subordinate faculties V " Then Lieman, you believe that we have souls — that there is a life after this life V asked Egen. " No — I do not say that — I should be sorry to think tliat," continued Lieman, '' because, if I could so think, T would be bound to believe all that the priests tell us of heaven, and hell, and purgatory — and with these the necessity of fasting and praying, and mortifying our passions in this world, in the hope we might be re- warded with everlasting happiness in the next. I do not, and will not believe this, because, to act upon such notions would be to anticipate here the hell t/ie7'e, of which they speak. As a true Paterini, I believe that if we have passions, it is for the satis- faction of indulinng them, and that the error THE CAPTIVE OX THE UlYER MAINE. 185 'lies in restraining them or in submitting to any institution, whether it be monkery or marriage, which suppresses them alto- gether or confines them within narrow limits. I do not believe that there is ano- ther world ; but I am much disposed to believe — and, in fact, T cannot prevent my- self from believing that, after what is ge- nerally called death, there is life in tJiis world. I believe that, in that rotting, mo- mentarily corrupting piece of defunct hu manity, which we designate a corpse, there is still left the power of thought, and even of feeling, although the powers of ^notion and CiV'pression have alike departed from it — and 1 believe, moreover, that as long as that mass remains together, whether it be in the totality of the flesh, or the com- pleteness of the skeleton, that the mental, sentient man is there ; and hence it is, that I do believe the Pagan Romans acted like sensible philosophers, when they directed their bodies should be burned in- stead of consigning them to ages of misery 186 BERTHA. and abhorrence, in filthy graves, until time and decay had, at last, scattered and dis- solved all the elements of thought, which had been combined together in their living frames." These words so lightly spoken by Lie- man, were heard by Count "Werenher, who sat at the back of the boat, holding the helm, and not condescending to join in the conversation. He was destined, at no re- mote period, to ponder more seriously upon their import. " Yours is a strange faith," remarked Egen ; " and I must candidly own, far more dreary — far more hopeless — far more disgusting — and far more abhorrent to ones feelings, than that of the Christians. There is brilliancy— there is glory — there is con- solation for the living and the dead in their promises ; but in your assurances what is there, if we were to put trust in them 1 Augh ! we must regard this earth and its soil converted into a hell -grave- yard crowded with grieving, festering, ani- THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 187 mated corpses. But believe as you list — I will believe nothing, or I will believe all. For the present I am content to believe nothing ; for . I would not be fit for the duties I have undertaken to discharge, if I did believe any thing. According to your notions, the men whose bodies we cast into this river, were conscious of what we were saying and doing." " I believe they were," said Lieman, " I believe they thought unpronounceable curses upon you, when they heard and saw you joking and laughing as to their deaths, in- stead of grieving for them. I believe too it will be more amusing to them to lie and rot away in the bottom of a clear fresh stream like this, instead of being crammed into a fat, dull church-yard, with no other companions than the worms that would batten upon them. I believe, however, that the dead gain no new faculties, and hence that they are unconscious of what we are now saying, and doing — and being so, we had better examine their garments, 188 BERTHA. and see if they have left to us, their ex- ecutors, any money or valuables." They discovered in the dresses of the soldiers a few crowns, and with these, in the purse of one of them, a small thin case of steel, about a finger in length, and by its side, a diminutive round box, and with it a small diamond. In the same leathern purse, containing these things, there was not a single piece of coin. " To whom think you did this purse be- long V asked Lieman, " I am sure it was to Anselm of Worms,'' answered Egen, " I know this diamond, as it is not a week since he showed it to me, and told me, that he had then received it from the King, for a valuable service per- formed by him. " To Anselm of Worms !" said Lieman. "The plough-share that dashed out his brains had so disfigured his features I did not recognise his body. Then be assured, Egen, if these things belonged to Anselm of Worms, they are more precious than THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 189 gold ; for Anselm had travelled in the East, and acquired the knowledge of rare secrets. I often heard him boast that he possessed a dagger so small that he could conceal it between two of his fingers, and yet the slightest puncture from which was inevitable death in five minutes afterwards, aud also, that he had a poison imperceptible to the taste, and yet so potent, that it was impossible to preserve it, in any less solid material than crystal. What if these should be the treasures of which Anselm was so proud, we may indeed regard our- selves this day as fortunate men. King Henry would give a hundred golden crowns for each of them." As Lieman spoke thus, he opened the thin case of steel, within which he found another of pure gold, and within that lay a small dagger, so minute in all its propor- tions, that it seemed to be formed as a mere ornament to append to a necklace, or attach to a lady's girdle. In appearance it was fashioned of polished steel, and 190 BERTHA. there was nought to denote the deadly quahties ascribed to it. The little round box was next opened. It contained, seemingly, nothing more than a circular piece of crystal, about the size of a cherry stone, in the centre of which was discernible a globule of what looked to be the purest water. " These are indeed," exclaimed Lieraan, *' the two precious poisons of which Anselm was so proud." The Count Werenher had until this mo- ment remained a silent listener to the con- versation of these two men, of whose valor as soldiers, and whose devotion as courtiers to the King he was well aware, in his double capacity of Henry's minister and prime favourite. Proud of his rank, and haughty to all his inferiors, he had, so far from joining in their conversation, not even appeared to hear it. His curiosity and his cupidity now overmastered his re- serve. " Come hither Lieman and Egen," he THE CAPTIVE OX THE RIVER MAINE. I9l said, " I desire to speak a word with you. I thought I heard you but now speaking of some curious dagger, and some strange poison discovered in the purse of Anselm. They are indeed pretty toys," he said, taking them in his hand, and looking at them with the same admiration that a master-manufacturer now-a-days would re- gard an invention in machinery, by which he might save himself the daily expense of a thousand operatives. " They are," he continued, "very pretty toys — such toys as a King's minister ought always to have in his closet. Give them to me, Lieman and Egen, and on my return to Frankfort? you shall have three hundred crowns to divide between you." " They are yours. Count Werenher, with- out purchase." " I wish your lordship would accept them as a gift from your servants." Such was the language in which these two courtiers addressed the King's favour- ite. 192 BERTHA. " No — no — I thank you both," ansvvered Werenher, " I am as grateful to both as if I had accepted those things as a gift. I heard you speak of two hundred crowns as their value, and I therefore purposely placed a higher price upon thern, as a proof of my regard for both. My wealth is great, and it is no dishonour to you that you do not superabound in it. Accept then that which is useful to you, by permitting me to retain that which I consider far more precious than the few golden crowns I have given in exchange." So intently engaged were Count Weren- her, Lieman and Egen in this coversation — so much excited was the cupidity of the Count, and the avarice of his associates in crime, that they did not remark that a bend in the river had brought them within view of a large hawking party on its banks, and that they had been for some time the subject of speculation and of comment. That which they could not hear, we may be permitted to state to the reader. THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 1.93 The leading personages in the party, who were engaged in the sport of hawking, and tliat the pursuit of game had brought to the banks of the river, were the youthful Magnus; his cousin, and his friend Dedithe younger; the father of the latter, Count Dedi of Saxony ; and his wife, the Countess Adela, The Countess was the first to perceive the barge, and the boats of armed men that followed it. " Ho ! husband," she cried, '' come hither. What means this strange craft in the Maine ? 1 never saw barge built like that before." The Count Dedi looked, and then turn- ing to his wife, said — " Alas! Adela, the sight of that barge is proof, if proof we wanted, that the King, Henry, remains unchanged, and, I fear, un- changeable in his despotic disposition and the indulgence in his vices. That barge con- tains a prisoner — you see that it is preceded vol .1. K 194 BEETHA. and followed by armed men ---but whether the victim confined in it be man or woman, I cannot tell." " Then I can/' observed Magnus. " If the prisoner in the barge were a man, there would be several soldiers on board ; but w4th the rowers, there are only three individuals, there must be either no prisoner ^^ all, or that prisoner is a woman.' " Shrewdly guessed, boy,'' said the Countess Adela ; " but I may tell thee there is a prisoner on board ; for if there were not, the boats would not proceed in that regular manner, prepared for an at- tack either before or behind. Besides, thou mayest perceive that in the boat that pre- cedes the barge, as well as in those that follow it, the soldiers are fully armed, and prepared for any attack that may be made upon them. And good God ! it is a woman 1 — One of our daughters, or of our sisters, or nieces, who may be thus THE CAPTIVE OK THE RIVER MAINE. 195 treated. Oh ! if I were but a warrior, I would not sit tamely down under the per- petration of such brutaUties." " Patience, good Adela," said the elder Dedi. " Patience ! forsooth, with such a spectacle of abomination as this placed be- fore the eyes of an honest woman — of a mother too — Patience ! Shame upon the lips that can say patience, when the hand of every man — of every one deserving the name of man, should be raised to prevent such a crime — a crime like that which we now look upon.'' "' Patience ! I repeat the phrase '/' re- plied the Count Dedi, " for it is alone ap- plicable to the circumstances in which we are placed, even if our worst suspicions were confirmed. If we knew, that in that barge there was not a man arrested on the charge of some crime, and who, though so accused, was safe until condemned by his peers : if I say, we were quite sure that in that barge there was confined not a man, K 2 3 96 BERTHA. but a young, innocent, virtuous female, who had been dragged away from her family and friends to be the victim of the vile passions of a vile King, still I would say — patience ! — because we could do nought but rail. Excuse me, Adela, for saying it — rail like a woman — at a wrong that we had not the strength to prevent. With what other weapon can we arm ourselves at this moment, but patience — I cannot transform ray swift-flying hawks into swift- sailing boats — I cannot change my dogs into oarsmen, nor my fowlers into warriors. What then can I do ! even if 1 knew tlie iniquity to be worse than I suppose ; be patient — bide my time, and if I cannot render the crime abortive at least watch my opportunity, and anticipate the vengeance of Heaven, by punishing the wrong-doer. Yes, Adela, I repeat it — patience — suppos- ing this to be the last of the abominations of Henry : — especially as we do not at this moment know whether there be THE CAPTIVE ON" THE RI\ER MAINE. 197 aiij truth at all in our suspicions ; and whether in point of fact there is even a single prisoner — woman or man within the barge." " That is a fact," said Magnus, " of which I shall take care we shall not long remain in ignorance. Mark, Count," he said, " that point about half a mile distant from this. You see that the Maine there runs between such closely joining banks, that any persons on board can hear the voice of a speaker across the water your son and T will repair thither, and you may rest assured, that if there be a prisoner on board, he or she shall hear our words — and if not gagged, nor a will- ing prisoner — we must hear them in re- turn." " Thou art a good youth, Magnus," said the Countess Adela, " and I have no doubt thou wilt yet prove thyself not only a stout soldier, but a skilful general." " Yes," said Count Dedi, " too good, too noble, and too exalted, and his life far too 198 BERTHA. precious to be risked in a mad enterprise, or lost in a vain exploit. Magnus, I will consent to thy making the trial on one conditon." " Name it/' said Magnus, as he prepared to give a loose rein to his steed. " It is to require of thee," replied the elder Dedi, " supposing the voice thflt an- swers thee — that is if any should respond to thy call — should be that of some one known to thee — thou wilt, instead of madly plunging into the river, to be drowned, or shot to death with arrows, return to me, as the good and brave sol- dier returns to his commander when he has discovered the enemy, instead of stopping to fight with him. Wilt thou so obey mer " I wiiy answered Magnus,. " Though it were the voice of my own n) other I heard, I will return to thee. I see perfectly well that we are helpless — that we, on land and unarmed, can do nought against armed men in boats, and hence, I consider that I am bound to return to thee, and report THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 199 what I may hear, in order that thou mayest divine the means for baffling the enemy." " I repeat my wife's words — thou art a good youth, Magnus," said the elder Dedi. " My son knows something of the devices of war, and will tell thee how thou mayst so speak, as to escape exciting the instant suspicion and attention of the enemy — for it is an enemy — the enemy of virtue, of religion, of morality ; of knightly truth, manly rectitude, and female honour. Remember that, and also, that you can endanger all these by rashness. And now both have my permission to go. Go — I say — and a father's blessing go with you." " And a woman's prayers," added the Countess Adela. Half an hour had not passed away until Magnus and his cousin were by the side of the Countess Adela and her husband. 2G0 BERTHA. Half an hour had but elapsed, since Magnus, buoyant, joyous, high-spirited, animated, with the young blood of fervent manhood flushing his cheek, and its ardent spirit flashing forth in brilliant glances from his eyes, darted away from the Count and Adela ; and yet at the close of that brief period of time, the same Magnus returned to them — but so sadly changed, that he looked to be but the dead resem- blance of that brave youth, whom Adela loved, as if he were her own son. He ad- vanced towards her and her husband, with cheeks that were now ashy pale — dimmed eyes, and trembling limbs, and, pass- ing the Countess, without perceiving her, he was merely able to pronounce these words : " 1 have, Count, fulfilled m}^ promise — I have done no rash deed ; and yet — oh ! God ! I have been called upon to the res- cue — and that too — in words that were w^orse for me to hear, than the voice of my own mother." THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 201 And so saying, the man, who had so lately been a boy, burst into tears. " Magnus ! my dear Magnus !" cried the Countess Adela. '' What can this mean V " It means — " said Magnus ; but he could speak no more. His utterance was again lost in an uncontrollable burst of grief. " It means this," said young Dedi, " that we called out, so as to be heard by the captive confined in the barge — that the captive not only answered us, but that she called upon Magnus. What more, she might have said, neither of us know ; for the boatmen, while she was speaking, be- gan singing in so loud a tone as to render her words inaudible. This, mother, how- ever, I do believe, that the female captive is the betrothed of Magnus. No wonder, poor youth, that he is in the sad state of grief which now over230wers him." " No wonder, in sooth !," said Adela, who although in her sixtieth year, K 5 202 BERTHA. retained all the vivacity of her youth, "and now, my Lord — Count of the Empire, and Commander as you are over thousands of brave Saxon swordsmen — what say you f Here is something worse than anything you dared to suppose. Here is the daugh- ter of a nobleman seized upon — for she who has been selected by Magnus as his destined bride, must be of noble birth. It is not enough that the wives and daughters of our serfs are the victims to a wretch ; for I will never again call him King : it is not enough for him to fill with dishonour the homes of free citizens ; but now, the families of nobles, of those, by whose swords he holds his crown, are to be scan- dalised by his excesses. What say you now — wise, cautious, and prudent general, to such a deed as this T " Patience T replied the phlegmatic Dedi. " What ! patience again ! Oh ! for the sword of a man, instead of the tongue of a woman," exclaimed Adela, " in order THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 203 that I might for ever purify the earth of a monster— made still more monstrous, be- cause permitted by a degenerate race of Germans to wear a crown/' " My good, true-hearted Adela," said Dedi, " if you were a man, and wished to use your sword against a cunning and cowardly adversary, you would not, before you drew it, afford to him, by your clamour, the opportunity of having you disarmed. You would be patient. Your courage, and your resolution would be best exhibited by your patience. And so it should be now. A great outrage has been committed ; and, by that outrage, a great wrong has been done to us, through our relative Magnus. We have then first to see, if we cannot by any exertion, or any device, on our part, prevent tlie crime which has been com- menced, from being fully perpetrated. This is our first duty — it involves some thought, much uncertainty, and great risk. Nothing must be left undone to snatch from the 204 BERTHA. gripe of the king the destined bride of Magnus. Should those efforts prove vain, then the unprovoked wrong shall be fol- lowed bj a vengeance great, and flagrant as the wrong itself. To secure, however, the one or the other — we must be patient — for patience is prudence, when the weak are compelled to enter into a death strug- gle with the strong. And now, let me say to you, Adela, that Henry is forcing on such a struggle with Saxony — and that the time, even now cannot be far distant, when King Henry, his prelates, his knights, and his hired soldiers will be in one camp ; and in the other, the men of Saxony, from the highest noble to the poorest ploughman. E ren our sufferings, or the wrongs done to us, as individuals must not be permitted to bring on a premature conflict, in which, those we have loved best and cared for most — the brave agriculturalists of Saxony should be sacrificed as victims." " You speak of civil vTar, father," ob- THE CATTIVE OK THE RIVER MAINE. 