The truce of God: A tale of the eleventh century

by George H. Miles

CHAPTER VI

No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

The sentence pronounced at Rome against Henry IV of Austria spread consternation wherever it went; the resolute prepared for instant action, and the timid looked in vain for a peaceful asylum. There could be no neutrality, since not to serve the king was to serve his antagonist. Throughout the empire the stern challenge was ringing: "Are you for the Pope or for the king?" The gay and reckless champions of the court, the knights of the house of Franconia, and many a bold adventurer, crowded around the royal banner. Many a haughty prelate, too, seduced by avarice or ambition, urged on the monarch in his mad career.

But the enterprise of Rodolph and the Lord of Hers had been most happily timed, and the chivalry of Suabia were prepared to follow their martial duke at a moment's warning. That warning followed shortly after the date of the last chapter. Gilbert had gained his chamber as the morn was breaking, and had hardly time to review the exciting events of the night, before an attendant announced his father's arrival. The Lord of Hers had reached Zurich on his return, just as the tidings from Rome had been received; and without pausing an instant, he hurried across the lake to convey the intelligence to the King of Arles. The baron was himself too much excited with the momentous results at last developed, and the still more momentous sequel already shadowed forth in the uncertain future, to remark the nervous and somewhat jaded appearance of his son. His first words, after hastily embracing Gilbert, were:

"Where is the duke?"

"At Stramen Castle," replied the youth.

"When did he arrive?"

"Last night," answered Gilbert, without reflecting that he was, as effectually as possible, giving his father a clue to his hare-brained expedition with Humbert. It was well for him that the baron was too well satisfied with the information to inquire how it had been obtained; for, incapable of deceiving his parent, he would have been compelled, very reluctantly, to submit a brief account of his connection with Ailred of Zurich, the minnesinger. A chilly anticipation of the question struck him, just as the words escaped his lips, and his cheek tingled as the blood came creeping against it. But, to his great relief, his father, without noticing his confusion, turned to a soldier who stood behind him, and thus addressed him:

"Mount your best horse and ride for life and limb to Stramen Castle! Here!" continued the baron, taking a fold of parchment from his breast, as the man, prompt to obey without question or hesitation, bowed and was going; "this for his highness, the King of Arles. Guard it with your life from the enemies of the duke, and if you meet the serfs of Stramen, proclaim your errand. Away! spare neither spur nor rein!" cried the knight, as the man dashed fearlessly down the hill.

Rodolph of Suabia was scarcely less anxious to see the Lord of Hers, than the latter had been to acquaint the duke with Gregory's rigorous measures. He felt assured that the infamous conventicle at Worms must have been already met by the Pope, and he thirsted for news from Rome. He knew that the Lord of Hers would be first in possession of the facts, from his position along the Rhine; and anxious not to lose a moment in executing his plans, which were to be regulated by the action of the Holy See, he could scarcely be prevailed upon to defer till daylight his return to Zurich by the Castle of Hers.

The baron's envoy had not accomplished half the distance between the rival castles, before he met the duke, unattended, as was his wont, bearing rapidly down upon him. He was no stranger to the lordly bearing of the duke, for he had watched him in battle, when the strife was warmest and the fight most dubious. The moment he recognized him, he sprang from his horse, and uncovering his head and kneeling down, presented the parchment as Rodolph advanced. Without dismounting, the duke received the missive, and eagerly unrolling it, began to read. The instrument contained a narrative of the proceedings of the council and a transcript of the sentence of excommunication. The noble's eagle eye flashed at it scanned the page, and his broad bosom heaved. He struck his breast in his excitement, and brandishing the parchment in the air, exclaimed aloud, in a deep, tremulous voice: "Well done, thou noble Pontiff! Now, my brother Henry, the time has come, and heaven be the judge between us!"

With these meaning words Rodolph galloped on, unmindful of the soldier behind him. Yet it would seem he had not entirely forgotten the messenger, for when alighting at the Castle of Hers, he threw the man a largess such as had never fallen to his lot before.

The duke could not but smile when he saw Gilbert, and taking him aside, he whispered in his ear: "You will soon have an opportunity to display upon the battle-field the gallantry of the Bohemian harp-bearer, and to couch a lance for Suabia and the Lady Margaret!"

