CHAPTER VII
The wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
HENRY IV.
Shut out from Augsburg by the treachery of the emperor, Gregory VII retired to Canossa, where he resolved to let the affairs of Germany shape themselves for a time, while he awaited a more favorable moment for action. Nor was his gigantic mind occupied with Germany alone, and the movements there which menaced his life and the liberty and purity of the Church. Dalmatia, Poland, and England claimed his constant attention. With the most powerful monarch in Europe plotting his downfall, he contrived to win the love and obedience of Zwonomir, to force the rebellious Boleslaus from his throne, and to purify England still more from simony and incontinency.
As Henry's submission to the Pope had disgusted the bold who were ready to assist him, and repelled the timid who waited but a second call, so his shameless perjury and fearless defiance of Gregory at Augsburg reassembled his professional adherents, and inspired with new courage those who secretly clung to his cause. The mitres of Luinar, Benno, Burchardt of Lausanne, and Eppo of Ceitz again sparkled around him, and Eberhard, Berthold, and Ulric of Cosheim displayed their lances to confirm his resolution. In every country and in every age there must exist a large and powerful party prone to pleasure and license, which is easily arrayed against virtue, when the indulgence of their criminal passions is threatened. This party is ever formidable, especially when supported by a powerful king, nobly descended, and legally invested with the crown. A natural sympathy, too, had been awakened for the emperor, as numbed with cold he besought the pity of the Pontiff; and, with proverbial fickleness, men, in ascribing humility to the king, imputed arrogance to the Pope. Owing to these causes, it was not long before Henry found himself stronger than ever. Inflamed with new ardor, he loudly lamented his submission at Canossa, and cursing the hours of misery passed there, swore speedy vengeance against the presumptuous son of Bonizo the carpenter.
Rodolph had no sooner reached Forchheim, than it was announced that a general diet would be held there for the discussion of matters of vital importance to the Church and State, with the suggestion that the absence of the king would facilitate their deliberations. The Count Mangold de Veringen was despatched to the Pope, inviting him to sanction the diet by his presence, to aid them by his wisdom and intrepidity, and to take the helm of the tempest-tossed vessel of state. He was also commissioned to inform His Holiness of their determination to elect a new king. The Pope, in reply, conjured them not to be precipitate, and to wait his arrival before they acted.
There was one feature in the proposed diet to which Gregory objected—the attempted exclusion of Henry from any participation in it. This he endeavored to remedy by obtaining a promise from the emperor to attend the meeting in person. It was partly to avoid the appearance of partiality, but principally in the hope of reconciling the angry factions, that the Pope requested the presence of his unscrupulous antagonist. Henry not only recoiled from his engagement, but, by blocking up all the avenues to Forchheim, compelled the Pope to remain at Carpineta, unable either to enter Germany or return to Rome.
Bernard, cardinal deacon, Bernard, Abbé of St. Victor, and the celebrated Guimond, the Papal legates, announced to the confederates the desire of His Holiness that they should wait his arrival. But the assembled nobles dreaded the least delay. Already their cause was weakened by indecision, and a hostile army was in the field, receiving daily accessions. Though May had been fixed for the opening of the diet, so great was the impatience of Rodolph and his barons, that it was concluded in the middle of March. No sooner had the legates delivered their instructions, than deliberations were virtually begun. The chiefs directed all their efforts to induce the legates to sanction the election of a king, and confirm their choice. Guimond and his companions, faithful to their instructions, replied: "It were far better to await the arrival of His Holiness"; but they added, imprudently, "that they did not wish to oppose their advice to the wisdom of the princes, who knew much better than they what was most conducive to the interests of the State." Assuming an implied permission to act from these words of courtesy, the nobles proceeded at once to cast their votes. A scene of confusion ensued, created by the jarring of private interests. These were finally quelled by the interposition of the Papal legates, and the balloting proceeded without interruption. The vote of the bishops alone remained to be taken. The Archbishop of Mayence rose, and exercising his prescriptive title, gave the first voice for Rodolph of Suabia. Adalbert and the other bishops followed his example. Otto, Welf, Berthold, ranged themselves on the same side, and amid universal acclamations Rodolph was proclaimed king.
Something still remained—the Papal confirmation. There were some who were sad and mute amid the general rejoicings, and among them was Father Omehr. In vain had he implored Rodolph to postpone the session, at least until the appointed time would arrive: the King of Arles regarded the delay as suicidal. In vain, too, he conjured the legates to refuse their approval, at least until May, and begged them, with tears in his eyes, not to give the signal for civil war. All the princes and a majority of the bishops conceived that the denial of the Apostolic benediction would destroy the hopes of the Church party. They beheld in themselves the champions of the Church, and identified their own welfare with that of the Holy See; they believed that Gregory was only restrained by circumstances from granting the prayers of those who had sworn never to desert him; they maintained that although the Pope might not have permitted the election, he could not refuse to sanction their choice after it had been made. Moved by these passionate representations, and, perhaps, expecting to please the Sovereign Pontiff, the legates yielded, and confirmed the election of Rodolph.
When Rodolph heard that he had been called to the throne he shut himself up in his room and sent for Father Omehr. Scarce a minute elapsed before the missionary stood at his side. They gazed at each other in silence for some moments. The duke's lips were compressed, and his brow gathered into a deep frown. Mingled sorrow and hope were portrayed in the missionary's face, and his breast heaved with excitement.