205 served the youger Dedi ; " but what mean- while is to be done to save her, who is now borne away to Frankfort, w^here King Henry is expected tlds very day. If there be no other way of preserving her, I will force my way to the king's presence, and stab him to the heart." " The dagger of an assassin should never be grasped by the hand of a soldier," re- plied Count Dedi. "Thou must kill no ]nan, however bad he may be, on suspicion that he intends to do another bad deed. We may be the victims of assassination, my son, and it is probable, with such a king as Henry, we shall be ; but to save my own life — nay, to save the life of thy mother, I would not permit Henry to be slain, but in the fair, and open field of battle. I would not even take from him the crown he dishonours, until he had been adjudged by the Diet, and declared by the Pope, unworthy to wear it. To thee, as to thy mother, I say patience. What sayest thou, Magnus V 206 BERTHA. " That thou didst command me to obey thee as the soldier obeys his general, and I have done so," replied Magnus, *' that I have, in obedience to thy commands, per- mitted her, who is dearer to me than my own life — the very essence of my existence — to pass before my eyes a prisoner, and yet made no effort at rescuing her ; for, such were thy orders. And now, I ask thee, what further directions hast thou to give me ? By what means — even if they include the sacrifice of ray life, can I pre- serve her pure, and untarnished, as when I first saw her, and last spoke the words of love to her/' " By inspiring her with the hope that, despite the dangers and difficulties that surround her, she may yet be thy wife,'^ answered Count Dedi. " By giving her confidence in herself and reliance upon thee ; by conveying to her the know- ledge that, though separated from her by the thick walls of a fortress — thine eye is THE CAPTIVE OK THE RIVER MAINE. 20 7 upon the gate by which she has entered^ and that it will be ever watchful when it may again be opened for her to pass beyond the boundaries of her prison. This, thou canst do ; the rest, leave to God ; more cannot be done by man at present. But we must return to Frankfort with all speed. It is necessary we should anticipate the arrival of the barge. As we proceed, I shall shew thee how our dear Adela can serve thee, and annoy the King, whom she detests. Sure I am, that in such a task she w^ll not fail, for lack of zeal." Thus speaking, the hawking party of Count Dedi were observed travelhng at a rapid pace towards Frankfort. They were so observed by the soldiers, in the last of the boats that followed as an escort upon the barge in which Beatrice was a prisoner. Men, practised in the ways of vice are ever suspicious. The same base impulse that makes them practise evil themselves, 203 BERTHA. induces them to believe that all other men are animated with a spirit like their own in wickedness, in impurity, in dishonesty, in avarice, or in sordid selfishness. Such are all bad men at all times ; but if there be any particular moment, in which, more than another, they are suspicious and watchful, it is when they are engaged in doing some action, the utter baseness of which they conceal from their own hearts. Such was the case with Count Weren- her and his two associates, Egen and Lie- man, in the execution of their foul abduc- tion of Beatrice. Although the words spoken by Magnus, and Dedi the younger, were not heard by them, still the manner in which they had been responded to by Beatrice, excited their suspicions, and the consequence was, the order given to the soldiers in the rearmost boat to fall behind and watch the hawdving party collected on the banks. THE CAPTIVE ON THE RTVER MAINE. 209 No sooner had these soldiers report- ed the appearance of the young Dedi and Magnus as coming from that point of the river where the voices had been heard ; of their joining the Count, and his wife Adela ; and the whole party start- ing at full speed, in the direction of Frank- fort, than Count Werenher gave orders that the men should be prepared for an in- stant attack upon them ; and sending the first boat considerably in advance with directions to give alarm on the slightest appearance of danger. The small fleet proceeded at a slower speed down the river, than had previously marked its pro- gress. No event occurred during the remainder of the voyage to justify the precau- tions that had been adopted by Count Werenher. Nought w^as to be seen in field or in forest, as the boats sailed on- ward — but their usual occupants — the birds, the beasts, and the hardworking 210 BERTHA. serfs — the last so occupied, that they seldom raised their eyes to gaze upon the passing barge, and its attendant boats. Meanwhile Count Werenher sat again alone and musing. " Dedi the younger," thought he. " It is the first time he has crossed my path, and yet I cannot tell, why it is, that now and for the first time, his name shakes my heart, with the same dread, that I suppose the condemned criminal feels, when he looks for the first time on the headsman assigned to slay him. I do not hate the man — / fear him ; and wherefore 1 There is nought in common between us. I do not intend to injure him ; I can have no interest in doing so. I am his superior in rank, in wealth, in power. He never can be my rival, for neither he, nor one of his family will accept, much less seek a favour from Henry. y^ hy then do 1—for I do — fear him 1 Wherefore have an apprehension about THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIYER MAINE. 21 1 him ? the more annoying, because it is inde- finable and inexplicable, and yet have not the slightest feeling of the same description towards Duke Magnus ? my superior in all things but in the love that Henry bears me — and upon whom I am at this very moment inflicting an unprovoked and irre- parable wrong. It is strange, most strange, that I should dread my inferior, and have no fear as respects my superior ; dread the man I despise, and disregard the man I ought most to dread. This is an inexplicable superstition — but I cannot shake it off. It is a sensation, I feel, that clings to me, as the shroud clings to the decaying corpse. " But what means this 1" said Werenher, starting up, as he saw the high towers and frowning battlements of Frankfort before him. " Wherefore are there such crowds of Saxon serfs drawn up around our land- ing place. A rescue may be contemplated. Lieman, do you take charge of the soldiers. 212 BERTHA. Before the female is disembarked, form a double line of them, from the barge to the postern. Egen, to you is confided the charge of conveying our captive from the barge in safety. I shall remain behind, dis- guised as I hitherto have been : as it is the King's especial command I should not openly appear in this affair." The orders given by Werenher were up to a certain point strictly executed. The vast crowd collected on the bank, willingly fell back to enable the soldiers to form a clear path for the captive. Lieman walked along the vacant space, and saw that the soldiers formed two com- pact lines. He then called out : " Comrade, bring forth the King's prisoner." The crowd — curious it might be — but apparently nothing more, saw carried out of the boat a female whose form and face were so completely concealed by her habit THE CAPTIVE OK THE RIVER MAINE. 213 and hood, that it was impossible for any one to guess what might be her age, or appearance. She was borne thus, rather tlian led, by Egen through the files of soldiers, until she had got about half-way, when one of those forward movements took place in the crowd, which seemingly involuntarily, never occurs without being felt to be irresistible, by those who attempt a momentary opposition to it. Without a word or a cry, or the manifestation of the slightest excitement, the well- formed line of the soldiers, that seemed so compact a moment before, was broken ! snapped as noiselessly and as surely, as if it had been formed of friable thread — and in an instant, thaf which was before a vacant space, was troddenuponby human beings: the inburst- ing tide of the population had as completely concealed that vacant place from obser- vation, as the advancing sea wave, in its flow onwards, covers that portion of the shore, which the ebbing waters had pre- viously left exposed. 2 1 4 BERTHA. In this sudden push of the crowd and break-up of the Une, the only one that was injured was Egen, who was not knocked, but, as it seemed to himself, dragged, by some hand from beneath, down to the earth, and there trodden upon. He was thus, for an instant, separated from Beatrice. His loud cry for help excited alarm ; and it was instantly follovv^ed by a command from Lieman to the soldiers — "to use their swords, and cut down the serfs, if they did not make way for the prisoner." Almost at the same moment, he snatched her from the hands of an old Saxon female serf, who seemed to be whis- pering in her ear, and then gathering the soldiers around him, he was astonished at finding, the mob dispersing with such rapidity, that in a moment they were all beyond his reach. He, therefore, ex- perienced no difficulty in conveying his captive to her destined prison — the THE CAPTIVE ON THE EIVER MAINE. 215 fortress — and there placing her in safety. He congratulated himself upon his suc- cess ; and so did those who were opposed to him, for they had accomplished all they intended to effect. During the few brief moments, that Egen had been separated from Beatrice by the crowd, and before Lieman could re- cover possession of her, the Countess Adela, in the disguise of an ancient Saxon female serf, had spoken these words in the ear of the captive : — " Magnus w^atches over thee. Be care- ful not to touch any food but what is given to thee by a Saxon female. Place confi- dence in any one w^ho mentions to thee the name of ' Adela.^ Such come from me — the Countess Dedi. God protect thee !" Whilst these words were spoken — there were two others in that dense crowd that conversed, for the first time, together. 216 BEETHA. As the Count Werenhcr, disguised be- neath an ample cloak, and his face covered from public view by its large deep hood, was advancing up the open pathway be- tween the two lines of soldiers, he was utterly bewildered at finding the line so noiselessly broken, and before he could re- cover from his surprise, he was indignant at perceiving the strong hand of a stout young Saxon serf, tear off his hood with such violence, as to rend it from the gar- ment to which it had been previously at- tached. The proud Count thus saw that he w^as left bareheaded in the midst of a mob of gaping, laughing Saxon serfs. He turned upon his assailant, and his anger so far overmastered his prudence, that he at once exclaimed — " Ha ! I know thee, sir. Thou wearest a gear that well befits thee. Dedi, the younger, descends to his proper position when he assumes the garb of a Saxon serf" " Be it so," said Dedi. " I had rather THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVEE MAINE. 217 live and die a Saxon serf, than be the gilded, titled, disguised, and skulking, Frankish pander of a King. Thou know- est me, thou say est. Well — I know thee too— Count Werenher — and bear this knowledge with thee also — that I despise thee — loathe thee — spit upon thee — as a disgrace to manhood ; as a dishonour to knighthood ; as a blot upon the nobility of the Empire. And, thing that thou art, I will not strike thee with a sword, for a knight's sword should never be sheathed in carrion — 1 w411 not strike thee with my hand ; for the hand of an honest man should never touch a villain even in anger : but I strike thee, with what most befits thee — that w^hich is foul, because it has come in contact w^th thee — the disguise thou didst use to conceal thee in thy dis- honor. There," said he, dashing the hood in the face of the Count — " take that, and hang it upon thy shield, and write beneath it, as a motto — ' eternal infamy' " VOL. I. L 218 BERTHA. With these Avords, the tall, athletic Dedi stood looking down upon his antagonist, who seemed to shrink back in terror from him. For a moment — and it ay as but a moment that the gallant youth thus looked — a feeling, akin to pity, touched him when he perceived that fear had really taken possession of Count Werenher. Convinced of this, he did not fix his eyes a second time upon the face of the Count, but walked from the spot, commiserating the weak- ness of a wretch, he could not avoid loath- ing. Count Werenher stood as if transfixed to the earth ; his cheek still tingling from the blow he had received, and his hand convulsively grasping the hood. "- This then," said he, " is the cause — the unknown cause that made me, 1 knew not why, tremble at the name of Dedi the younger. I Gin dishonoured — /or ever, too ... It is true — and though I dip this hood in his heart's-blcod — and I will do so — THE CAPTIVE OK THE RIVER MAINE. 219 still the words and the blow must remain ! Eternal infamy ! . . . Woe to this day, that thus brought us in conflict ! Woe to thee, young man ! and woe — ay, thou- sand woes and curses on myself ! L 2 220 CHAPTER VITT. HENRY IV., KIXG OF GERMAT^Y. There sat in an apartment, lofty, magnifi- cently furnished, yet gloomy, for it was lighted but' by two long, narrow slits in a thick wall, three men, as different in their appearance, as they were in years, from each other. The first was a meagre, frail- looking old man, with white hairs, with thin nose, peaked chin, and, in his small grey eyes, that anxious, wayering look, which denoted that he was eager for the HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 221 acquisition of wealth, and of a timid dispo- sition. This old man wore the magnificent vestments of a Prince- Archbishop. He sat before a table on which there were rich wines, and a profusion of dried fruits ; but his goblet filled to the brim, and the fruits that lay heaped before him showed that he had not yet partaken of any por- tion of the feast, to which he had been in- vited as a guest. At the table, and sitting opposite to him, was a man about five and forty years of age, low-sized, thick-set, with huge, broad shoulders, and a hand so large that the capacious goblet he held seemed to be hidden within the cavity of the palm, rather than grasped by him. The low forehead, and the short, flat nose, as well as the gaping mouth, were scarcely discernible amid the mass of fiery red hair that covered his face, and gave him the semblance more of a wild beast than of a human being. He sat and fed, or rather munched, like a hog, and swallowed 222 BERTHA. fast, one after the other, large goblets of the odorous old Rhenish wine. Between these two men sat, and with his back turned to the window so that the beams of the red setting-sun seemed to bestow upon his features, whenever he turned to his guests, a roseate hue, a young man — richly endowed with all the graces of youth. His hair, which was of the colour of the finest yellow flax, and of the polished smoothness of satin, fell in long ringlets upon his shoulders. His forehead w^as fair, broad and majestic ; his eyes a violet blue, seemed to beam with softness and the most tender affection — his nose straight — his chin round — his cheeks still bearing that peachy delicacy that comes with boyhood, and that always disappears in the first few years of manhood — his mouth shaded by a sHght moustache, and decorated by pearly teeth, might from its rich and coral lips be mistaken for that of a woman, but that sometimes when it HEITRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 223 was intended to express a smile, it was seen, and as if in despite of himself, to curl into a sneer — the malice of which was unmistakeabla. To this face was to be added all the advantages of a commanding person — so tall, and yet so graceful, as to render that young man, even in the midst of the tall men of Germany, one remarkable for his height and dignity. This noble, this handsome, this truly royal-looking young man was Henry IV., King of Germany, the son of the Emperor Henry III., and of the Empress Agnes, the daughter of William, Duke of Aqui- taine. The old man who sat at his right hand, was Sigefrid, Archbishop of May- ence ; and the middle-aged man on his left, Count Diedrich of Treves. Those three individuals assembled, as they appeared to be for a luxurious ban- quet, sat silent for a few moments. Die- drich seemed to have no thought but for eating or drinking, and, the very silence, that now prevailed, appeared to be an ad- 224 BERTHA. ditional ingredient to his animal enjoy- ments. The Archbishop, although mute, sat uneasily in his chair, and twisted and shifted about like one who has paid a visit, he would, if he could, have avoided, and was wishing for some excuse, by which he might bring it to a speedy ter- mination ; whilst Henry sat watching the bearing of his guests, and amused by the contrast it presented. A pause had taken place in the conver- sation, as frequently happens when men are engaged in matters of serious import, and something has been said calculated to excite reflection in the hearers. The first to resume the conversation was Henry, who turning to tlie Archbishop of Mayence, said : " And so the busy meddling / nno has been again interfering in my affairs. He has, you say, written to Rome." '' Yes," replied the Prelate. " I have -a friend in the monastery of St. Pantaloon, who assures me that he has seen the letters HENRY n. KING OF GERMANY. 225 addressed by Anno, Archbishop of Cologne, to the Archdeacon Hildebrand." " I know Hildebrand," said Henry. " He makes and unmakes Popes. I think I must some day or another imitate his example, and fashion one of my own Bishops or Archbishops into a Pope. What say you, most reverend Sigefrid ? You would be a very good, pious, humble Pope yourself V " Your Majesty is pleased to jest with me," repHed Sigefrid. " I am willing to do much — perchance, much more than I ought to please you ; but to oppose my- self to the Church and to the Pope, to whom I have bound myself in obedience, I must, once for all, declare, if your Majesty should not mean what you have said in jest — I cannot do." " I did but jest, most pious Sigefrid," said Henry. " I promise you, that ^ou at least shall never be asked by me to be a German Pope." These words were accompanied by a L 5 226 BERTHA. sneer, -which though it might have escaped the attention of Sigefrid, was noted by Diedrich, As Henry spoke these words sneeringly — a new thought seemed for the first time to rise up in his mind ; for he became suddenly silent, and remained, for some time lost apparently in his own reflections. At last he looked up, smiling blandly upon Sigefrid, and thus continuing the conver- sation with him. " But your friend, you say, saw the letters addressed by Anno to Hildebrand, and read them V " He did every word of them," replied the Archbishop, losing all his usual caution in the cheering smile of his Sovereign. " Then tell me the purport of them ; for I am perfectly conscious that your friend did not keep their contents a se- cret from you," exclaimed Henry, laughing at the surprise and embarrassment he saw pourtrayed in the features of the timid Archbishop, *' Your Majesty !" stuttered forth Sige- HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 227 frid. " Your Majesty assuredly will not ask of me to betray the secrets of another person/' " Nor do I," replied Henry. " I only ask as a favour, what I am sure3^ou will not refuse to tell me, namely that which is the secret. You know, and you can tell me what Anno wrote to Hildebrand. You are possessed of the secret — it may be useful to me to know it." '' It may be far more for your Majesty's peace of mind not to know it,'' was the whispered observation of Sigefrid. " What !" cried Henry, starting up, and grasping the golden-handled dagger in his girdle, w^hilst a dark frown gathered on his brow, and g?oVe to his face of manly beauty the same malignant scowl, w^hich a painter might assign to the pictured likeness of a fallen angel. " What ! is there a traitorous correspondence carried on with Home, and I am to be told, that I am not to know it, because a timid priest is paltering with his own conscience. Sigefrid, Prince Arch- 228 BERTHA. bishop of Mayence — I tell you I must know what Anno wrote to Hildebrand. Tell it now — and I may thank you— refuse to tell it, and I swear to you, that you shall never leave this room a living man." The Count Diedrich said nothing, but he drew his broad dagger from his girdle — and with a slight movement, that seemed to cost him not the'exertion of a single muscle, drove its point an inch into the table ; and then the trembling handle oscillated above the flashing steel, as if it feared the hand that had touched it. Diedrich, having performed this feat, went on munching his food, and gorging himself with wine, as if he were the chance wit- ness of a scene, in which he took not the slighest interest. The old prelate gasped with agony, as he witnessed the pantomimic action of the bristly savage that sat opposite to him. " Sire," he said, " I swear to you, by all that I hold most sacred, that you mis- take, grievously mistake, in HENRY IV. KfNG OF GERMANY. 