"But how can I thank you for—"

"Thank that generous priest and that noble girl!" said Rodolph, interrupting the youth; "I ran no risk in interposing: the Baron of Stramen was but cancelling an old debt; I intercepted a battle-axe that was descending upon him at Hohenburg, and I asked mercy for you, in requital."

After a long interview, the duke and Albert of Hers resolved to assemble the chiefs of the ducal party at Ulm, and to fix the fifteenth of October for a general meeting, at Tribur, of all who would take up arms against the king.

While the Lord of Hers was engaged in persuading the Duke of Bohemia and the bishops of Würtzburg and Worms to repair to Ulm without delay, Gilbert was polishing his armor and exercising his barb. The stirring spirit of the times, the approaching honors of knighthood, with a golden chance of winning his spurs, assisted in diverting his mind from a melancholy contemplation of the hopelessness of his love. But even when brandishing his stout lance, or wheeling his good war-horse, he would hear those withering words: "The grave will anticipate her choice!" followed by the fatal echo which came from her own lips, in solemn confirmation of the prophecy: "My days are numbered here!" Nor could the dazzling dreams of young ambition shut out the still more delicious sight of the Lady Margaret, now kneeling before the Mater Dolorosa, now appealing to him with the pure emotion and wondrous beauty of an Angel, and now clinging to her father between him and the battle-axe.

While the stern Sandrit de Stramen was preparing his vassals for the impending strife, and literally converting the scythe into the sword—while he spared no expense or trouble in supplying his men with arms and horses, all gayly decorated to make a gallant show at Tribur—while the sturdy yeomen were leaving their ploughs in the field to pay their rent by the service of shield and sword—the Lady Margaret, uninfluenced by the war-like bustle, calmly pursued her meditations, her daily visits to the church, and her numberless acts of charity. She had a delicate and difficult duty to perform in soothing the proud mind of her brother, stung to the quick by his unlucky encounter with Gilbert. The young knight of Stramen was panting for an opportunity to retrieve his misfortune and wipe out his fancied disgrace. When in conversation with his sister, to whom he would outpour his passionate impulses, he pledged himself over and over again to bring the daring stripling to his knee, who had dared to insult her in his absence. To his fiery threats, Margaret would offer no direct opposition, for she feared to awaken an easily excited suspicion that she sympathized far too warmly with the culprit. This suspicion would have paralyzed her influence. She contented herself with pointing out the impossibility of settling a domestic quarrel at the present moment, and the imperative duty of considering rather the public weal than the gratification of a private inclination. And at times, when Henry appeared more tractable, and when, moved by her tender affection and earnest discourse, he exhibited a disposition more closely resembling her own, she would suggest what a nobler and better revenge it would be to seek an opportunity of saving Gilbert's life in the coming struggle. Henry's chivalrous nature was easily attracted by this suggestion, and he determined to prove his superiority over his rival, before attempting his ultimate revenge.

Father Omehr's duties increased as the fifteenth of October approached. The yeomen and vassals of Stramen recked little of their bodies, but they cared not to peril their souls. They feared not to expose their breasts to the arrow and lance, and to meet the powerful war-horse with unflinching spear; but they were solicitous, at the same time, to purify their hearts for the mortal struggle. This wise precaution indicates no craven spirit, for he who fears eternity the most, fears death the least. The good missionary beheld with a mournful eye the preparations everywhere making for a struggle apparently inevitable. He shared not in the ambition of Rodolph or the ardor of his barons; and he bitterly lamented the dire necessity which compelled blessed peace to disappear beneath the withering breath of war. Yet war seemed to be the unavoidable result of the excommunication, and the action of the Pope was necessary to preserve the purity and liberty of the Church. Deeply as he deplored the present crisis, he exclaimed, "Thy will, O God, be done! We have done what seemed to be our duty, be the consequences what they may!"

