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Édition d'Élite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
Dramatists," etc._
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume V
German
J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1893, by J.B. Lippincott Company.
Copyright, 1904, by J.B. Lippincott Company.
Copyright, 1908, by J.B. Lippincott Company.
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
HERMANN, THE HERO OF GERMANY 7
ALBION AND ROSAMOND 19
THE CAREER OF GRIMOALD 28
WITTEKIND, THE SAXON PATRIOT 37
THE RAIDS OF THE SEA-ROVERS 47
THE CAREER OF BISHOP HATTO 58
THE MISFORTUNES OF DUKE ERNST 64
THE REIGN OF OTHO II 69
THE FORTUNES OF HENRY THE FOURTH 77
THE ANECDOTES OF MEDIÆVAL GERMANY 92
FREDERICK BARBAROSSA AND MILAN 105
THE CRUSADE OF FREDERICK II 118
THE FALL OF THE GHIBELLINES 129
THE TRIBUNAL OF THE HOLY VEHM 138
WILLIAM TELL AND THE SWISS PATRIOTS 148
THE BLACK DEATH AND THE FLAGELLANTS 162
THE SWISS AT MORGARTEN 170
A MAD EMPEROR 176
SEMPACH AND ARNOLD WINKELRIED 187
ZISKA, THE BLIND WARRIOR 198
THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE 210
LUTHER AND THE INDULGENCES 217
SOLYMAN THE MAGNIFICENT AT GUNTZ 229
THE PEASANTS AND THE ANABAPTISTS 238
THE FORTUNES OF WALLENSTEIN 252
THE END OF TWO GREAT SOLDIERS 265
THE SIEGE OF VIENNA 277
THE YOUTH OF FREDERICK THE GREAT 288
VOLTAIRE AND FREDERICK THE GREAT 305
SCENES FROM THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR 315
THE PATRIOTS OF THE TYROL 328
THE OLD EMPIRE AND THE NEW 343
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
GERMAN.
PAGE
MAXIMILIAN RECEIVING VENETIAN DELEGATION 7
RETURN OF HERMANN AFTER HIS VICTORY OVER THE ROMANS 13
THE BAPTISM OF WITTEKIND 43
THE MOUSE-TOWER ON THE RHINE 61
PEASANT WEDDING PROCESSION 65
SCENE OF MONASTIC LIFE 78
THUSNELDA IN THE GERMANICUS TRIUMPH 94
THE AMPHITHEATRE AT MILAN 109
STATUE OF WILLIAM TELL 153
THE CASTLE OF PRAGUE 175
STATUE OF ARNOLD WINKELRIED 193
STATUE OF LUTHER AT WORMS 225
THE MOSQUE OF SOLYMAN, CONSTANTINOPLE 236
OLD HOUSES AT MÜNSTER 246
WALLENSTEIN 252
THE PARLIAMENT HOUSE IN VIENNA 278
STATUE OF FREDERICK THE GREAT, UNTER DEN LINDEN, BERLIN 289
SANS SOUCI, PALACE OF FREDERICK THE GREAT 315
THE LAST DAY OF ANDREAS HOFER 340
A GERMAN MILK WAGON 347
[Illustration: MAXIMILIAN RECEIVING VENETIAN DELEGATION.]
_HERMANN, THE HERO OF GERMANY._
In the days of Augustus, the emperor of Rome in its golden age of
prosperity, an earnest effort was made to subdue and civilize barbarian
Germany. Drusus, the step-son of the emperor, led the first army of
invasion into this forest-clad land of the north, penetrating deeply
into the country and building numerous forts to guard his conquests. His
last invasion took him as far as the Elbe. Here, as we are told, he
found himself confronted by a supernatural figure, in the form of a
woman, who waved him back with lofty and threatening air, saying, "How
much farther wilt thou advance, insatiable Drusus? It is not thy lot to
behold all these countries. Depart hence! the term of thy deeds and of
thy life is at hand." Drusus retreated, and died on his return.