229 that Anno has written any treason of you to Rome. When I said, it was better for you not to know what he had written, I merely meant : that Anno, having been the friend of your father, and the tutor of your youth, has written of you in terms I do not Hke to repeat, because the repetition of his phrases would be more painful for me to utter, then even for you to hear." " Does Anno prefer any complaint to Rome against me as a monarch ? That," said Henry, " is a plain question. Give it a plain and direct answer." " No," replied Sigefrid. " Anno writes^ as a friend to a friend, deploring the vices — your Majesty will excuse the word — of one, for whom he feels the tenderness of a father, and begging that Heaven may be besieged with prayers on your behalf." ''- The hyprocrite ! — the old, ill-natured hyprocrite — how I hate him — aye, from my very childhood I hated him," said Henry, throwing into these expressions all 230 BERTHA. the vindictive energy of liis character. " But come, my good Sigefi^d," he con- tinued, in a soothing tone of voice to the trembling old man, " you are always too charitable in your construction of the motives and actions of your fellow man — • especially if that fellow man be a priest, and above all — an ArcJihishop ! — (And then, that which was inters ded for a smile upon the lip of the monarch, became wrinkled into a sneer.) — " You say that what Anno has written respecting me is not treason. I must be a better judge than you of such a fact. I may detect the poison of a malicious intention in those words, which appear to you to breathe nought but the sentiments of the purest charity. Come then, tell me, as well as your memory will serve you — and I know that it is retentive ; for I can boast in my Court no man so learned as Sigefrid — tell me, I repeat, word for word what Anno has written of me.'' HENRY lY. KING OF GERMANY. 231 "But, my liege," said Sigefrid, who heard with horror this proposition, "his words are harsh and severe, and — " " And they are so, because you yourself think them to be true," interrupted Henry. " I shall, however, cast no blame on the narrator, because he has told me an un- pleasant tale, which I insisted upon hear- ing. If you had here the letters of Anno, and presented them to me for perusal. I should thank 3^ou for showing them to me, no matter how unpleasing might be their import. And so it is now, in listen- ing to you, whilst narrating their contents, I shall fancy not that I hear the voice of Sigefrid, but that I hear recited the w^ords of Anno." " But, your Majesty, I do not know how to pronounce these w^ords — " said Sigefrid, Henry impatiently stamped his foot ; and in the instant Diedrich wrenched his dagger from the table, and placing it by the side of his goblet, looked at the Arch- bishop, and in a voice loud as the roar of 232 BEllTHA. a lion, gave utterance to the single ^vord — " Talk r The Archbishop started as if he had re- ceived an electric shock. Henry smiled to see the effect which the fear of his brute guest had produced upon the Pre- late, and then in a voice, soft and sweet as that of a love -sick maiden, he said — " Honest Diedrich, do not interrupt the pious Archbishop ; when he speaks he does not like to hear the voice of another. And now, good Sigefrid, as you were say- ing Anno of Cologne thus wrote to Hilde- brand of Rome, greeting and begging the benefit of his pious prayers," and then proceeded thus — "You see I have given you the commencement of his letter. Let us now hear the remainder. No further preface, I pray you. I repeat, I feel, that I am listening to his words, and not to yours. Go on, I say ; for his very words I tell you, 1 will have." " Talk,'' grunted Diedrich, as if he were HENEY IV. KIKa OF GERMANY. 233 addressing himself to his broad-bladed dagger, and not to the dismayed Prelate. Sigefrid felt that he could not with safety any longer refuse ; that his very life now depended on his candour, and whilst his words purported to be spoken alone to Henry, his eyes remained, as if fascinated, by the slightest movement of the fierce man who sat opposite to him. " Then,'' said the Archbishop, " since your Majesty insists upon it, I must tell you that Anno in writing to Hildebrand, deplores that notwithstanding all the pains he had taken in your education, he yet greatly fears, nothing but a miracle from Heaven can save you from perdition — that you, the son of a saintly father, and of a virtuous mother, have abandoned your- self to the grossest debaucheries and the most flagrant vices — that being married to a most kind, amiable, and tender wife, you have exchanged her society for that of the vilest of her sex ; that if a young 234 BEKTHA. maiden, or wife amongst your subjects, is praised for her beauty, you have her seized upon bj jour myrmidons, and dragged by violence from her home ; that vou have thus dishonored many famihes, and that you have added to that dishonor, by com- peUing those females, who have been your victims, to take in marriage some of the meanest of your slaves ; that even the men who are confederates in your crimes are not safe from the outburst of your capricious temper, and remorseless dispo- sition ; that you are so perfidious that you can smile upon those you hate, and em- brace as if he were a brother, the very man for whose life you have laid a snare, and whose death, contrived by yourself, you know to be inevitable ; that instead of associating with the Lords and Prelates of Germany, your chosen companions are base-born voluptuaries, rufiian stabbers, and , but," continued the Archbishop of Mayence, starting up in terror, and HENRY IT. K1>TG OF GESMAKY. 235 casting himself on the earth before Henry. " Save, oh ! save me, from the dagger of that dreadful man." " Sheathe your dagger, honest Diedrich, it is not wanted here," said Henry, feeling a malignant pleasure in witnessing the fright of the old man who clung to his knees, " Arouse yourself, Sigefrid. When Count Dredrich clutched his dagger, as if about to disembowel an enemy, he had no thought of injuring even a single hair of so venerable, so good, so pious and so clever an Archbishop as you. He knows— for he is very shrewd, even though no orator, as you are, that you did but faithfully repeat the unkind expressions of another, and not your own sentiments. He knows, for I have told him so, that you are one of my surest, best and tenderest friends — that you love your King, almost as much as he does ; and therefore, though he does not say it, nor even look it, he has a most tender re- gard for you. There, rouse yourself, Sige- 236 BERTHA. frid, and take your place again at the board. There now — see how Diedrick smiles on you. It is a smile, I can tell you, though it looks so like a frown. And now listen to him. Diedrich, do you not love this Archbishop V " Much,'' growled Diedrich, as he crunched some dates. ''There now, Sigefrid, be content, for there is in that little ' much' of Count Died- rich far more of genuine charity, brotherly love, tender affection, and softness of dispo- sition than could be discovered in an hours' sermon from the lips of Anno Archbishop of Cologne. Oh, it is a ' much' that means far more than you, Sigefrid, with all your book-learning, can divine : it means, among other things, this — that I, Diedrich, Count of the brave city of Treves, and my trusty friend, Henry of Germany, are obliged, but not flattered by your faithful narrative of the unkind words spoken of us by that arch hj'-pocrite, Anno of Cologne ; for — " and HENRY lY. KING OF GERMANY. 237 Henry's sneering, gibing tones, hitherto used in speaking to the Archbishop of Mayence, here suddenly changed to those of a man whose violence of passion rendered his voice husky, " For," he continued, "Anno is, 1 swear to you, an arch- hypocrite, a morose, abominable, envious hypocrite, who hates others the enjoyment of those pleasures, which he has denied himself, because to gratify his insatiable lust for power, he considers it necessary that the vulgar herd of mankind should regard him as a saint. Aye, a base and artful hypocrite, who to spite me in my childhood, converted my days of full enjoy- ment into long, long hours of tears and stripes — aye, even stripes and mortifica- tions." " Your Majesty surprises me — I did not know, until this moment, that Anno of Cologne had ever done you personal ^vrong," said Sigefrid. " Then listen — and see by what a base device he lured me from my mother's side, 238 BERTHA. wben I ^Yas but a mere boy/' continued Henry. " Anno was my father's confessor, and so cruel was he to that good, weak man, that he has been known to impose upon him — upon his sovereign — the Empe- ror — so harsh and brutal a penance as the discipline — 1 vow to you that he has actually compelled the Emperor, before he placed upon his shoulders the imperial robes, to have his flesh bruised and mangled by the torturing whip of the discipline, as if he were a malefactor. My father was some- times so pious, that he forgot he was an Emperor ; but Anno never was so forget- ful. He always remembered that he was confessor to the Emperor ; and he won fame for himself at my fathes's cost ; for the same man who insisted that the Em- peror should thus misuse his royal person, if he had but expressed a single word in anger, would, if his penitent were a poor man, be content with giving him absolu- lution on the conditon of saying a few prayers. And so Anno made himself HEXRY IV. KING OF GERMxVNY. 239 loved bytlie mob — and tliat too as a priest, who was a foe to the rich, and a friend to the poor. Artful, designino;, scheming hypocrite that he is, and fully as ambitious as he is artful. Upon discovering that my father's death deprived him of the power he had hitherto exercised — that all the influence of the state was in the hands of my mother, because she had the personal charge of me, the infant King of Germany, he resolved upon snatching me away from her, and as he could not make the attempt by open force, he resolved upon accomplishing it by means of a foul and cunning device. " My good mother ! tender and kind, and pious as she is, always bore in mind that though an infant, I was still a king — that as a king I had a right to have my wishes consulted and that on no account was I to be thwarted. Thus was I passing my childhood, when one day, as I was amusing myself on St. Swibert's isle, in the Rhine, I was 240 BERTHA. visited by Anno the Archbishop, Otho, the Duke of Bavaria, and three other con- spirators — villains, whose audacious deed has left a hot and burning brand in my memory — never to be effaced, never to be appeased — never — not even by their blood. What say you, Diedrich, for in such a case you are a better judge than an Archbishop. Should such an offence be pardoned ?" " Never,'^ growled Diedrich, as the wild beast growls, w^hen it scents from a dis- tance the blood of its destined prey. " Never — never," continued Henry. " But observe how this old hypocrite of Cologne can gild over with sweet smiles and honeyed w^ords the most malignant designs. I was a child, amusing myself with companions of my own age, and at- tended by my mother, and guarded by our mihtary retainers. I was so amusing my- self on the island, when Anno of Cologne, and Otho, the Duke of Bavaria, landed there. They were hospitably received — and when the feast was over, Anno prayed HENRY IV. KING OF GEEMANY. 241 of me to come on board and inspect a magnificent barge, recently constructed for him. I did so. I perceived that he had waiting at the water's edge a vessel, that seemed to be formed on the outside of one enormous sea-shell, and its interior lined with mother-of-pearl — that the seats were composed of silver, and the oars ol burnished gold were handled by men, who wore the helmets and armour of the an- cient Romans, whilst sounds of ravishing- music came from beneath the decks, aiid filled the island, the river and the Rhine- land around with a melodious harmony. Entranced by the vision of this gorgeous barge, I bounded into it with Anno and Otho, and the moment I did so, it moved off unexpectedly from the island. Jt was whilst I was engaged in examining its structure and parts, that T became terrified upon beholding that the vigorous oarsmen had pushed us off more than a mile from the island ; and there sprung, as if by magic, out of all parts of the boat, VOL. J. M 242 BERTHA. bands of armed and ferocious looking men. " And thus was I — a King — a boy — entrapped and carried off from the empress my mother, and that too by means of the artful wiles of an Archbishop — of my father's Confessor ! If then Anno now ac- cuses me of treachery, of deceit, of perfidy, let it rest upon his conscience, that the successful practice of such vices was first acquired from his own example — the pious, good man that he is ! " When I saw that I had been thus de- ceived — and, at the same time, beheld my- self surrounded with men whose swords were drawn, my conviction was that I had been thus carried off, for the purpose of being murdered ; and under that convic- tion, and without condescending to re- proach them for their treachery, or to appeal to them for their pity, I made one bound from the place where I stood, and plunged headlong into the waters of the Rhine! HEITRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 243 " I can remember no more than hearing an astounding shriek of horror as the waters closed over my head. I was, subse- quently, told that Duke Otho dashed into the water after me, and bore me back, ap- parently lifeless, to the barge. He saved my life, indeed, but then he had first forced me to place it in danger. I thanked him for saving me : with the expression of those thanks I owe him no more of gratitude. I have yet to repay him for his treason and his baseness in carrying me away. " When I recovered the complete use of reason, I saw Anno kneeling by my side, and — the hypocrite !— weeping. He as- sured me, that, however distasteful it might be, what he had done was solely for my own benefit ; that under my mother's tute- lage my morals and my education were so utterly neglected, that if I were to grow up to be a man, indulged as I had been, and so ignorant, that I would be ab- solutely unfitted to rule over others, both by temper,^and my want of knowledge ; M 2 244 BERTHA. that I might be deprived of my crown ; and that the reason he had seized upon my person was to correct my evil habits, and improve my mind. Such were, at the time, the pretexts put forward by him for the gratification of his ambition, and thus depriving me of the pleasures I had until then enjoyed. According to his own ac- count, now given of me to Hildebrand, my evil habits have not been corrected; whilst as to my ignorance it was, I admit, removed — curses on his hand — hy the scourge — with the fear of which he forced me to learn — to read, to write, to study. Aye — he did force harshly into my hand one powerful weapon — Knowledge. Let him and hu now beware how I use it — he shall not descend to his grave without bitterly lamenting that he bestowed it — He shall shed ten tears for every one that I did, as a boy, in acquiring that knowledge." The thoughts of his fancied wrongs as a boy had excited Henry. He started up from his chair and paced up and down HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. ^45 the room for a few minutes, whilst his movements were followed in silence by the eyes of his guests. Diedrich merely watch- ing him, as the wolf-dog does his master, and ready to execute any command that may be given, whether it be to lie down and sleep, or to fly at the throat of the stranger, with whom that master has been conversing. Sigefrid looked and watched Henry also, but he did so, with such strong fear, and uncontrollable repul- sion, that his looks could not disguise his sentiments from his keen- sighted sovereign. Henry perceived this, and determined, if he could, to re-acquire the confidence of one whom he knew to be a timid, but still powerful and ambitious prelate. It was therefore with the de- liberate design of alarming the mind, and provoking the covetoasness of the Arch- bishop that Henry thus addressed him : " My good, my faithful friend, Sigefrid, I place such confidence in you, that I can- not disguise from you, my feelings respect- 246 BERTHA. ing Anno, who, according to your own ac- count, and most true and accurate I am sure it is, still persecutes me with his ca- lumnies, and these, too, addressed to the most powerful, (and, as you know,) influen- tial man at Rome. From him I have borne my wrongs more patiently hitherto than 1 should have done. I must make him, and every other enemy I have, feel that a King is not to be heedlessly provoked, nor insulted with impunity. Kow, be sure of this— that for his letter addressed to Rome, I shall have him driven from Cologne — not by my soldiers ; but by his own citizens. I will prove to him that the Colognese love the sinner, as he calls me, more than the saint, that he fancies himself to be. He is not the first bishop that ini/ friends have so banished. I hope he may be the last. But my vengeance shall not stop there — the cousin that he most loves — the only creature in the world that I believe he does love, except himself, is Bruno. Anno has had him appointed HEKRY IV. KIKG OF GERMANY. 247 Bishop of Osnabruck. To that place Bruno is now travelHng. Into that place, he never shall enter as Bishop. Shall he Die- drich r " No r shouted Diedrich, flinging him- self back on the seat, and apparently as little disposed for speaking, as he was now capable of eating or drinking any more. " When the blunt, plain-spoken Diedrich says ' no,' to anything, its fulfillment be- comes an impossibility,'' observed Henry, and then, as if he had noticed but for the first time, the untasted goblet that was placed before the Archbishop, " But you have not yet tasted the wine. It is from the Rhine. Do not object to drink it, for our vine-dressers are punctual in paying the tithes of every vintage to the Arch- bishop of Mayence. And now that I al- lude to tithes, I wish to know how goes on the collection of the tithes claimed by you in Thuringia, and in Saxony 1" 248 BESTHA. This question, put by the King, pro- duced an instantaneous change in the coun- tenance of the archbishop. All traces of fear vanished, and every symptom of repul- sion disappeared, when the prelate found that a question was addres-sed to him, by the sovereign, upon a subject, which he had set his whole heart and soul upon. '• Alas ! my liege," replied the arch- bishop, " the answer given to me by Thu- ringians and Saxons is the same. They will pay me no tithes." " And wherefore V asked Henry. " As- suredly the Archbishop of Mayence would demand nothing but what the church sanctions V " God forbid ! it should be otherwise/' answered the archbishop. " I demand tithes from districts that lie w^ithin my archiepiscopal principality. The Thurin- gians and Saxons alone refuse to pay tithes; and they alledge as the reason for their re- fusal, that the claimis one, till now, unheard HENRY IV., KING OF GERMANY. 249 of, and therefore one, to the enforcement of which, they will not submit. They say, they will not collect tithes for me to expend the produce in Mayence, far away from them ; that where there is a monastery which gives back to the poor, the tithes gathered from rich and poor, they will pay them and no where else ; that where there are not bishops required, nor priests wanted, they will pay no tithes to an archbishop ; that, in short, they hold their lands tithe-free, and will not pay them to noble, prince, king, nor archbis- hop ; that such is the custom of the Saxon race as sanctioned by their conqueror, Charlemagne, and they will die sooner than submit to be deprived of their ancient rights and immunities.'