The empire was thus divided into two great parties. At first the partisans of the king were much more numerous and powerful, but their strength was daily diminishing, as conscience began to operate upon some, and fear upon others. The most marked and appalling chastisement was overtaking the fiercest calumniators of the Pope. It happened that, on a certain festival, the Bishop William, in the presence of the king, interrupted the Mass by a violent denunciation of the Pope, in which he called him an adulterer and false apostle, and assailed him with bitter raillery. Hardly had the ceremonies been concluded before the episcopal slanderer was struck down with a fatal malady. In the midst of the most excruciating torments of mind and body, he turned to the minions of Henry who surrounded him, and cried: "Go, tell the king, that he, and I, and all who have connived at his guilt, are lost for eternity!" The clerks at his bedside conjured him not to rave in that manner; but he replied, "And why shall I not reveal what is clear to my soul? Behold the demons clinging to my couch, to possess themselves of my soul the moment it leaves my body. I entreat you—you, and all the faithful, not to pray for me after my death!" With this he died in despair. The same day, the cathedral of Utrecht, in which he had preached, and the royal pavilion, were suddenly consumed by fire from heaven. Burchard, Bishop of Misne, Eppo of Ceitz, Henry of Spire, and the Duke Gazelon, were successively the victims of sudden and fatal misfortunes. Whatever may be the impression produced at the present day, it is certain that these examples and a great number of others, struck terror into the partisans of the king, and many prelates and priests threw themselves at the feet of the Pope and renounced their errors. Thus, Udo, Archbishop of Trèves, repaired all penitent to Rome, and Herman of Metz began to waver in his hitherto steady fidelity to Henry.

While these causes were sapping the imperial power, Henry was unexpectedly menaced from another quarter. The two sons of Count Geron, William and Thiery, who had for some time secretly cherished the hope of regaining the lost freedom of their country, saw in the present confusion the moment for which they had sighed. They raised the standard of revolt, and were soon at the head of a band of young and noble chieftains, whose intrepid bearing and dauntless confidence inspired the nation with the desire and the hope of liberty. The escape of the two Saxon princes from Henry's hands and their arrival in Saxony gave an irresistible impulse to the movement, and the whole circle, animated by the same spirit, rose haughtily to throw off the heavy yoke, never patiently endured.

Rodolph lost not a moment in concentrating his forces and in profiting by this new defection. He had already secured the powerful assistance of Berthold of Carinthia and Welf of Bavaria, and could now oppose to the emperor the formidable league of Suabia, Carinthia, Bavaria, and a portion of Lombardy. His policy evidently was to conciliate the Saxons, and he deemed their impiety sufficiently chastised at Hohenburg. He took care to assure them that so far from having anything to apprehend from his opposition to their enterprise, they might rely upon his assistance and countenance.

Henry had long affected a contempt for the anathemas of Gregory and an unconcern he was far from feeling; but this formidable coalition burst the shell of his apathy and laid bare his uneasiness. He supplicates his nobles in the disaffected provinces to meet him at Mayence; but his earnest prayers are disregarded. Finding his advances indignantly rejected by the princes of Upper Germany, and seeing that his prelates were rapidly deserting him, he addresses himself to the task of conciliating the Saxons. He employs every artifice to excite Otto of Nordheim against the two sons of Geron—menacing Otto's own sons, whom he held as hostages, in case the father refused. But the noble Saxon replied, that he would stand or fall by his country. Though signally foiled in all his schemes, Henry was still at the head of a numerous and veteran army, and he boldly advanced upon the marches of the Misne, to give battle to the sons of Geron. The Saxons did not wait an attack, but sallied forth to meet the monarch. The Mulda, swollen with the recent rains, alone separated the hostile armies, when the king, seized with a sudden panic, ordered a hasty retreat, and fell back upon Worms, where he gave himself up to a lively regret and the gloomiest forebodings.

The Saxons exulting in their first success, wished to revive the league with Suabia; but first besought the Holy See to indicate which side they should espouse. Gregory's saintly and heroic reply displays the pure motives by which he was animated in excommunicating the king, and which continued to govern his conduct throughout the contest. He cannot recommend the anathematized monarch to the embraces of the Saxons—nor, on the other hand, does he entirely commend the self-interested zeal of Rodolph. He wishes to humble the king without exalting his adversaries— to reform the empire without a civil war. Had he possessed a particle of the lofty ambition which has sometimes been ascribed to him, this was the moment to attach the Saxons to the Suabian confederacy, and give a death-blow to the Franconian line. But instead of an animated exhortation to arms, in the name of outraged religion, the magnanimous Pontiff writes: "Forget not, I pray you, the frailty of human nature; and remember the piety of his father and his mother, unequalled in our time." Gregory's respect for Henry's parents seems to have inspired him with the charitable hope, which never deserted him, that the king would renounce his vices and return to virtue. It is well to keep this in view, since it is easier, after an inquiry into the struggle between them, to justify the severity than the lenity of the Holy See.