Tiberius, his brother, succeeded him, and went far to complete the
conquest he had begun. Germany seemed destined to become a Roman
province. The work of conquest was followed by efforts to civilize the
free-spirited barbarians, which, had they been conducted wisely, might
have led to success. One of the Roman governors, Sentius, prefect of the
Rhine, treated the people so humanely that many of them adopted the arts
and customs of Rome, and the work of overcoming their barbarism was
well begun. He was succeeded in this office by Varus, a friend and
confidant of the emperor, but a man of very different character, and one
who not only lacked military experience and mental ability, but utterly
misunderstood the character of the people he was dealing with. They
might be led, they could not be driven into civilization, as the new
prefect was to learn.
All went well as long as Varus remained peacefully in his head-quarters,
erecting markets, making the natives familiar with the attractive wares
of Rome, instructing them in civilized arts, and taking their sons into
the imperial army. All went ill when he sought to hasten his work by
acts of oppression, leading his forces across the Weser into the land of
the Cherusci, enforcing there the rigid Roman laws, and chastising and
executing free-born Germans for deeds which in their creed were not
crimes. Varus, who had at first made himself loved by his kindness, now
made himself hated by his severity. The Germans brooded over their
wrongs, awed by the Roman army, which consisted of thirty thousand
picked men, strongly intrenched, their camps being impregnable to their
undisciplined foes. Yet the high-spirited barbarians felt that this army
was but an entering wedge, and that, if not driven out, their whole
country would gradually be subdued.
A patriot at length arose among the Cherusci, determined to free his
country from the intolerable Roman yoke. He was a handsome and athletic
youth, Arminius, or Hermann as the Germans prefer to name him, of noble
descent, and skilled alike in the arts of war and of oratory, his
eloquence being equal to his courage. He was one of the sons of the
Germans who had served in the Roman armies, and had won there such
distinction as to gain the honors of knighthood and citizenship. Now,
perceiving clearly the subjection that threatened his countrymen, and
filled with an ardent love of liberty, he appeared among them, and
quickly filled their dispirited souls with much of his own courage and
enthusiasm. At midnight meetings in the depths of the forests a
conspiracy against Varus and his legions was planned, Hermann being the
chosen leader of the perilous enterprise.
It was not long before this conspiracy was revealed. The German control
over the Cherusci had been aided by Segestus, a treacherous chief, whose
beautiful and patriotic daughter, Thusnelda, had given her hand in
marriage to Hermann, against her father's will. Filled with revengeful
anger at this action, and hoping to increase his power, Segestus told
the story of the secret meetings, which he had discovered, to Varus, and
bade him beware, as a revolt against him might at any moment break out.
He spoke to the wrong man. Pride in the Roman power and scorn of that of
the Germans had deeply infected the mind of Varus, and he heard with
incredulous contempt this story that the barbarians contemplated rising
against the best trained legions of Rome.
Autumn came, the autumn of the year 9 A.D. The long rainy season of the
German forests began. Hermann decided that the time had arrived for the
execution of his plans. He began his work with a deceitful skill that
quite blinded the too-trusting Varus, inducing him to send bodies of
troops into different parts of the country, some to gather provisions
for the winter supply of the camps, others to keep watch over some
tribes not yet subdued. The Roman force thus weakened, the artful German
succeeded in drawing Varus with the remainder of his men from their
intrenchments, by inducing one of the subjected tribes to revolt.
The scheme of Hermann had, so far, been completely successful. Varus,
trusting to his representations, had weakened his force, and now
prepared to draw the main body of his army out of camp. Hermann remained
with him to the last, dining with him the day before the starting of the
expedition, and inspiring so much confidence in his faithfulness to Rome
that Varus refused to listen to Segestus, who earnestly entreated him to
take Hermann prisoner on the spot. He even took Hermann's advice, and
decided to march on the revolted tribe by a shorter than the usual
route, oblivious to the fact that it led through difficult mountain
passes, shrouded in forests and bordered by steep and rocky acclivities.