^ " Oh ! this is but the brawHng of a mob of serfs," observed Henry, '* and merely worthy of the scoff of a court-jester. Why not send your knights and military re- tainers amongst them, and force them, by M 5 250 BERTHA. the edge of the sword, to pay what you demand V '• I have done so/' replied Sigefrid, " and I regret to say that, wherever my armed men appeared, the whole country rose in insurrection against them. Many of my force were killed, and the others, by aspeedy retreat, with difficulty saved themselves from annihilation. I have failed —utterly failed. They have despised the prayers of my messengers, and broken the swords of my retainers ; and now, I am not only de- frauded of my rights, but I am contemned for demanding what I had not the power of exacting." " This is serious news indeed, Sigefrid. It seems to me that you must have more opponents in Thuringia and Saxony to your claims than the mere dull tillers of the fields," remarked Henry. " Alas ! I have," replied the Archbishop. "The Saxon nobles, who ought to make common cause with me, are arrayed against HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANT. 251 me. Their leader is Otho, Duke of Bavaria." " What ! my old persecutor — he, who kidnapped me on the Rhine/' interrupted Henry. " It is the same, and with him, and as instigators, I am told, of this opposition are the Count Dedi, his wife Adela, Dedi, the younger, and the young Duke Magnus," continued Sigebert. " I know them all, well and thoroughly. Count Dedi," said Henry, " is one of those old veterans in the field, who regards every day he rises as a day on which he has to fight a great battle ; he commences his morning by entrenching himself in a psalter-full of prayers, and breaks his fast as if he were reconnoitering a foe, and never utters a word, that he is not fearful it may expose him to a surprise — he dines w4th a homily before him, as if he had his front guarded by a strong troop of horse ; and at last goes to bed singing a hymn, as if he had won a victory over 252 BEPvTHA. — himself, or somebody else. He is a dan- gerous foe, because he is a cautious man. As to his son — he has but one wish in the world — it is to see a great battle fought. He is a youth with much courage, and no brains. As to the Countess Adela, the best thing I can say of her, is that she is a woman, and the worst thing I wish to say of her is, that she is an old woman — and, as spiteful against me, as if she had always been an ugly woman. Then as to the last of those doughty conspirators against your lawful claims — the poor little Duke ^lagnus — there can, assuredly, be no harm in him. fie has, I am told, the ap- pearance of a man, with the mind, man- ners, and morals of a boy ; and having been educated in a monastery, he lives in the world as if he had become a monk." As Henry gave utterance to these words there came, suddenly rushing into the chamber, that confused murmur of sounds which always arises from a great multi- tude of persons, however quiescent, w^hen HEKEY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 2bS densely pressed together, and which seems like the surging of a mighty sea, if its peaceful onward course is impeded, though it cannot be interrupted by some temporary obstacle ; and whilst this con- fused din continued, and, as it appeared, filled the air, it was broken — but only for an instant — by a sudden clash of arms, followed by one or two cries, and then — the sound appeared to disperse, as quickly, and as unexpectedly as it had arisen. As the first murmur penetrated the chamber, Diedrich started from the seat on which he had been reposing, and as if his ear were as sure a guide to him as his sense of smelling is to the blood-hound, an instant's watchful listening appeared to ap- prise him, that no exertion on his part, as a warrior, would be required, and therefore he sunk back again into his half- recumbent, half-sitting attitude. It was not so with the Arch-bishop, who, clasping Henry's left hand, between both his own, seemed to listen to 254 BERTHA. those distant sounds in an agony of terror. Henry looked to Diedrich, and perceiving the manner in which he' treated this un- expected incident, remained himself un- moved. He was about to assure Sigefrid, that no danger need be apprehended, when he perceived that some one had entered the room, and had noiselessly knelt down and kissed his knee. He looked at the courtier who bent his head before him, and then gazed in his face — andas the eyes of king and courtier met, Henry started up from his chair, and exclaimed : " Good Heavens ! Werenher, what has befallen you ? — your limbs totter, jouv lips tremble, your face is palHd as that of a corpse, except that upon your forehead and right cheek there is a trace of red — so red, that I would almost swear some one had spurted blood upon you. Is it so V " I felt suddenly ill as I entered the fortress," rephed Werenher ; " but still I deemed it to be my duty to apprise your Majesty at once, that I have succeeded in HENKY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 255 my enterprise — fully, and I trust to your satisfaction. I would not, ho\Yever, for that alone have intruded on your Majesty's presence at this moment ; but that I have intelligence for you that will not brook delay." " And what may that be, which even in your estimation can be more important than the accomplishment of the command I confided to you 1" enquired Henry, some- what irritated upon finding that in the opinion of his servants and courtiers any- thing could possibly be of more conse- quence than the execution of an order that he had given. " It is that Magnus the Duke of Saxony, Otho Duke of Bavaria, the Dedis, father and son, with the Countess Adela are at this moment in Frankfort.'^ " In Frankfort !" exclaimed Henry and the Archbishop in the one breath, and quite taken by surprise. " Yes — and T believe for some treason- able purpose/^ said Werenher, " for I my- 256 BEHTiiA. self recognised, as I entered the portal, the younger Dedi disguised as a Saxon serf. As to Magnus, I am aware that he has pretensions that run counter to the desires of your Majest3^" " He ! — pretensions ! — opposed to jne /" exclaimed Henry, hia face flushing with scorn and indignation. " Yes," continued Werenher, " but so purely personal and boyish, that they are more worthy of your mirth than of your anger. The nature of them I can alone confide to your Majesty in private." " If he place himself," said Henry, " but for an instant — aye a single instant in my path, he must be — " As he spoke these words, he perceived that Diedrich had placed his hand upon his sword. The action reminded Henry that he ought to be more cautious, especially in presence of the Archbishop, and he con- tinued by saying : " He must be — watched. Thanks, Die- drich, this is not a case in which your ser- HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 257 vices will be required. You must reserve all proofs of your zeal for the cousin of the Archbishop of Cologne. As to Magnus, and Otho, and the Dedis, I can relj upon the labours and the exertions of my assured friends and courtiers, the devoted Weren- her, the astute Egen, and the bold Lieman, If the parties," continued Henry, address- ing himself to Werenher, " that you speak of are in Frankfort, I am confident, from what I know of them, they are not living here concealed. It is for you to surround them with spies, so that every movement of theirs may be watched, and every word spoken by them faithfully reported to me. We may thus learn why they are now in Frankfort, and then defy them, should they contemplate anything I may regard as mischievous." '• Your Majesty," repHed Werenher, " imposes upon me a task much more dif- ficult to accomphsh than may, at first sight, appear. There is not to be found in Frankfort a single slave who isnot aSaxoa. 258 BERTHA. The Saxons are the domestic servants of the Frankforters. Even this royal palace is surrounded by a colony of Saxons, the descendants of those who were placed here by the mighty Charlemagne ; and, of all those Saxons, there is not a man, nor even a woman, that does not look up to Magnus, and all his relations as the chief- tains of their race — as the persons to whom their loyalty is due, far more than to your Majesty. In them and through them they hope for the regeneration and the inde- pendence of their race, and their nation; whilst they hate the Franks with an in- tense malignity of hatred, which none but a conquered and an enslaved people ever feel. How then am I to induce one of these — not to say, many of them — to be- tray those they love, for the sake of those they hater " You exaggerate the difficulties, Weren- her," observed Henry, " in order that we may admire you the more for having overcome them. Ply the men with as HEKHY n. KING OF GERMANY. 259 much wine as they can drink, and bestow upon them more gold than they can ask ; give to the women the most gaudy trinkets they may crave ; and if they re- sist your temptation, then they are not Saxons but angels. And now I must beg both you and my trusty friend Diedrich to retire, for I wish to make my confession to this truly pious Archbishop." " I go,'' replied Werenher, " but before I do so, I assure you, I have not, in the least degree, exaggerated the difficulties of the task you have assigned to me. I know well how much the Saxons abominate us, and how completely they are devoted to their Princes. Why, even now — it required but a single word from Dedi the younger, and they would have attacked your guards, and attempted to rescue your prisoner." " I thank the Dedis," said Henry, sneer- ingly, " for not making an attempt, which they must have known would have been vain, in the face of that army, with which they are aware I have Frankfort at this 260 BERTHA. moment garrisoned. But go — let Egen know I may require his services. Otho of Bavaria annoys me. I want his dukedom for some surer friend than he will ever prove to me.'' " I take my leave," said Werenher, lowly bowing to his Majesty. Diedrich had al- ready left the apartment, without making any obeisance, or uttering a single word. " And now," observed Henry, " my good Lord Archbishop, that we are completely alone, I wish to speak to you of a matter that presses very heavily upon my conscience, and in which you can afford me material relief" '* In all that the Church does not abso- lutely prohibit, your Majesty may count upon my services," was the reply of Sige- frid. "I thank — gratefully thank you — and be assured my gratitude shall be evinced in that way which I think will be most pleas- ing to you — in not merely aiding you in the collection of your tithes, but in com- HENEY TV. KfXG OF GERMANY. 261 pelling the payment of them to you, both by Thuringians and Saxous/' was the artful remark of Henry. " I am all attention to your Majesty," said the Archbishop, elated with the pro- mise the King thus gave him. " And observe," continued Henry, "in the question of this enforcement of tithes, I consider that our interests are identified ; for, if the Saxons are bound to pay them to you, as Archbishop, they also are under an obligation of giving them to me, as their Sovereign. The tithes so pay- able by them are not only a badge of their conquest, but they were imposed by Charlemagne as the proof — the test, that the Ancient Saxons had abandoned the errors of idolatry, and that they had be- come true Christians. The payment of tithes is the condition of their freedom ; and that freedom, they prove they are no longer worthy to enjoy, when they refuse to pay tithes to Christian Kings, Princes, and Prelates. By the refusal, they shall 262 BERTHA. be made to feel that their privileges have been forfeited. Do I take a just view, think you, of this question ? "So just, so well supported by proof, and so demonstrable by ancient documents, that I cannot but congratulate your Majesty on the result of your researches. Assuredly, the laborious instructions of Anno were not, in your case, bestowed upon an ungrateful soil," was the answer of the Archbishop. Henry knew that the words spoken by Sigefrid, were pronounced as a compliment ; but his conscience bestowed upon them a meaning, they were never intended to convey ; for he felt them at the same time to be a sarcasm, a rebuke, and a re- proach. Henry, however, was not a man to betray his feelings of irritation, when it was his interest, by concealing them, to enhst in his behalf the sympathies, or to win the favour, of those with whom he conversed. He, therefore, continued the conversation in the same calm tones, and HENRY TV.. KING OF GERMANY. 263 gentle, insinuating voice, with which he had commenced it, by remarking : — "I have long noticed the iniquitous and indefensible opposition thus made to the demand for our tithes — for I regard your claim as of equal value with my own — and having noticed, I have resolved to crush your opponents. I have been for months, I might say, for years, preparing for the struggle. It is with this object, that I have erected fortresses in various parts of Saxony, and each of these fortresses, when completed, I have had manned with sti- pendary soldiers on whose absolute fidelity, and personal devotion to myself I could place the most perfect reliance. I am then, I may affirm, prepared for war. I have but to give the signal, and it is begun ; and once begun, our victory is secure. In this case, I regard myself as the Champion of the Church ; but no Churchman, much less the pious Sigefrid, the Archbishop of Mayence, could wish to see his Champion 264 BERTHA. exposed to all the dangers of warfare, with a conscience oppressed by sin. And here it is — upon this tender point of con- science — that I shall require the soothing aid, and salutary assistance of you, good Sigefrid. " 1 need not tell you. my Reverend Archbishop, of that which must have reached you by rumour — the foul hag that sits at the palace gates of Kings, and . trumpets forth to the world their slightest misdeeds — I need not admit that my youth has not been, and is not even now, free from the practise of those sins, which keep pace with the juvenile years of most men. I admit, that I do, with justice, bear the reputation of being a bad husband ; and yet, I may say, in my own vindication, that I am not as wicked as I appear to be. T was not more than fifteen years of age, when motives of policy induced those who had care of me as a King to force upon me a marriage witli the Italian maiden, Bertha. It was a marriage — not a union HENRY lY. KIKG OF GERMANY. 265 — then most odious, as it has ever since, been most repugnant to me. " 1 admit to you, as I am prepared to avow to the world, that Bertha is deserving of the respect of all persons — that she is amiable, excellent, charitable — and all that man could desire to see of virtue in a female, but still she is, now and ever has been, so personally odious to me, that I never could, and never can treat her, or consider her as my wife : I seek then to be separated from my maiden-wife, who has ever lived with me, as the saintly Cunigunda lived with the blessed Emperor Henry — totally and absolutely separated from her husband. " I wish to be divorced from Bertha, in order that, choosing some dame for my wife, who can win my love and secure my affections, I may cease to live, as I confess I have been, in a state of sin. " Let the Church but free her champion from this marriage, and then with a safe conscience I can prosecute the war against the Saxons for tithes. The Church can, if VOL. I. K 266 BERTHA. she will, pronounce such a divorce ; and if Sigefrid, the Archbishop of ^layence, de- clares that he is favourable to a divorce, there are few prelates in Germany, I am conscious, who will presume to array them- selves against his opinion, or dispute his judgment. What say you, Sigefrid V " That Your Majesty," replied Sigefrid, musing, " submits to my consideration a very nice and difficult point. Taking, as T am bound to do, that all. Your Majesty now states to me, is a fact, which can be proved upon oath ; and, especially, that you and Queen Bertha have been, in name, but man and wife ; then I can hold out the hope to you of a successful issue to your suit ; and taking, as I say, that this is capable of proof, I will struggle to promote the divorce. I will, I say, labour with each of the pre- lates in private, to induce them to adopt my views, and to act in coincidence with your wishes." " But how soon shall all this be done 1 How many months or years may be wasted HENRY LY. EING OF GERMAKY. 267 in useless negotiations V enquired Henry, somewhat impatiently. " Within three weeks of this time, I trust," said JSigefrid. " I will summon a svnod in Frankfort, for to-morrow three weeks, and I shall labour, meanwhile, to have it as fully attended as I can by those who adopt my views. If others should be there w^ho may differ from us, i may deplore, but I cannot prevent it ; for once a Synod is convoked by me, all the bishops will be entitled to a voice in its deliberations. In such a task as this, not a moment is to be lost. I shall, therefore, this very night travel to Mayence, and commence, at the earliest dawn, to toil for you." " Thanks," said Henry, " many thanks — and bear in mind, that once the divorce is pronounced, I shall march, with all the soldiers I can collect, into Saxony. And now, good Sigefrid, I beg of you to bestow upon me your blessing. It may give me the grace to live virtuously until I have again the happiness of seeing you." N 2 268 BERTHA. Henry, as he spoke these words, bent his knee, and the Archbishop, laying his hand upon the monarch's head, pronounced a benediction upon him, and then hurried from the room. The jibing smile, that curled the lip of Henry, when he knelt, in seeming humility, before the Archbishop, still remained as he stood erect, and bestowed upon the depart- ing Priest a laugh expressive of supreme contempt, " The thought of his unpaid tithes," so communed Henry with himself, " will make that avaricious old man labour for my divorce, with all the ardour of a wooer, who pines to hasten onward the day fixed for his marriage. He is my dupe, at the very time, he fancies that I am but an in- sirument in his hand ; and thinks it is my divorce alone that will induce me to do that, on which I have long since determined —to quell the proud spirit of the Saxons, and at the same time to appropriate to HENRY TV. KrXG OF GERMANY. 269 myself all the wealth of which I know them to be possessed. " Here is this old man — without passions to indulge, without tastes to gratify — in possession of what must have ever been the highest point of his ambition, the princely archbishopric of Mayence. Here, he is not knowing what to do with all his wealth, yet craving for more, and in his desire to obtain it, perilling his soul upon a doubt- ful point — my right to be divorced from Bertha. " And yet the very man that does this will not move a step, if he be convinced that what he is asked to do is prohibited by the rules and ordinances of the church ! " What a strange contradiction is this ! or, is not the Archbishop of Mayence like the common herd of mankind 1 Complete fools upon one particular point, and half- knaves upon every other — rigidly obstinate upon minor questions, that are connected 270 BERTHA. with tlieir fancied obligations to the next world ; and profligately lax in their deal- ings with each other, in the great affairs of this life. Punctilious about that which after all may be doubtful, and unscrupulous about that which is certain ; ready to sacrifice themselves for that which is un- known, and still more ready to sacrifice others, for that which is known. Their conscience, or that thing, thej call their conscience, wavers between their fears, and their wishes ; and it is ever ready to remain quiescent as long as the fulfilment of the latter is secure ; it never disturbs them until disappointment proves to them that their miscalculations in this world will bring down with it punishment not merely here, but hereaffcer. " Who, but God himself, can judge of the sincerity, or the insincerity of a man like the Archbishop of Mayence ? Who else, but God, can penetrate the hauberk of inconsistency that encases him, and wind- HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 271 ing into the innermost folds of his heart, can see there the poor soul — the man him- self — as he cowers in his unreasoning ava- rice, his unmeaning covetousness, and along with these, his incomprehensible faith, and his incredible practices of piety 1 My slave, I feel that he is, up to a certain point ; and yet, if I pass beyond that point, I am conscious, that this weak, timid man would be my opponent, and even encounter death sooner than yield to me. " Why is this I Because, in the one case, I have only to deal with the man^ and, in the other, with the Lord Arch- bishop — the spiritual prince and Prelate of Mayence. Because, in the one case, he kneels at the foot of my throne ; and, in the other, he can raise, as a barrier, between him, and me, the altar-rails of the sanctuary. " As a temporal prince, I am his king — as a spiritual prince, I am not his lord. I can command him in all places but within the Cathedral of Mayence, and 272 BERTHA. there — arrayed in his pontifical robes, \rith the mitre on his head, and the crosier in his hand, he owes his allegiance not to me, but to his Suzerain — the Pope of Rome. " And it is because I cannot command him as my Archbishop, that I have to heij the divorce from him— I have to lie, and fawn, and coin a false tale for him, my subject, whom I ought to be able to order to pronounce my divorce, and, if he refused^ — strip him of his mitre, send him to a dun- geon, or consign him to my headsman. " And wherefore is all this ? Because of the foolish piety of my ancestors : because they chose, in their veneration for the See of Peter, to make themselves its vassal- patricians, its subject-Emperors; rendering the very bestowal of our imperial crown upon us, conditional upon our precedent oath to maintain intact the rights, privileges, and prerogatives that attach to the patri- mony of St. Peter. " Should this be so '? No. The thought of the chains which the Roman Pontiff HENRY IV. KING OF GERMANY. 