The fifteenth of October had at length arrived, and the eyes of Germany were eagerly directed to Tribur. The left bank of the Rhine was glittering with the chivalry of Upper Germany, and the legions of Suabia were encamped along the bristling river. Here might be seen the swarthy Bohemian, the stern Thuringian rider, the gay Loinhard, and the gigantic Swiss, all mingling together, and apparently indifferent as to where they might be led. Gilbert de Hers felt a new and ardent delight in gazing upon the long and dazzling array of helmets and spears. He longed for the hour when the whole mass would be in motion against a body as beautiful and powerful as itself. With far different feelings did Father Omehr behold the formidable battalia. He knew that the pomp of war, if often sung by poets, is oftener chronicled in hell. In the beautiful language of the age, he had been taught that "Peace is the language of heaven, for Christ, who came from heaven, spoke that language, saying, 'Pax vobis!' It is the language of Angels, who cried, exulting, 'In terra pax!' It is the language of the Apostles, who thus greeted every house they entered: 'Pax huic domui'" Were the hasty and unscrupulous penmen of our generation to draw their information from the writings of the Saints, instead of from martial legends or miserable perversions even of these, they would find the spirit of the Ages of Faith eminently pacific, and could be induced so to represent it. At least, the Church, the teacher and the regenerator of Europe, breathed nothing but "Peace!" Many holy doctors went so far as to condemn hunting, as being calculated to make men love war. And even the war-cry of the red-crossed knights was: "Mansuetudinem quærimus et non bella!"

The nobles of the empire, the principal prelates who remained faithful to Rome, and the Papal legates, Siccard, Patriarch of Aquileia, and Altmann, Bishop of Passau, were assembled within the town in solemn council. Scarcely, however, had their deliberations begun, before Otto of Nordheim, at the head of the flower of Saxony, appeared among them and declared himself in their favor. Then former jealousies and wrongs were forgotten, and Otto and Welf and Rodolph, cordially embracing each other, devoted themselves to the execution of whatever enterprise the common cause might require. Seven days were consumed by the council in the discussion of the diseases, the wants, and the dangers of the State. In the meantime, Henry, apprised of the meeting, had hastened with his army to Oppenheim, and occupied the opposite side of the river.

When informed that his cruelty, his blasphemy, his perfidy were strongly exposed and unanimously condemned, and that he was denounced as a violator of law and propriety, false to the dignity of the Church, and faithless to the State, he implored the princes to accept his contrition, and offered to resign all but the insignia of royalty, with which he could not honorably part, and to give hostages for his future good behavior. But the council replied that they knew his sincerity too well to desire another proof of it; and that a perfidy so deeply rooted as his must be incurable. The messages of the monarch served only to inflame his opponents still more violently against him; and the princes, disgusted with his pretended submission, resolved to elect a new king, pass the Rhine, and attack the imperial troops. Henry, driven to despair, concentrated his forces upon a single point, and prepared to give battle, determined to conquer or die.

But here, again, the peaceful spirit of the Church interfered to prevent a scene of carnage, by withholding the Apostolical suffrage from the nominee to the imperial dignity. As in almost every battle chronicled by Froissart, the bishops at first passed from army to army, exhorting to peace, and studying to bring the point in dispute to an amicable adjustment, so at this moment the Papal legates and the bishops compelled the confederates to give the king to the end of the year to repent, if he complied with certain conditions, the observance of which was required for the peace and safety of Germany. The two most important of these conditions were, to retire from public life, and to seek, in person, at Rome, the raising of the interdict. It is impossible not to see in this arrangement the finger of Gregory, solicitous to avert bloodshed, and directed by his magnanimous and charitable repugnance to credit Henry's utter depravity.