273 can cast upon me — when he so willeth — gall, and fret me, and even now fetter my free actions — aye, my very words, and compel me to stoop to a hypocrisy that I abhor, and to artifices that I detest. " Ought it to be so ? No. I am the representative of the Roman Emperors. The imperial throne of the West, that I now occupy, was held by those of whom I am one — the CcB.sais. Each of these was at the same time himself ' the Em-peror^ and 'the Supreme Pontiff,' — ih.Q Imperator, and Pontifex Maximum, Their word was law, in all that related to civil life, as well as the affairs of religion — and to disobey them, in either case, was death. And what a life was theirs ! What pleasures waited on them 1 What enjoyments courted them! All things, on which they set their eyes, were theirs. Wealth, youth, bea^uty stood before them as their slaves, and every luxury from the West to the South wooed them. Then, a Commodus could command the haughtiest, proudest Senator to descend 274 BERTHA. into the Arena as a gladiator, and he might promote the meanest servants of his pleasure to the highest offices in the State, and no man dare say him nay : whilst a Heliogabulus could constitute a Senate of matrons, and men learn wisdom from such a Diet of beauty, by their profound decisions upon precedency and costumes! '' I am the representative of these men. Why am I not like to them ? Why should not my life be like to theirs 1 — one bright, unbroken day of pleasure, without a pause, and without a night — until that night — death, which awaits us all — came upon them. " In what do I differ from them 1 I am — the Emperor : my ardent youth is eager as theirs to plunge into a boundless sea of enjoyment. And yet I am restrained — I dare not do many things that I would, and others I am compelled to do by stealth, like the abduction of this unknown beauty of Aschaffenburg, of whom Egen has spoken to me in such rapturous praises. I HEKRY IV. KING OP GERMANY. 275 am compelled to disguise those things, be- cause I can only be an Emperor, and can never be — the Supreme Pontiff! " Shall then this state of things con- tinue 1 No. I can neyer recover again, probably, all those powers and privileges over the Roman Pontiffs, which Constan- tino parted with when he covered the bare, and humble heads of the Popes with the Cap of Liberty, and that they have since convei-ted into a Princely Crown. I can- not assume, as a Christian Emperor, those functions which belonged to the Pagan Emperors ; but surrounded as I am by men willing to be slaves, and ready to buy from me, with gold, abbacies, and mitres, it vfill be strange, if I cannot discover amongst the herd of simonaical priests and monks, many willing to assume to themselves the name ' Pope' when I, as the Emperor bestow it upon them : and, if I do but ob- tain one such, then I shall be able, by de- puty, to enjoy all the priveleges of a Pontiff. And with a Pope willing to obey 276 BERTHA. me, the world lies prostrate and helpless before me ! To trample my opponents tinder my feet as so many worthless weeds, and to cull from it all that gives me most pleasure, as its sweetest flowers, to delight my eyes and refresh my senses ! " But hold !" said Henry, checking him- self as he quaffed off a full bumper of wine. " But hold," he continued, " to do all this — to attain what is the object of my most earnest desire — much care, much thought, much artifice upon my part will be necessary. In fighting against Eome, I shall have to contend with a vigilant, active, unrelenting foe. A premature movement on my part may render the success of my plan impracticable. I see the disadvan- tages and advantages of my position. I have arrayed against me the prejudices and the superstitions of mankind — those little household deities, of which each man has an idol, of some form or fashion, in his own heart, and which, as long as he worships, he fancies he is not, though HENRY n. KING OF GERMANY. 277 covered with crimes, altogether a repro- bate. Rome knows this, and has the secret of touching these idols, and thus moving the hidden springs in the hearts of mortals — 8he can command men^s con- sciences to do that, by which they lose nothing in wealth, houses, or land. She has with her their prejudices and their superstitions, whilst on my side are the stronger combatants — the passions. I have it in my power to evoke first, and to gratify afterwards, the sensuality and the avarice of my adherents ; and it is difiicult to believe that they will not master all those weakly things called virtues, to which my opponents may appeal." " Oh ! that all who adhere to me were like my trusty Diedrich : a wolf-dog, that can think, and act, and never trouble me with his scruples. Then indeed the battle could be but a short one between the Im- perial crown and the tiara — a good sword, and a sure dagger would bring it to a suc- cessful termination." 278 BEHTHA. " It is not so, and therefore I must play the hypocrite — speak false words to false men, who know that the words are false, and yet seek to quiet their consciences by pretending to believe them true. Base wretches as they are, I loathe them all — and the more loathe them, when I com- pare them with Diedrich." " I pray your Majesty's pardon, if I have disturbed you," said Egen, here entering the chamber : " I was told that vou com.manded my attendance." " I did, Egen," answered Henry, " I wished to know how fares the lady you admire so much." " She is still oppressed with grief at the sudden removal from her family," said Egen. *' At present she is totally uncon- scious of the honour your Majesty has conferred upon her, in deigning to direct she should be conveyed to one of your castles. Your Majesty's desire of her be- ing received in her chamber by two of your female attendants, dressed in the HENRY IV.. KING OF GERMANY. 279 garb of nuns, and especially by bearing one of them who calls herself ' the Sister Adelaide/ directing that sentinels should be placed at her door, night and day, to guard her from intrusion, haye tended to tranquillise her mind/' " I rejoice to hear it," observed Henry. " There is nothing more hateful to my sight' than a weeping woman, I detest Queen Bertha, because she is always in tears. A woman should never presume to appear in the presence of a monarch unless her face be decked with smiles. Tears are so selfish — they prove that a woman is thinking of herself and not of 7ne. But enough of this new toy. Come,. Egen, with me to my bed-chamber, I shall there disclose to you a project, in the execution of which, there will be re- quired, on your part, as much wit as bold- ness." " My life is your Majesty's — dispose of it as you will. If I lose it in serving you, then it will be well employed for so kind 280 BERTHA. and so generous a master," answered Egen. " I know well your fidelity, Egen ; but I know not how I can adequately reward it," said Henry, with his constant, sweet, dubious smile upon his rosy lips. 281 CHAPTER IX. THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. Beatrice was a prisoner in the Castle of Frankfort, which from its strength of position, thickness of wall, and number of defenders might be regarded as a fortress, but from its vastness, richness, and magni- ficence was more generally designated as the palace of the German Kings in this portion of their wide-spread dominions. The apartment, in which Beatrice was con- fined, was a square chamber, the sides of 282 - BEETHA. whicli were covered -with magnificent ta- pestry, worked in gold, and brilliant colors, and proving to what a degree of perfec- tion the art of embroidery had then been carried. Ornaments of gold, and silver and bronze were to be seen strewed about — and some of them, especially the small statues, were moulded with such exquisite grace, that it was plain they had descended to the German King, as heir-looms of that Roman Empire, of which he assumed to be the representative. The centre of the room was lighted by, what would now be called, a small window, and which, shewed to the occupant of the chamber that it constituted the recess between two projecting towers on both sides, and that it was not only overlooked by them, but that in case of necessity the room itself could be commanded by the arrow-shots of the towers that looked into it. This room, which seemed to have been fitted up for the care of any pri- soners on whom it might be desirable to THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 283 exhibit at the same time every desire for their convenience, and their careful keeping, looked down upon the smooth \^aters of the river Maine, as they ghded over that eventful ford, which in the year 783, had been pointed out to the flying Franks, by a timid deer, at a moment when, but for that discovery, they must have fallen vic- tims to the unrelenting vengeance of Wit- tikind, and the undying hatred of the remorseless Saxons. It was at the window of this apartment that Beatrice sat gazing listlessly upon the Ford-of- the- Franks. She was worn out with want of sleep and of food ; for she had carefully attended to the words of the Countess — she " neither eat nor drank" — she had not even moistened her lips with a single drop of water. It was thus she sat with aching head and saddened heart, all her feelings engrossed with the one thought — the agonizing despair of her mother upon discovering her abduction. With the first dawn of the coming day she had taken her 284 BERTHA. seat at that window, and the day liad ad- vanced about five hours, when, she knew not why, she found her eye attracted to what appeared to her to be a Kttle white banner, thatfluttered upon one of the towers of the cathedral, at some distance from her, and all communication with which was cut off by the interfluent stream of the Maine. Her eye had observed this long before her mind had attended to it. She could not tell when she had first noticed it, nor why she now thought there was anything strange in its appearance. She was only certain of this, that when she first looked upon the cathedral, the white flag was not there, and now, so confused were her faculties, by her sleepless grief, that she was as little cer- tain whether it had been there a minute, or, an hour before it first induced her to watch its tremulous movements. The sight of that flag inspired her with hope. It was the emblem of peace and of purity ; and as it was upon the Church of God — it was significant of hope ; and it seemed THE CAPTIVE AXD THE JxULEE. 285 to bid her place all her confidence in Him to Whose honor and glory that very edifice had been erected by the greatest hero of Christianity — Charlemagne. A senseless, mindless thing it was that white little fluttering flag ; and Beatrice knew it was so. Yet, since she had last seen her home, it was the only thing that denoted ouo'ht of 2:ood to her. As such she re- garded it — as such it comforted her ; and for the first time, since she had been a cap- tive, as she gazed upon it, a gush of tears came to her eyes, which relieved and soothed her heart. For the first time in her hfe, she felt that there was a consola- tion in tears — for the first time she expe- rienced the truth of what had been so often told to her, by her mother, and the honest Agatha —that it is good to weep, if we can be but conscious that our tears are shed, not in a repining, but a submissive spirit, to whatever evils or trials God may choose to subject us. 286 BERTHA. So was Beatrice weejDiiig, and gaining fresh strength for new trials as she wept, when a young and beautiful woman, ar- rayed in the garb of a nun, entered the room, and started back, almost with dis- may, when she perceived how changed had become in the course of a few hours, the appearance of Beatrice. " My child," she said, " if you persist in this despairing grief, but three days longer, you will certainly kill yourself. Why, you have neither eaten, nor drank, nor slept since you came here." ''- Nor will I do so, as long as I am a prisoner here,'^ replied Beatrice, "unless the request I made last night be complied with — that of having, as an attendant, one of those poor Saxon women, that I saw upon landing, and who manifested so much sympathy for an unknown captive." "But in case I comply with your re- quest," said the woman, who called herself Sister Adelaide, " will you promise to THE CAPTIVE AKD TPIE JAILER. 287 perform for me that which I shall ask V " Certainly, Sister Adelaide," answered Beatrice ; '' for one in your holy garb could make no improper request/' '' It is," replied Sister Adelaide, " that you will cast away from you those soiled habiliments in which you have travelled, and array yourself in the robes of a novice : 1 ask no more." " And that I consent to do," was the answer of Beatrice. In a few minutes afterwards, sister A de- laide led into the room a tall, gawky-look- ing Saxon girl — one so thin in figure, and so juvenile in face, and so fresh in com- plexion, that she did not appear to be more than sixteen years of age, and in whose big, dull, grey eyes there did not seem to be a spark of intelligence. " Here," said the sister Adelaide, " is the first Saxon maiden I could find. She was standing at the fortress portal, and endea- Touring to persuade the guards stationed 288 BERTHA. there to become the purchasers of some of the wild flowers, which she has gathered in the adjoining forest, when I had her called before you. She is well known, the guards assured me, for her innocence and simplicity, and is generally denominated, amongst her people, by the familiar name of Gretchen." " And that is the name of an honest girl — it is no false name," drawled out the Saxon maiden. " I fear," observed the Sister Adelaide, ''she will be but an awkward tire- woman." " Not at all — not at all," replied Gretchen with somewhat more animation. " There is no one in the village can equal Gretchen in decorating the hair with flowers. In two minutes I can weave a wreath of Magnus primroses, and wisdom -honeysuckles which even Adela, the great Countess Dedi, would not be ashamed to wear." " I pray you. Sister Adelaide, let this poor, innocent, half-witted maiden remain THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 2S9 with me. I am quite prepared to excuse any awkwardness she may exhibit, for the sake of Hstening to her innocent prattle. Its very incoherency may be a distraction to my grief" Such was the request that Beatrice made of the Nun. It was immediately comphed with, Beatrice having again promised to change her dress. Adelaide then quitted the room, leaving the two young women, or rather girls, quite alone. Gretchen had a large basket filled with wild flowers on her arm, and the moment that the Sister Adelaide quitted the room, she seated herself on the floor, and commenced, as if the matter on which she was employed, was one of vital importance, to take the several flowers, one by one, from the basket, and in so doing, to ask Beatrice if she knew the name of each, and if she did, to tell it to her. Beatrice answered all her questions, and as she did so, Gretchen laughed, not boisterously, but still so loudly that the idiotic sounds of her mirth might be heard VOL. I. 290 BERTHA. by any one, who purposel}^, or by chance was hstening to their conversation. As the name of each flower was told to her, Gretchen carefully placed it on the floor, so as that all the flowers of the same species were accurately sorted from the rest. Both maidens were thus engaged for about a quarter of an hour, the one in ask- ing the names of the flowers, the other in answering them, and then in seeing her strange companion anxiously arranging each, with those that resembled it, around her. A t last Beatrice became weary in watching wliat was, to her, apparently an unmeaning proceeding. Gretchen did not perceive this, for she said : " And now, lady, here is a flower that is never known to grow but beneath a tree that shades the banks of the Maine. Can you tell me what it is called V Beatrice instead of answering her ques- tion, said : *' I cannot ; and even if I could, instead of answering your question, I would ask THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 291 you, how you came, when you entered this room, to mention the names oi Magnus and of Adelar "What a stupid fool I am," said Gretchen, "in coming here to make a wreath without having things to bind them together. It will be hard if I do not find what I want in this grand chamber. Here, lady, whilst I search for it, I pray you to look at my cross ; it is hollow, and has such a fine relic inside of it. You may examine it, lady, whilst I am seeking something that is still wanting to complete my wreath/' There was a look of intelligence in the large grey eye of Gretchen that startled Beatrice, as she received in her hand the small, plain, black wood cross, which Gretchen had removed from the folds of the coarse gown that covered her bosom. Beatrice opened the cross, and she saw in- scribed on a minute piece of parchment, these two words, ''Magnus — AdelaT They sufficed to prove to her that the seemingly 3 292 BERTHA. idiotic maiden was a confidential messenger, from those who had already proved them- selves to be her sincere friends. This assurance, whilst it tended to re- move from her mind much of that despair, which hitherto had served to benumb her faculties, made her feel an interest in the proceedings of Gretchen. She saw that the latter, under the pretence of searching for something, w^as, in fact, examining most minutely every portion of the chamber — turning up all the hangings, feeling all the walls, and finally listening with breath- less attention at the door, for the purpose of ascertaining whether any one w^as on the watch outside. Nought was to be heard but the regular steps of the sentries who had been placed there on the previous night. Gretchen's examination seemed to give her satisfaction, for upon its conclusion, she ran over to the window, at which Beatrice still sat, and eagerly asked : THE CAPTIVE AKD THE JAILER. 293 " Have you eaten or drank anything since you came here V " I have tasted nothing — not even water/*' Beatrice. "Thank God! thank God!" saidGretchen, falling on her knees. " Then here is something for you — it is food such as I take myself ; plain, brown, coarse bread, and pure fresh milk. I would have carried with me something more dainty, but that I was fearful my basket might be examined, and suspicion excited if I had with me any thing but what we poor serfs are accustomed to live upon. Here then eat, for you must be exhausted, for want of some refreshment ; and whilst you eat, I will tell you whatever you may desire to know. But before you ask me a question, let me assure you, that I am, as the cross will have shewn you, a mes- senger from the Countess Adela, and Duke ^Magnus ; that they bid me apprize you, that there is not a portion of this fortress on which a Saxon does not watch from the 2.94 BERTHA. outside ; that the white flag which you may see fluttering on yonder church, was raised this morning by the hands of Magnus ; that it is planted there to prove to you, that in that tower there is always an eye fixed upon this chamber, and that if you should at any time find yourself pressed by a great danger, you have but to appear at this window, and raise your right hand high in the air, or, if you can learn that you are about to be removed from this place, that you will rest both your hands on the sill. If you can find the opportu- nity for doing either of these things, then you may feel secure, whatever be the hazard of the attempt that assistance will be sought to be given to you, or that to what- ever place you are conveyed, you will be followed, and there, as here, the attempt made to rescue you/' As Gretchen spoke, her appearance seemed to alter ; the large, dull, grey eye was now flashing with intellect, the gawky figure became graceful in all its movements. THE CAPTIVE .