There were some who regretted this peaceful result, among whom the stern Baron of Stramen was conspicuous for his open denunciation of the treaty nor could the polished Lord of Hers conceal his contempt for a compromise, which threw away a present advantage, in consideration of the fear-extorted oath of a perjured debauchee. Rodolph himself deeply regretted that the Pope would not consent to crown him king, a consummation he required before acting against his brother, lest he should be branded as a rebel. Even Gilbert and Henry of Stramen were crestfallen in the blight of all their budding hopes. Of all our Suabian friends, Father Omehr was the only one who rejoiced in this amicable termination of the council, and who devoutly returned thanks to God for averting a direful war, and proclaiming, in the favorite language of heaven, "Pax fiat!"

During two months and a half, Henry buried himself in solitude at Spire. Rodolph remained watchful and expectant, now at Zurich, and now in Saxony. All was calm in the lordships of Hers and Stramen. The Lady Margaret was lamenting the absence of Father Omehr, who had been summoned to Rome, and whose missionary duties were performed by the pious Herman.

The year of grace was drawing to a close, and the proud baron began to hope that the emperor would permit it to pass without observing the stipulation in the treaty to repair to Rome and ask pardon of the Pope. The new year had begun, and January was half over when the King of Arles was startled with the intelligence that Henry had purchased from Adelaide, the widow of the Margrave Otho, a free passage into Italy, and, in spite of snow and ice, had crossed the Alps, and was approaching the fortress of Canossa, whither Gregory had retired. At first it was rumored that the monarch had gone to depose the Pope, and the Duke of Suabia secretly exulted in the prospect of instant action. But it was soon ascertained that Henry presented himself in the character of a suppliant, and the result of his application was awaited with breathless interest.

Early in the spring of 1077, toward the close of a cold, bright day, Rodolph was seated in his palace at Zurich, surrounded by Albert of Hers and Gilbert, on one side, and on the other, by Sandrit and Henry of Stramen. This strange meeting, though unexpected and unwelcome to the hostile knights, was designed by Rodolph, who thought that by thus accustoming them to restrain their passions in his presence, and by distinguishing them with equal confidence, aid praising both sides in equal measure, he might control, in some degree, the antipathies he could not entirely subdue. But the barons maintained a stern, unyielding reserve, and Gilbert studiously avoided the disdainful gaze of Henry of Stramen. The lamps were scarcely lighted when a messenger from Rome was announced, and the next moment Father Omehr entered the room.

The nobles rose, and, greeting the venerable missionary respectfully and affectionately, conducted him to a seat, and gathered about him. When the attendants had been dismissed, and the duke invited him to proceed, Father Omehr thus began to describe the interview between the Pope and the king, to which he had been an eye-witness:

"I had the happiness to be with His Holiness when Henry was conducted by the noisy populace to the walls of Canossa; and though we knew not with any certainty whether the king's intentions were inimical or friendly, I could discover in the Pontiff's placid face neither hope nor fear. The first prayer presented by the royal suppliant, ascribed ambition and envy to the leaders of the coalition against him."

"Tyrant!" interposed the Lord of Hers, "he begins his penitence by a calumny."

"Our Holy Father only replied," continued the priest, "that the ecclesiastical law did not permit him to judge the accused in the absence of his accusers; and invited him, since he confided in his innocence, to meet his accusers at Augsburg, and abide by the Papal decision."

"Yes!" exclaimed Rodolph, eagerly. "And what said the king?"

"That the anniversary of his excommunication was approaching, and that unless the interdict were raised, his rights to the crown would be forfeited. Should the Pope receive him to favor at once, he promised to submit to whatever His Holiness might subsequently decree, and answer his accusers at Augsburg."

"Artful villain!" ejaculated Albert of Hers.

"But His Holiness remained inflexible," resumed the missionary. "At last, moved by the prayers and tears of those around him, he permitted Henry to approach him, to prove his penitence and atone for his contempt of the Holy See. The prince delayed not to avail himself of this grace; and the next morning presented himself at the inner gate of the castle, barefoot and in sackcloth, where he remained, fasting, from daybreak to sunset. This he repeated the second and the third day."

"Oh that I had seen him in that saintly guise!" cried the duke, with a short, disdainful laugh, while he rubbed his hands, and pressed the floor with his iron heel.

"Consummate hypocrite!" said the Lord Albert.

"Coward!" muttered the Baron of Stramen.