^ND THE JAILER. 295 and the simpleton countenance of the seeming girl was changed to that of a grave, earnest, though very young woman. " But eat and drink^ now, I pray you," continued Gretchen, "and whilst you do so, I shall weave a garland for you. We must, if possible, not provoke the watchful suspicion of those by whom you are sur- rounded." "I feel grateful to you, Gretchen, for what you say," replied Beatrice. "But tell me, I pray, why I have been seized upon by armed men, and carried away to this castle, or prison, as if I had been guilty of some crime. Why am I so treated *? or, why is my dear mother com- pelled to suffer on my account such grief ? and then my poor father ! and good Agatha ! Alas ! Gretchen, I knew no one else in the world but these and Magnus. How then can I have offended any one, that I should be so misused 1 Can you explain this to me, Gretchen V "I can," answered Gretchen, her face 296 BERTHA. flushing with indignation as she spoke. " I can tell you the cause of all this, ft is that Germany is now ruled by a miscreant, and not a king. It is because a base villain disgraces the crown, which the second Henry sanctified, and the third Henry glorified by his piety — it is because a wretch who has the power of a sovereign uses that power for the degradation and dishonor of his subjects. I have but to look at you, and T can at once tell for what offences you are confined here. Your crimes consist in your beauty, your youth, and your innocence ; and you are brought here, that you may curse your beauty, that your youth may be deplored with tears, and that your innocence may be for ever lost. Had Heaven made you less fair, had age overtaken you, or had it been supposed that sin had found refuge in your heart, then you would be as free to-day, as you were forty-eight hours ago. Henry the Fourth would not have deemed you fitted to be one of his victims." ni-HE CAPTIYU AND THE JAILER. 297 *' Never, ladj, did there live so vile a king as ours. No family is safe from his brutal contamination. The daughter of the nobleman, and the wife of the serf are alike perilled, if he but chance to hear, that they are remarkable, in their respective classes of life, for their personal charms, or their great virtues. No tears, no prayers, no resistance can protect them from him ; for he seems to feel, as the devil himself did, when, as we are told, he gained ad- mission, as a serpent, into the garden of Paradise — and never rested until he had covered it with the slime of sin, and made those guilty, who before then had been in- nocent. He has wiles for the weak, and brute force for the resolute. With you he has employed both. He has torn you from your parents by his vile hirelings, the in- fidel Patarini of Worms, and he has had you received here by some of the worst of his associates — his female attendants — one of whom you have just seen disguised as a nun ; but who is no more a nun, than 298 BERTH A. I am a simpleton. He feels no shame lii resorting to a worse profanation of holy things ; to effect his purposes, he pre- tends, sometimes, to marry his yictims, and has the ceremony performed by a false priest, or a real priest — in either case, the ceremony being alike invalid — an imposture, if performed by a person ■who is not a priest— a delusion, if a real priest is cajoled into the administration of such a sacrament, because King Henry is al- ready married. Nay, to such an extent is his profaneness carried, that it is very generally believed he has fitted up in one part of his dominions a gorgeous palace, to which he occasionally resorts with some of his favorites, men as well as women, and that their days are passed in the same frightful debaucheries as were practised by the Roman Emperors, before they became Christians — debaucheries so awful, that it is said, a person could not even know them, or be told of them, with- out sin. THE CAPTIVE AKD THE JAILEK. 2.99 " Bad and vile, and most wicked as he is, in everything, there is one quality in which he is said to surpass all the worst men that ever lived, and that is in his de- ceit, his treachery, his hypocrisy, and his perfidiousness, so that, when tasting the food he presses you to eat it may contain poison, which will kill you on the spot, or, what is worse, render you senseless and helpless for many hours. Ready with all sorts of disguises, and artful in tongue, it may happen, that when you fancy you are speaking but to a simple serf, or a plain knight, you may be conversing with King Henry himself" " But how am I to know this terrible man if I should ever have the misfortune to see him V inquired Beatrice. " It is hard to conjecture whether he will appear before you as the King, or dis- guised as one of his subjects ;" answered Gretchen ; " but in any case there are three points about him, which he never can con- ceal — his great height, his violet blue 800 BERTHA. eyes, and his moutli, which is generally smiling, and the smile always distorting itself into a sneer. Watch Henry as he speaks, and you must, thus be able to recognize him. Remember, lady, that here^in this den of vice and of sin Henry is omnipotent, and that compared with hira both Magnus and Adela are almost as powerless as if they wxre serfs. In truth, they have not in Frankfort any friends but the Saxon serfs, who are ready to die for them if so commanded. Both will do their best to serve you ; but God alone can save you. I know that when-'I left them they were resolved upon seeking out the Queen, and the Empress, and apprising them of the outrage of which Henry had been guilty towards you. And now, lady, permit me to array you in the garb of a novice, and to place upon your fair brow tliis wreath of wild flowers. May each of them rest as a blessing from heaven on your head, and be as a safeguard to your innocence !"' Beatrice, dismayed with the intelligence THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILEE. 301 she had received, and, learning, it might be said, for the first time what wickedness there is in this world — how powerful is sin, and how weak is virtue, sat confounded with horror, as Gretchen decorated her person, and removed, as well as she could, the out- ward traces of that grief, w^hich had for so many hours oppressed her heart, and that still festered there. " And now, lady/^ said Gretchen, w^hen she had completed her task, " whenever the false sister Adelaide returns, she will suppose that I have employed all my time in attending upon you. 1 know not how soon I may be required to depart. Is there any message that you would desire to send to the Countess and Magnus V "Yes —my thanks — my tearful, grate- ful thanks to both — and the request, that, if it be possible, information may be sent to my mother, as to all that has befallen me. Perchance, my father may be able to induce King Henry to set me free. If wealth can buy my liberty, I know my father super- S02 BERTHA. abounds in it, and will not grudge to give whateyer may be demanded/' " Wealth can do much with King Henry,'^ said Gretchen, " for he is as sordid as he is vile. If you do not provoke his hatred — if you do not excite his enmity against you, then there is a chance, that he will sacrifice a caprice to obtain gold. But if he loves you, or dislikes you, then those stronger passions in his heart will over- master that strong passion — avarice. Be cautious with Henry, and place your con- fidence in God. But — lo ! I hear the door opened gently — and now to deceive the deceivers.'^ As Gretchen said this, her manner but not her voice changed, as she spoke : *' And now, lady, I pray you cry no more — weeping makes the eyes look so red and so nasty, just like a naughty red flowering weed popping up its ugly face in a bed of white roses." " I thank you, Gretchen," said the Sister THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 303 Adelaide, here advancing into the apart- ment. "You have done much for the lady during my absence. I pray you now to leave the room, as there is one who wishes to speak with the Lady Beatrice. " And, good Sister Adelaide, may I not bring more flowers to this nice little girl Ko one cries long with the fresh scents of the forest about them," said Gretchen. " Yes, Gretchen. This evening, or to- morrow you can return. All I now ask of you is to leave us for the present," re- plied Adelaide. Gretchen carefully picked up all the flowers that she had strewn about the room, arranged them in her basket, and without once looking either at Adelaide or Beatrice left the room, seemingly deeply engaged in humming to herself the words of a nursery song. The Sister Adelaide watched with great interest all the proceedings of Gretchen and perceiving that she had departed, ap- parently absorbed in the collection of her 804 BERTHA. flowers, and the words of her ballad, all suspicion, if any had for a moment found a resting-place in her mind, yanished utterly and completely. No sooner were the sounds of Gretchen^s voice lost in the distant passages, than Adelaide turned with a smile upon her face, and said to Beatrice — " This, child, has been a strange hand- maiden for you ; and yet she has done her work neatly ; for never did I, in my life, behold a novice so beautiful as your- self. You are, in sooth, now fitted to appear before the great man who craves permission to see you."' " A captive," replied Beatrice, " cannot refuse permission to the jailer to enter his own cell. I permit nothing, J refuse no- thing, I am compelled to submit to every- thing. Such is the will of God, and I accept that which he ordains.*' " Wherefore, child, thus repine, when you know not whether you have cause for joy or sorrow V enquired Adelaide. THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 305 " Wherefore !" said Beatrice, starting up, and standing erect, as she faced the questioner. '* Wherefore repine 1 you ask me ? Wherefore does the lamb bleat mournfully when the butcher's hand has torn it from the fold, in which its mother still remains — even though it knows not that the knife is already sharpened for its throat. Wherefore does the young lark die wdth grief in the gilded cage of the captor, but because it has been removed from beneath its mother's fostering wing % Wherefore does a daughter repine when bands of ruffians drag her from her mother s home, and place her in a sumptuous prison % yet such is the question asked me by one who wears the garb of rehgion. Oh, God ! my God ! have mercy on this world, if such a question can be really asked me by one who has made her vows at thy altar." The handsome features of Adelaide were wrinkled with a frown, and her face became ghastly pale, as she said : " I have observed, lady, that you do not 306 BRRTHA. any longer address me as sister. Why do you suppose that I am aught otherwise than what I seem V " God alone knows the heart, man judges by appearances/' answered Beatrice. " I replied, as a Christian maiden to a question that I could not think would, under such circumstances, be asked me by one, who had renounced sin and all its pomps. If I have offended you, I pray you to pardon me. This is to me a strange world ; and as yet I can only judge of it, by what I have been taught, and not, by what I have known.'' " I forgive you, child,'^ said Adelaide, in accents that trembled with emotion ; '* but he who seeks admission will brook no longer delay. Shall I present him to you V " Do as you will," rephed Beatrice. " It is a mockery to ask my assent to that which I have not the powder to refuse. I only venture to ask how he is named, w^ho thus insists upon seeing me." *' Of that I shall inform you, when he THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILEE. 307 stands before you," replied Adelaide, as she quitted the room. In a few minutes afterwards, Adelaide returned to the room, leading by the hand one, that Beatrice recognised from Gretchen^s description of him, to be King Henry. " This." said Adelaide, " is his Majesty's prime favourite and minister, the Count Werenher. He prays a few moments' audience with you, and alone." Beatrice looked Adelaide full in the face, when she heard the false name pronounced ; but the latter glanced scornfully upon her, as if she deemed the assumption of her now pretended character necessary no longer. Adelaide did not deign to give her an ex- planation ; but whispered a single word in the ear of the King, and then passed hastily from the chamber, closing fast the door as she passed outside. The moment that Beatrice heard the door close, she knelt down, and before 308 BERTHA. Henry could utter a word, she thus ad- dressed him : " My Lord — my King, one of the poor- est, weakest, and most helpless of your thousands upon thousands of subjects, now kneels before you, and implores your pity, if you have compassion — your pardon, if you have mercy — your protection, if you have generosity in your heart. " I am my Lord and my King, unprac- tised in the manners of Courts ; and in my ignorance, I may, unintentionally, oflfend you. Oh ! if I should do so, forgive me for the sake of my youth, my inexperience, and my sex. " I am alone in the midst of strangers — I have none to help me, none to pity me, none to console me. I appeal then to you — to you, as to my sovereign lord — to you, who have the sword of justice to punish the wicked, and the sceptre of power to protect the weak. I appeal to you, whose crown is radiant with jewels, because those THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILEE. 809 costly jewels are intended to represent the heavenly gifts of courage, chastity, benefi- cence, magnanimity, and charity : gifts that render the heart of a good king, a temple in which the virtues most willingl}^ take up their abode." " Maiden, pardon me,"'said Henry, with one of his sweetest, and most affectionate smiles. " You were told that / was Count Weren- her, how came you to address me as the King r " And what say you, is your name 1" asked Beatrice, " but ere you answer that question, pause for an instant before you reply. I will not kneel to a Count Weren- her, nor to any one who bears that title — but better to die as I kneel here, than learn that the ' king,' the ' sovereign,' v/hom I have prayed for in my infancy, is a dastard, who contemplating a base deed, skulks beneath the mask of a villain to perpetrate it !" " You are right, Beatrice," said Henry, somewhat moved by this unexpected ap- 310 BERTHA. peal. " It is not fitting in a king to conceal his deeds, whatever they may be. He should have the courage to do, and to defend them, in the close chamber, as in the broad field of battle. Rise, Beatrice ; your King prays of you to rise and be seated.'' Beatrice obeyed ; and as she did so, she said — " I have appealed to your Majesty's ge- nerosity ; for I know that I am in your power — and having done so, I now beseech your Majesty to tell me why and wherefore I have been torn from my home, and con- veyed here as prisoner V " You have recommended ^'^our King to be very candid,'' said Henry, with a cold, malignant, sneer ; " and you shall soon discover that he can be so. I have sent for you — somewhat rudely, mayhap, con- sidering how tenderly you have been nur- tured, for more purposes than one. I now address myself to the first of these. It is a very simple question. I pray of you to THE CAPTIVb: AND THE JAILER. 311 give it a plain and simple answer. It is this : what is the rank, in life, of your father V " I know not," answered Beatrice. " What ! you know not 1 The daughter of a serf knows that her father cannot move from the land on which she is born, without his lord's permission ? The daugh- ter of a freeman feels an honest pride in looking upon the sword and shield of her sire ; the daughter of a nobleman boasts of her birth ; and the fair, the accomplish- ed, the lovely, Beatrice — she, wdio, if she had been born a slave, might, like another Fredegonda, be elevated to the throne of a queen for her beauty, cannot tell to her King, what is the rank in life of her father. This is strange !" " It may be so, my Hege ; but still it is true. To me it never appeared strange ; for my life was always the same, and I never heard any allusion made to ray father's rank," wais the answer given by Beatrice. 312 BERTHA. " And Lis name V inquired the King. "I never heard him called by any other than that of Ruebert," said Beatrice, shghtly blushing, as her mother's con- versation then, for the first time, flashed across her memory ; and, as she pondered ujDon it, she trembled. It was the first time that she had done so in pre- sense of the King. Henry knew not the cause of her emo- tion, or of her fear ; but perceiving that these questions gave him an advantage over his destined victim, he determined upon proceeding with them. " Is your father Ruebert a constant resi- dent at AschafFenburg ?" he asked. " No, he is not," replied Beatrice. '' His coming and his going are unlike uncertain. Sometimes he reinains a day — sometimes a week — sometimes for months together : and his absence is as uncertain — sometimes it is for a brief, sometimes for a long period.'' "And know you how he is employed when he is absent V' THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 313 " No, my liege ; and, until you put the question, the idea never occurred to rae. All I know is this, that he is very rich — that he entertains a very great respect for your Majesty ; that he told me to pray every night and morning for your Majesty's health, happi- ness, and triumph over your enemies ; and I am quite sure, that jewels, and gold would be gladly placed by him in your hands, if I were restored to him safe, and uninjured." " This is most strange !" exclaimed Henry, rather speaking to himself, than addressing his observations to Beatrice ; for her answer had completely bewildered him. " What is most strange, my liege V asked Beatrice. " The account," rephed Henry, " that you give me of your father. Here is a man, possessing unheard-of wealth, en- gaged in some mysterious occupation, of unknown rank, living as if he were a VOL. I. p 314 BERTHA. Prince of the Empire, and possessing a daughter that seems to be born to a throne, and yet that daughter knows no more of her father, than that she has always heard him called lluebert ! You have recommended me, Beatrice, to be candid. Have you,'' said Henry, with his withering, gibing tone, "practised the lesson, maiden, you would yourself so earnestly enforce V " I have, my liege," said Beatrice, look- ing with her large, dark, truthful eyes up to the admiring countenance of the King. " I have told you the truth — the simple truth — a truth, which every enquiry you may choose to make, will fully confirm.'' " It is w^ell," said Henry. " It is more than I expected to hear : it is as much as I desire to know. And now listen to me, Beatrice. I shall be perfectly candid with you. I am, as you are aware, the King of the ancient Empire of Germany. I am responsible to no man for my actions, and yet, so beneficent is my disposition, that I desire to give offence to as few powerful THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. Si 5 enemies as possible. I believe, that as King, I have a right to all in mj dominions that is most rich, most rare, and most beautiful, whether it be the red gold ; the sparkling and precious diamonds; or maidens, whose loveliness, and whose virtues render them, in my eyes, more valuable than gold, and more dear to my heart than the most costly ornaments. " I believe, I only exercise my right, when I claim any of these for myself I tell you, Beatrice, there are wise, grave jurists who maintain that these are amongst the rights that may not only be claimed, but exercised by one, who in his person, represents the Roman Emperors. "' I do not mean to forego any of those rights. It was in the exercise of them, that one of my purveyors, the faithful Egen, saw you in the forest of Aschaffen- burg, and brought to me such an account of your marvellous beauty, that I sent him, and with him the Count Werenher, and twenty of my faithful soldiers of Worms, P 2 316 BERTHA. with command to arrest and bring you here, provided that Werenher deemed you to be as beautiful as Egen had described you. Upon the last day that you sat upon the banks of the AschafF, Werenher was concealed in the tree beneath which you reposed, and heard 3^our conversation with Agatha, as well as with the boy Magnus. You see, Beatrice, I know more than you, in your candour, have thought it wise or fitting to tell me. " And now, Beatrice, let me declare to you, that which I do in perfect candour, that you are, in my estimation, the most lovely young maiden I ever looked upon — that I am prepared to admire — nay, to adore you — that I offer you the warm heart, and the ardent affections of a youth- ful king, if you will but smile upon me. Bid me but hope that I may be loved by you, and I shall be content to wait until vour affections for me be awakened by the nourly proofs of my admiration and of my devotion to you.'^ " And this is your Majesty's answer to THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 317 the appeal I have made to you," said Beatrice, with a sickening feeling of despair for herself, and of loathing for the king, as she listened to the shameless avowal of his profligacy. " I cannot look on such transcendent charms, and return any other reply,'^ observed Henry. " It would be my answer to you, if you were the daughter of the Duke of Bavaria ; it must be my answer to you, as you are but the child of some obscure man — it would be my answer to him, though he offered, for your release, a mine of rubies. I would not barter one kiss from those maiden lips of yours, for all the treasures that are concealed in the Pope's palace." " Then God have mercy on me !" said Beatrice, rushing to the window, and raising her right hand as high as she could in the air " What mean you, Beatrice V^ said Henry, mistaking the motive for what she had done. " I have dealt openly — can- didly with you — remember that ; and also 318 BERTHA. remember that here 1 am omnipotent — that here you can find no protector but myself." As he spoke these words^ he at- tempted to clasp the hand of Beatrice. Beatrice shrunk with a shiver of horror from his grasp, and falling upon her knees as he attempted to approach her, she drew forth from the folds of her dress, the little black, rough cross of Gretchen : and held it up before his eyes, saying : " Oh, yes! there is here — even in your strong castle, a protector more powerful than you — it is He of whose sufferings on this earth, this is the emblem." As she spoke these words, she turned slowly round on her knees, so as to look with her bright dark eyes up into the cloud- less blue sky, and seemingly absorbed in her devotion, she poured forth this prayer in the ears of the profligate king : '^ My God — my God ! have compassion on my w^eakness, and take pity on me in my desolation ; for I am forsaken by man, and am but a frail and helpless woman, THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILEE. 31 9 and I have no hope but in Thy strength — the strength of Thy mercy, and the might of Thy charity. And Thou, oh ! Holy Virgin, mother of God, intercede for me. Thou who art most pure, save from contamination, a sinner who invokes thee — a maiden who has ever prayed that thoumightst intercede for her to thy Beloved Son. Oh ! beg that He may now save me in this fearful straight — this impend- ing danger. Oh ! let thy tender arms em- brace me, that sin may not approach me, and that impurity may shrink now, as it has ever done, from thy presence. Let thy care, oh ! blessed mother, be bestowed on thy unworthy child — guard me, surround me with thy blessing — the blessing of un- stained chastity. Let not this wicked and this great man have power over me — for his power is exercised for the purposes and the works of the devil, and thy power is given to thee for the sanctification and the salvation of mankind. Holy Virgin Mary! look down with an eye of pity upon me — for. 320 BERTHA. if thou wilt not take compassion upon me, then I can never again pray to thee, as I do now, with a heart that knows not the worst of sins ; and with lips that are, as yet, not begrimed with the desecrating touch of luxury. Oh ! Mary — mother — Virgin — blessed amongst women — intercede for me with thy Son, or I am now lost, and lost for ever !" The strength of faith was stronger than the power of the passions ! The prayer of purity found an echo even in the rank heart of the cynical voluptuary ! It did so, and yet no miracle w^as performed when the selfish and the unrelenting Henry, who never yet had practised a restraint upon his worst desires, shrank back abashed in the presence, and appalled by the ac- cents of that poor, young, helpless, girl, in the lonely chamber of one of the strongest towers in his kingly fortress ! A prayer that, perchance, might now be sneered at, and words that, in these days of indifferentism and infidelity, might be THE CAPTHE AKl) THE JAILER. 221 scoffed, had a power at one period in this world's history — and, especially, at the very epoch of which we treat, when men did the work of demons, and yet had the faith of demons : for they practised whatever hell suggested to their hearts ; and, like the imps of hell, they '' trembled " when That Name was pronounced — in which, as no- minal Christians, they placed all their hopes of future salvation. The great mistake which not merely the men, but the scholars, and above all, the writers of the present generation make, with respect to distant periods in history is, that they judge of the dark ages, as well as of the mediaeval times, by two false stand- ards — '' the state of civilization that now exists,'' and " the absence of strong religi- ous faith that now prevails." There was, in those ancient times, neither of these — the impidse then to action was pa-ssion ; the controUinfj power was alone to be found in religion ; and the only 322 BERTHA. security for men's homes and God's altars was to be found in strong swords^ weilded by the hands of brave, good, and pious men. Where such security was lost^ then the wicked man was without check or control, unless by same unlooked-for incident he was made to feel that the v^engeance of God was impending over him — for there was then no doubt enter- tained, especially amongst those in an elevated class of life, of God's providence, nor in any other af the truths preached by the Church. And thus it happened, in thousands of instances, that the con- sciences of sinners became unexpectedly moved, and years of severe penance were devoted to the task of atoning for years of crime and of guilt. Those, then, were the ages of faith— of the most implicit faith, as well as the ages in which the most barbarous deeds were perpetrated. Infi- iidehty was then as little thought of as the invention of gunpow^der. All believed, as they professed to believe^ in the words of THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILEE. 323 the baptismal sacrament ; or, if there were to be found unbelievers, they could alone be detected amongst the lowest rabble or the rudest serfs — amongst those who still retained amongst them the superstitions and the idolatry of the Pagan Empire, and who manifested, despite the repeated or- dinances of the Church, an attachment to both by the practices of magic. Strange it is that " the philosophers," " the mes- merists," and " the infidels " of the nine- teenth century can trace out as their predecessors in what is unholy, unlawful, and blasphemous, the opinions and prac- tices to be alone found amongst the brutally ignorant, or the grossly dissolute in the eleventh century — amongst its plebeians, its slaves, and its Paterini. Henry the Fourth of German}^ was not an exception to the princes, or the great men of his time. Although as bad, as vile, and as treacherous a man as ever existed, he was not an unbeliever. He believed in God, although he violated the laws of God~he 324 BTIRTHA. believed in all the Church taught, although he trampled upon its commandments, traf- ficked in its dignities, and would make it the footstool of his selfish, and griping ambition. He was worse than most men of his age ; but was like them in this particular ; he was a great sinner, and yet was not infidel. It was, then, in the ears of such a man, and at such an epoch, that the prayer of Beatrice was spoken, and that he saw, so ardent was her deyotion, and so sincere her confidence in God, and in the the inter- cession of the Blessed Virgin, to whom she appealed, that even his own dreadful pre- sence was for the moment forgotten by her. Henry's generosity, manliness and honor had been appealed to by Beatrice in vain ; and, now he heard her appealing to Heaven against him, and his craven-heart trembled lest one, whom he could not but regard as an angel, should bring down upon him the instant vengeance of an offended God. THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 325 He doubted that there was virtue in man ; for, unhappily, he had known many of the Church dignities in Germany to be held by prelates, who were stained with the prevailing sin of simony. That which he fancied he never should behold — unshrinking piety, and unfaltering purity — was there before him, kneeling, and praying to God, to be preserved from him, as from a fiend wear- ing the form of a man ! As this thought crossed his mind, he shuddered — it was a passing, momentary sting of conscience — at the reflection of what he really w^as : and whilst he w^as under its influence, he interrupted Beatrice, w^ho was engaged in prayer, by saying to her : " Lady Beatrice, your prayer is heard. I will not molest you. 1 will not harm you. I will not approach you, nearer than I am this moment, until I have first ob- tained your permission to do so. " Your prayer has convinced me that there is no dignity on this earth, that you 326 BERTHA. could not illustrate by your virtues, and honor by your piety. Beatrice, I care not who may be your father, nor how humble may be his rank in life : for, by yourself, alone, and by these marvellous gifts of soul and body ,with which Heaven has endowed you, I deem you, of all women, the only one I ever saw who was worthy to be Queen now, and Empress hereafter, of Germany. " Nay, start not, Beatrice, as if you thought I was speaking to you but mere words of flattery, or making professions to you. that I did not fully intend to carry into effect. When I say to you, that I think you worthy of wearing a crown in Germany, I mean that you shall do so — as the wife — the Queen of Henry — every knee shall bend before you, and the proudest dames shall feel that they are honored if you address but a single word to them. " What I now say to you, Beatrice, shall, before a month has passed away, be THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 327 fulfilled. Within less than three weeks a synod shall be held in Frankfort, at which the Prelates of Germany will pronounce that my marriage with Bertha has, from the first, been invalid. This divorce T sought for before I saw you, both for the sake of Bertha and myself ; and the mo- ment that the Church pronounces me to be free — free as if the hateful bond that now ties me to Bertha had never been con- tracted; then that moment, Beatrice, your King shall claim you in the face of the world as his bride. Meanwhile, you shall be removed from the palace in which I am, to the strongest fortress I possess in Saxony — to the fortress of — " '• j\Iy liege — my liege — your presence is required on the instant in your council chamber," said Lieman, here rushing pale and almost breathless into the room. " From all parts of the fortress the senti- nels send the same reports, that large bodies of the Saxon serfs were approach- ing the walls, as if an attack upon it were 828 BERTHA. contemplated, and messengers from the town state, that there is a movement amongst the slaves, as if they were about to commit some outrage/' " 1 trust that the intelligence may prove true," exclaimed Henry. " I long to ex- terminate the vile race of Saxons, and care not where I may begin — better here, per- haps, than elsewhere. Come, Lieman, my helmet, shield, and haubergeon instantly. Beatrice, farewell. We meet in Saxony.'' Henry hurriedly left the room as he pronounced these words. Whilst the King had been speaking to her, she could, in her joy and thankful- ness for her wonderful escape from him, only comprehend distinctly this — that her prayer had been heard, and that she had escaped. It w^as not, until she had offered up a heartfelt prayer, and the King had for some time left the chamber, that the pur- port of his words came distinctly to her mind, and that, amongst the other strange things he had told her, was this, that she THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 329 was to be removed from Frankfort. Re- membering this, she also recollected the conversation of Gretchen, and combining these with the threats of Henry against the Saxons, she grieved to think that she had lost a moment in giving the precon- certed signal as to her contemplated re- moval. She hurried then to the window — and resting upon both her hands, looked out from it, as far as its narrow space would permit upon the white flag still flaunting on the tower of the Cathedral. Whilst Beatrice thus gazed, she per- ceived a light blue flag raised aloft by the side of the white. She rejoiced to see it, for it shewed to her that she had been recognized ; and she also rejoiced — it was a maidenly, perhaps a childish, but still a devotional fancy — for in the azure flag she hailed the colour pe- culiarly assigned to the honor of that Virgin — the maiden mother of maidens, to whom she had so recently ad- dressed her prayer : and as she indulged 330 BERTHA. this feeling, her whole being became suf- fused with an ecstatic sensation of bliss, which none but the sincerely pious, and the truly pure of heart are ever destined to feel. As Beatrice still watched the fluttering flags, both suddenly disappeared ; and as they did so, she turned away from the window, and looked towards the room, which, to her surprise, she saw was now occupied by two females, both most unlike to those she had previously encountered in the palace. 831 CHAPTER X. THE EMPRESS AGIvTES AND QUEEN BEKTHA. The two females, who had entered the apartment of Beatrice, noiselessly and un- perceived by her, were evidently in the very highest rank of life, even though the dark dress of the elder, in its sombre hue, and plainness of texture, re- sembled the garb of a nun, and the lighter fashioned robes of her youthful companion were not, in any way, adorned by em- broidery. Both were, however, it could 332 BERTHA. be perceived, of exalted station, and pos- sessed, at least, of great wealth ; for, on the breast of the elder, there hung, at- tached by what was an almost impercepti- ble thread of gold, a cross, composed of sparkling brilliants, and around the dark tresses of the younger, there ran, in the fashion of an imperial circlet, a band, com- posed of diamonds. Beatrice, unpractised as she was in the forms of society, had 3^et been too well in- structed respecting the customs of the age, not to be conscious that she stood in the presence, at least, of one of imperial rank, and she supposed, from their appearance, and the cordial, loving manner in which the elder female leant her arm upon the younger, that both were probably the relatives of the king. This was her first impression upon beholding them ; but a second and a fixed glance con- firmed it ; for she could not but recognise in the elder female some of the features of Henry, with the exception of the eyes and THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 333 the mouth. There was the same high, commanding brow, the same straight nose, the same rounded chin, and the same awe- inspiring look. These were the resem- blances between the two ; . but the dis- similarity between the woman and the man were still greater : instead of the flaxen locks of Henry, the hair of the female had become white as the drifted snow ; instead of his laughing, red, rosy lips, the lips of the female were thin ; and care had wrinkled the corners of the mouth, and affliction had set his seal upon it, as if a smile could now find no resting place there ; instead, too, of the peachy cheek of Henry, the cheeks of the female were of a deadly paleness — so ghastly white, that the blood seemed never to have suffused them, and they were like the forehead, crossed and crossed again with deep lines, as if the vigils of the mourner had been broken in upon con- stantly by new afflictions, and unlocked for griefs. The face was that of a very 334 BERTHA, old woman, which seemed to have been placed upon a person, that, in its erect position, and its rounded outlines did not seem to hare reached, much less to have passed, the middle period of life. This was the Empress Agnes, the mother of King Henry. Her companion was young — very young — it would be difficult to decide upon first looking at her whether she was sixteen or twenty years of age ; for her figure was so slight, and at the same time so much beneath the mid- dle-size of women, that one would long hesitate to say that she could by pos- sibility be older than sixteen, if there were not in the chastened eye, the grave look, and the pensive gesture in her movements somewhat to demonstrate that more than the sorrows that vex the heart of a girl of sixteen had found a resting-place in her bosom. She was of Italy, and there was no mistaking the place of her birth in her rich brown skin, her pearly teetli, her pout- THE EMPRESS AGTTES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 335 ing mouth, her Roman nose, her jet-black eyes, and her hair, that in the intensity of its blackness, gave forth a blueish hue. This beautiful and this delicate young creature, on whose arm the Empress leant, now looked at Beatrice with an interest — an intensity of interest, which none but a wife can feel, when gazing on a female, who has unwillingly, won, or unconsciously attracted the admi- ration of a husband. It was Queen Bertha, the wife of Henry, who knew that the lovely Beatrice was an unvvilling captor in the power of her husband. Her features expressed what was passing in her heart — profound pity, and irrepressible ad- miration — the first for the situation of Bea- trice, the other for her beauty. Beatrice was conscious that she stood in the presence of one at least her superior in rank, and she suspected of two. She gave way to that conviction, and to the natural sympathy of youth, when she fell upon her knees, and kissing the hand of Bertha, said — 336 BRKTHA. " I know not, lady, who you are, but I am sure I do not err when, in presence of this august female, w^ho seems to be a mother, I beg you to exercise the power you are plainly possessed of here, by com- manding that a daughter may be instantly restored to the arms of an anguished parent." " Alas, that I could but exercise that power you suppose me to have,'^ answered Bertha. " But know that by your presence here an outrage is done to you, and an in- jury inflicted on me ; for I am the unloved wife of King Henry." " And I, my dear child — the unhappy mother of the same Henry — bless thee, the last of his victims — and pray that thou mayest long live to offer thy prayers to Heaven to pardon him for this and his other manifold sins." And as the Empress spoke these words, she laid her hand upon the head of Beatrice, as if pronouncing a benediction over her. She then stretched forth her hand to Beatrice, and said — ^'Rise THE EMPRESS AGT^ESAND QUEEN BERTHA. 