"I think I can hear his piteous cries now," continued Father Omehr, endeavoring to excite their compassion, "put forth at intervals: 'Parce, beate Pater, pie, parce mihi, peto, plane!'"

But the nobles only expressed extreme disgust.

"Finally," proceeded the priest, "the supplications of the saintly countess, Matilda, and of many holy men, induced our good Father to raise the anathema on these conditions, proposed to the king, still barefoot and numbed with cold."

A deathlike silence prevailed as the missionary began the enumeration:

"That Henry should appear at Augsburg—that the Pope should be the judge—that he should submit without resistance to the decision—that he should banish the excommunicated bishops and favorites—and if one of these conditions were violated, that his guilt would be deemed established, and the princes of the empire at liberty to elect another king."

The knights still sat in silence, as if spell-bound, while Father Omehr calmly went on with his narrative:

"The monarch swore to observe the compact inviolably. But to give additional solemnity to the oath, the Pontiff, while celebrating the Mass that followed the reconciliation, turned from the altar, and thus addressed the king: 'Do, if it please you, my son, as you have seen me do. The German princes are continually charging you with crimes for which they demand an interdict over you for life, not only from the seals of royalty, but from all communion with the Church or society. They demand your immediate condemnation; but you know the uncertainty of human judgments. Do, then, as I advise you, and if you are conscious of innocence, rid the Church of this scandal and yourself of these imputations! Receive this other half of the Host, that this proof of your innocence may silence your enemies, and I pledge myself to be your best champion in appeasing your barons and in arresting this civil war!'"

"And Henry?—" whispered Rodolph, trembling with excitement.

"Recoiled from a proof so terrible," answered the missionary.

The duke still occupied his chair, with his forehead knit, and his arms folded on his breast, but the Lord of Hers sprang to his feet and began to pace the room, and the Baron of Stramen brought his battle-axe heavily against the floor.

"Tell me," said Albert of Hers, addressing Father Omehr, "did not the
Pope revoke his pardon at this evident insincerity?"

"No," was the reply.

"Then, may God forgive me," returned the excited knight, "but the mercy of His Holiness sounds like human folly!"

"It is weakness—cowardice!" muttered the Baron of Stramen.

The missionary smiled at cowardice in connection with the name of
Gregory VII.

A bright smile now began to break over Rodolph's face, and he said, turning to his friends:

"My gallant knights, this is but an expedient of the king's to gain time, he will never confront us at Augsburg. We must prepare for a struggle more desperate than ever, and, before another day, I must set out for Saxony."

The prophecy of the King of Arles was soon verified. For five days after leaving Canossa, Henry kept his oath; on the sixth he broke it, and, with an armed band, prevented the Pope from appearing among the princes at the Diet of Augsburg.

Before another week had passed, the lordships of Hers and Stramen seemed almost deserted. Rodolph had passed into Saxony, to assemble an army there, leaving Welf, the Duke of Bavaria, and the Lord Albert, to collect the forces of Suabia. Rodolph had taken with him the Baron of Stramen, with his son, and Gilbert de Hers. Father Omehr, who had been secretly charged by the Pope to moderate the zeal of the King of Arles, had also followed the duke, commuting his flock and the Lady Margaret to the care of Herman. It was with a heavy heart that Gilbert saw the towers of Stramen fading in the distance, and felt that he was leaving, perhaps forever, a being to whom he was so deeply attached, without a word, a glance, or even a look. He had, however, evinced his solicitude for the Lady Margaret's welfare by solemnly charging Humbert to watch over her in his absence and protect her with his life.

The knights and burghers of Suabia were now assembling at Ulm. Scarce a man could be seen between the Danube and the Lake of Constance: mothers were working in the fields, with their children about them, and here and there some old or infirm vassal was seated at his cabin door. Little did the Lady Margaret dream, as she gazed from her lattice over the beautiful country, dipping down into the river, dotted all over with thriving cottages, from which the quiet smoke of peace was curling—little did she think, as she watched the green fields struggling through the melting snow, and fixed her eyes upon the Church of the Nativity, how soon those Cottages would flame, those fields be red with human gore, and that church be polluted by a hireling soldiery. Little did she think, when praying for the safety of her father and brother, that her own paternal castle would be the first victim of the war.