337 up, mj child. Whatever be thy condition in life, an injury to both, perpetrated by the same hand, has placed us on an equality with each other." Beatrice kissed the hand of the Empress, and then said — " By what fortunate chance is it that one, so humble as myself, should be honoured by a visit from Your Majesties, who now appear before me, as my guardian- angels. " If our presence here can confer upon thee aught of good, thou art indebted for it to the information conveyed to us by the Countess Dedi, who has also apprised us that thou art the betrothed of Duke Mag- nus, and that thou hast been conveyed hither in thine own despite. Poor girl ! from my soul I pity thee ; and rest assured that Bertha and I will aid thee, if it be pos- sible for us to do so.'' So spoke the Empress to Beatrice. " But mother, you have not asked her if YOL. I. Q 338 BERTHA. she has seen the King," said Bertha, with deep emotion. " I have," answered Beatrice, " and it much interests Your Majesty to know what he said to me. I will not offend your ears by some words he said ; but this you should know, that he spoke to me of being speedily divorced from Your Majesty." "Divorced!" exclaimed Bertha, "divorced- are you sure he said divorced V " Most certain, madam, and even by the words he used he led me to suppose, that a divorce was as necessary for your happiness, as his own," answered Beatrice. Bertha stood motionless as these words reached her ear. They seemed to pene- trate to her brain, and to have transfixed her for some minutes to the spot. She could not speak — she looked at Beatrice, as the dying and despairing sinner looks upon the physician who tells him that his moments in this world are few in number. Then turn- THE EMPEF.SS AGNES AKD QUEEN BEETHA. 339 ing to b er companion she flung her arms wildly around the neck of the Empress, and clasping her convulsively to her bosom, she sobbed out as if each word would burst her heart : " Divorced! Oh! mother! mother! do you not pity me 1'' The Empress had been for years accustom ed to grief It had not hardened her heart, nor rendered, in the slightest degree, her feelings callous ; but it had so strengthened her will, that she could command her emotions. She was in sorrow, w^hat the veteran is in the field of battle, and the wound, that might be mortal, was, when inflicted, re- ceived and regarded as of no more con- sequence than one that could impose but a passing pain, or bring with it no more than a temporary inconvenience. *' Bertha, my child, God was pleased to place a heavy burden upon you, when He permitted your marriage with my son," was the observation of Agnes. " But then, mother, to be divorced! — Q 2 340 BERTHA. divorced from hiin ! — divorced from Henry! — who, before now ever heard of two young persons who loved each other once so truly — for I am sure, mother, he did love me once — who, I ask, ever heard of a Christian wife and husband being divorced from each other V asked Bertha, in her distraction and despair. '' True — true, my child," replied Agnes, " it is monstrous, and would be incredible, but that I may also ask another question — who before now ever heard of so reckless a man, as Henry V " Mother — mother — spare the faults of a son in com.passion towards the feelings of a wife!" said the gentle, generous Bertha. " Divorced ! it is the thought of a Pagan, and not of a Christian. I cannot believe it, or — Oh ! now I understand it — he but made use of such a device, for the purpose of deluding and deceiving this good, and innocent maiden. Oh! no, mother, I must admit he is a bad man — a very great sinner — but he never could have become so THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 341 lost to the faith of a Christian, as to trample on one of the holy sacraments of the Church. To talk of a divorce must be with him a device, and not a serious thought.'' " I have never seen nor spoken with His JMajesty until this day," observed Beatrice, " and therefore cannot tell when he speaks in seriousness or in jest, or whether it was his real intention to wrong one of your Majesty's exalted rank, or to degrade a helpless maiden like myself; but this I may add, as proving his fixed resolution to do the one and the other, that he voluntarily declared that he would never again appear before me, until he had been divorced from you — a divorce, which, he said, would be pronounced within the course of a few weeks ; and, pending the time for its being pronounced, he said that he would have me removed to a fortress in Saxony," Whilst Beatrice spoke, there was such truth, such sincerity in her words, and such conviction brought home to the heart 342 BEKTHA. by the earnestness and solemnity of her manner, that Bertha clung closer to Agnes, and seemed to feel, whilst she clasped the Empress within her arms, as if the voice of Henry was thundering in her ear, an- nouncing his approaching separation from her. Her attitude pourtrayed the fear and dismay that shook her whole being. " Bertha, my beloved," said the Empress Agnes, " I say to you, now — and alas ! not for the first time, that he who has been a bad son can never be a good husband. Of any other man but Henry, what this maiden says would be incredible ; but when told of him, because it is an enormous iniquity, we must believe it to be true. If the tears of an angel could have softened a hardened heart, then yours must have long since turned Henry from the evil of his ways : if the prayers of saints could have converted him, then he must long ere this have ceased to be a sinner ; for there is scarcely a church, either near or far, on which I have not had the holy sacrifice offered up in THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 343 his behalf, and Heaven itself has been beset with prayers for his salvation. All has been in vain ; for in his headlong career of vice he has hitherto experienced no diffi- culty, and encountered no obstacle. He is the spoiled child of an unchanging pros- perity — a King, in the fifth year of his age, he has become a man, but to indulge his passions, and give an unbridled way to his caprices. He has despised me, and rejected you, and now seems determined, if he be not opposed, to add to all his other crimes, blasphemy and sacrilege. He shall be op- posed. As his mother, as his wife, as Christians, we are compelled now, by his own acts, to place ourselves in opposition to him. Listen to me. Bertha, I am sure that he has determined upon being divorced from you, as this maiden informs us. " But how, you may ask, is it possible for Henry to seek for his divorce from one that he has accepted as his wife in the face of day — that for some time he treated and loved as his wife 1 He can only seek to 344 BERTHA. attain his ends by foul perjury — perchance, amongst his other projects he contemplates resorting to some base deed of cruelty, to force you to an act of perjury — compelling you, for instance, to say, that you were never received by him, nor treated by him as if you were his wife. It is the only ground on which the Chnrch could grant him a divorce. " Ah me ! Bertha, I shudder, when I think how this Henry has degraded the Church in Germany ; how he has soh^ so many of its mitres for money, and thus contrived to crowd the sanctuary with his own corrupt creatures — with sordid men, who seek promotion at his hands, or, with cravens who fear to provoke his enmity. I do beheve, my poor child, that if Henry appeals to such a tribunal for a divorce, that his proofs will not be very closely sifted ; for I do not beheve that there are at this moment more than five German liishop^j ready to lay down their lives in defence of the faith. And what are they amongst so THE EMPKESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 345 many 1 Before a tribunal so corrupt and so weak what chance have innocence, weak- ness and virtue, when assailed by power united to perjury 1 Alas ! none. " We have no hope in Germany. It is bound down with the strong fetters of a remorseless, pitiless, conscienceless tyrant. Our only hope is in Rome — our only chance of finding a protector in the Supreme Pontiff. To him we must appeal without a moment's delay ; for he alone is strong enough to resist Henry — and here it be- comes the duty of the Holy Father to re- sist him ; for Henry in seeking to repudiate you, seeks by perjury to violate the marriage vow he gave to you, and to force another — even the poor trembling girl before us — into a sacrilegious marriage. What say you, Bertha "^ Am I not right in declaring we should not lose a single moment in ap- pealing- to the Pope 1" " Oh r cried Bertha, •' that the Holy Father did but know all." " Bertha — my child — he shall know all. 346 BERTHA. Fortunately the Pope is much nearer to the borders of the German dominions than Henry wots of. This very night a trusty messenger bearing my declarations and yours, and shewing that you are, whatever may be the affirmations to the contrary-, the true and lawful wife of Henry shall be forwarded to his Holiness, and thus your husband be saved from a worse crime, if that be possible, than any of which he has yet been guilty." Bertha listened with the patient docility of a loving and a grateful daughter to the words of the Empress Agnes. She first kissed her hand and then both her cheeks : and then turning to Beatrice, and gazing long and steadfastly in her tear-bedewed, loving eyes, she herself burst into tears, and throwing her arras around the maiden's neck, she kissed her again, and again ; and as soon as she could suppress the emo- tions that made her tremble in every limb, she thus spoke to her : THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 347 " My innocent, my lovely, and my un- willing rival, I cannot look upon you, with- out feeling that you are my superior in all those attractions likely to win the ad- miration, and to secure the affections of a man, who has, from boyhood, rendered him- self the slave of female beauty. If I were not married to Henry — if I were like you a maiden, and he stood this moment before us, bound by no vow, pronounced in pre- sence of God's holy altar, I could not blame — nay, I must approve his judgment, if looking upon us both, he preferred you, and rejected me. It is not so. God has ordained it otherwise. He is my husband : I am his wife, until death parts us. He unfortunately has, in abandoning me, vio- lated the laws of God ; and your inno- cence, your beauty, and your virtues, have been as sins in his path, and urged him onward to be guilty of a greater crime against me, against you, and against Heaven. In all this you are, like myself, 348 BERTHA. an unoffending and a helpless victim. He would unrighteously take from me this royal circlet, the emblem of my dignity, and bestow it upon you. If you accepted it from his hands, you would participate in his sin ; but receiving it from mine, it shall ever remain a testimony of the love, and a proof of the ajffection entertained for you by Bertha — your queen and your friend/^ As Bertha spoke, she unloosed the sparkling diadem from her dark hair, and tendered it to Beatrice. Beatrice, instead of stretching forth her hand to receive the costly gift — precious as the ransom of a duke, bent her knee to Bertha, as a subject to a sovereign, and said, in words that were as sweet as music to the ear of the desolate wife : '' I pray your Majesty to pardon a poor ignorant girl, who knows not the manners of the great ones of this earth, if I pre- sume to dechne receiving that gorgeous THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 349 ornament. If I were to accept it, I would seem to you — at least I think so — as if I felt that I had done that which was worthy of commendation because I had preferred death to dishonor. Alas ! Lady — my generous sovereign — I cannot look upon you — your sweetness, your grace, your gentleness, and your beauty without marvelling how any one could estrange himself for a moment from your society — and I cannot but marvel at it the more^ when I think that he who does this is a king, and that having you to love, he should look upon any other of your sex ; for all are unworthy to be compared to you. " I know not how to flatter, sovereign lady, unless truth be flattery ; and now having defied my king, scorned his pro- posals, provoked his wrath, and exposed myself to his vengeance, because 1 preferred truth, honour, and virtue, to the smiles and favour of the greatest monarch upon this earth, I may be well believed by his 350 BERTHA. wife, my queen and my sovereign, when I thus kneel before her, and declare myself in every way unworthy to be comi^ared to her — unworthy to touch her hand — and how much the more unworthy to receive so costly a gift from her. " Pardon me then, Lady, when I say I cannot, must not, will not accept the diadem that you tender to me." The Empress stooped down to Beatrice as she knelt, and kissing her on the fore- head, exclaimed : " God bless thee maiden I for amongst thy other graces, thou art, I perceive, richly endowed with that most precious of vir- tues — a perfect humility. I cannot but perceive in thy attitude, as in thy garb as a novice, and in the virginal garland that decorates thy innocent head, tliat thou seemest to be one, that God has chosen for Himself~ioo good to be associated with mankind : too pure for this world and its vanities to be allowed to approach thee. THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 351 It seems to me that God will, in His mercy, spare tliee from the many sorrows of mar- riage, and preserve thee from a still greater misery — my misery — that of being the mother of a wilful, a wicked, and a diso- bedient child. Perchance, I may err in this supposition ; but in either case, accept this cross of briUiants— it is the gift of an Empress, and cannot be refused by a sub- ject. If thou shouldst be an earthly bride, it will be to thee precious, because of the holy thoughts it will awaken ; and to thy husband, if he should be sordid, it will be useful, because of its intrinsic value : but if, as I believe, thy bridegroom shall be One Whose love is unchanging in this world, and in the next, then this cross will be a fitting offering for thee to lay upon the altar of His Blessed mother." " And now, my dearest children," con- tinued the Empress, clasping, at the same time, a hand of Bertha and of Beatrice, " let us part, I trust to meet again in this 352 BERTHA. world. A s to Beatrice — although this pa- lace is a den of iniquity — and not only men, but even women are to be found in it ready to do the work of demons, still there are even here, a few, honest, good, faithful and pious persons. These shall have strict orders to watch over thee whilst thou remain, and to follow thy footsteps wheresoever thou mayest be conveyed. Conceal this cross of brilliants, and whenever thy hand touches it think of me — of the Empress, as a friend : and pray for her — as a sin- ner ! " Come, Bertha, I shall tell you how 1 mean to send my con^»munication to the Pope, so as to save you from shame, and this poor girl from dishonour. God bless thee, Beatrice ! Come Bertha." Bertha spoke not a word ; but hastily quitting the side of the Empress, as both were on the point of retiring from the apartment, she hurried back to Beatrice, andkissingher long and ardently,she merely THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 353 murmured, or rather whispered, as if it were an ejaculation into her ear : '' Pray for me also, dearest Beatrice, and — -for yourself!^ END OF VOL. I, T,C Nev.by, Printer, 30, VVelb^d< Street, CavenJi^ili Square. 30, Welbeck Street^ Cave7idish Square, London. Mr. NEWBY'S NEW WORKS OF HISTORY, TRAVELS, 8fc. VOLS. I. & II. {To be completed in 3 Vols.) A CATHOLIC HISTORY OF ENGLAIsTD, By W. B. MACCABE, Esq. Mr. Maccabe's mode of composition is as novel as his plan. Sacrificing ordinary literary pride, he makes the old Monkish writers compose the narrative — his ingenuity being displayed in the skill with which the passages, translated directly from the original, with all their natural vigour of language are connected, so as to produce an appearance of one- ness of design and continuity. He then fuses into one whole centuries of observation and narrative, and in fact revives those dead monks and scribes till they write his book. The plan is not only new, but it was necessary, as the reader will find if he com- pare the garbled and inaccurate version given by Hume and some other writers, with the original statements of the same events incorporated in these pages. He will also be better able to understand, when this universality of authorities is explained, why this book should be called a ' Catholic History.* The work is of great literary value. — Times. It deserves great encouragement from the people. — Economist. In Three Vols. Demy 8vo. A HISTOEY OF THE PAPAL STATES. from their origin to the present time. By John MILEY, D.D. Author of * Rome under Paganism and the Popes.' We commend * The History of the Papal States.' Every page is worthy of perusal, because it is the history of the past ; a narrative of contem- porary events, illustrated by profound learning, deep thought, refined taste, and great sagacity. — Dublin Eeview. We have gone through these volumes with consider- able interest and some advantage. We have no hesitation in recommending them, as characterized by a good deal of learning and eloquence, and as by no means deficient in original research. Daily News. In Two Vols. (Now ready,) £l l6. SEVEN YEAKS' SERVICE ON THE SLAVE COAST OF WESTERN AFRICA. BY SIR HENRY HUNTLEY. Author of ' Peregrine Scramble.' This work contains much that is graphic and entertaining. . . Atlas. For the lovers of exciting adventure, and mo\ing accidents, by field and flood, these volumes will be found to possess attractions surpassed by those of scarcely any one of the entertaining books, in which the present season nas been somewhat more than ordinarily fertile... Morning Chronicle. 30, Welbeck Street, Gamndish Square, London. THE MOST POPULAR In E W NOVELS OF THE SEASON, In Three Vols. (In December.) WARKWORTH CASTLE: AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. [miss jane porter's last letter.] Bristol, February, 22, 1849. "M^ Dear Sir, " I have the impression of your ' Warkworth Castle,' and its admirable design, so stamped on my mind, that I will not tempt myself to further delay in ex- pressing my cordial sympathy in your purpose to re- vive, in her picture, the noble impulses of the English Historical Eomacce amongst the youth of our coun- try ; to encourage them to the brave struggle against sordid pursuits and debasing propensities, which have so long been degrading England ! I own I feel my- self a kind of 'Ancient Sybil' in these things, it being full fifty years since my 'Scottish Chiefs,' * Thaddeusof Warsaw,' &c., came into the then untrod- den field — but what a splendid race of the like chro- niclers of their country's deeds have followed ! bright- ening the tract as they have advanced. The author of ' Waverley,' and all his soul-stirring ' Tales of my Landlord.' Then comes Mr. James with his histori- cal romances on British and foreign subjects, so admi- rably uniting the requisite fiction with the fact, that the whole seems equally veritable — but my feeble hand will not obey my wish to add more names to this march of British worthies ! I can only find power to say, with my now trembling pen, that I can- not but esteem, as a renewed link with my past days of lively interest in all that might promote the vir- tue and true honour of my cotemporaries from youth to age, the proposal with which you now distin- guish my setting literary sun, by desiring to dedi- cate your new work to me. " It will, indeed, be a pleasure to me to remember, when reading its interesting and instructive contents, that the song of noble deeds is again waking sweet melody on the banks of my ever esteemed and world- honoured Thames. " I should certainly desire to look on the old faces of the friends of my youth in Surrey and in Middlesex, before myself am called hence and * am no more seen.' " Believe me, dear sir, ** Faithfully yours, " JANE PORTER." In Three Vols. (NOW READY.) HENRY SMEATOIST: A JACOBITE STORY OF THE REIGN OF GEOUGE THE FIRST. BY G. P. E. JAMES, Esq., AUTHOR OF 'THE gipsy/ 'THE WOODMAi^/ &C. In Three Vols. (Now ready,) WIJ^TER NIGHTS BY CALDER CAMPBELL, AUTHOR OF " ROUGH RECOLLECTIONS," ETC. In Three Vols. (Now Ready.) BATHURfeT. BY THE AUTHOR OF " MELTON DE MOWBRAY," &C., &C , &C. In Three Vols., (Now Ready.) m OLD COUNTRY HOUSE. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE gambler's WIFe/' ETC., ETC. The story is well told, and some portions of the narrative are written with admirable skill. It is rather that the Reader feels that the incidents are affecting, than that the Author tells him so. There is an air of reality thrown round the whole story, which displays the practised pen. The ' Old Coun- try House ' will doubtless prove a very popular Novel, as it certainly deserves to be. Standard. In Three Vols. (SHORTLY.) THE PliOSELYTES, A NOVEL. In One Vol. ^0s. 6d., SCENES FROM ITALIAN LIFE, BY L. MARIOTTI, In Three Vols., (Shorfli/.) MASTERS AND SERVANTS. A NOVEL. By LORD B . LONDON : T. C. NEWBY, PUBLISHER, WELBEOK-STREET. UNIVERSITY OF ILUN0I8-URBANA 3 0112 049758284