The treacherous plans of the patriotic German had fully succeeded. While
the Romans were toiling onward through the straitened passes, Hermann
had sought his waiting and ambushed countrymen, to whom he gave the
signal that the time for vengeance had come. Then, as if the dense
forests had borne a sudden crop of armed men, the furious barbarians
poured out in thousands upon the unsuspecting legionaries.
A frightful storm was raging. The mountain torrents, swollen by the
downpour of rain, over--flowed their banks and invaded the passes, along
which the Romans, encumbered with baggage, were wearily dragging onward
in broken columns. Suddenly, to the roar of winds and waters, was added
the wild war-cry of the Germans, and a storm of arrows, javelins, and
stones hurtled through the disordered ranks, while the barbarians,
breaking from the woods, and rushing downward from the heights, fell
upon the legions with sword and battle-axe, dealing death with every
blow.
Only the discipline of the Romans saved them from speedy destruction.
With the instinct of their training they hastened to gather into larger
bodies, and their resistance, at first feeble, soon became more
effective. The struggle continued until night-fall, by which time the
surviving Romans had fought their way to a more open place, where they
hastily intrenched. But it was impossible for them to remain there.
Their provisions were lost or exhausted, thousands of foes surrounded
them, and their only hope lay in immediate and rapid flight.
Sunrise came. The soldiers had recovered somewhat from the fatigue of
the day before. Setting fire to what baggage remained in their hands,
they began a retreat fighting as they went, for the implacable enemy
disputed every step. The first part of their route lay through an open
plain, where they marched in orderly ranks. But there were mountains
still to pass, and they quickly found themselves in a wooded and
pathless valley, in whose rugged depths defence was almost impossible.
Here they fell in thousands before the weapons of their foes. It was but
a small body of survivors that at length escaped from that deadly defile
and threw up intrenchments for the night in a more open spot.
With the dawn of the next day they resumed their progress, and were at
no great distance from their stronghold of Aliso when they found their
progress arrested by fresh tribes, who assailed them with murderous
fury. On they struggled, fighting, dying, marking every step of the
route with their dead. Varus, now reduced to despair, and seeing only
slaughter or captivity before him, threw himself on his sword, and died
in the midst of those whom his blind confidence had led to destruction.
Of the whole army only a feeble remnant reached Aliso, which fort they
soon after abandoned and fought their way to the Rhine. While this was
going on, the detachments which Varus had sent out in various directions
were similarly assailed, and met the same fate as had overtaken the main
body of the troops.
[Illustration: RETURN OF HERMANN AFTER HIS VICTORY OVER THE ROMANS.]
No more frightful disaster had ever befallen the Roman arms. Many
prisoners had been taken, among them certain judges and lawyers, who
were the chief objects of Hermann's hate, and whom he devoted to a
painful death. He then offered sacrifices to the gods, to whom he
consecrated the booty, the slain, and the leading prisoners, numbers of
them being slain on the altars of his deities. These religious
ceremonies completed, the prisoners who still remained were distributed
among the tribes as slaves. The effort of Varus to force Roman customs
and laws upon the Germans had led to a fearful retribution.
When the news of this dreadful event reached Rome, that city was filled
with grief and fear. The heart of Augustus, now an old man, was stricken
with dismay at the slaughter of the best soldiers of the empire. With
neglected dress and person he wandered about the rooms and halls of the
palace, his piteous appeal, "Varus, give me back my legions!" showing
how deeply the disaster had pierced his soul. Hasty efforts were at once
made to prevent the possible serious consequences of the overthrow of
the slain legions. The Romans on the Rhine intrenched themselves in all
haste. The Germans in the imperial service were sent to distant
provinces, and recruits were raised in all parts of the country, their
purpose being to protect Gaul from an invasion by the triumphant tribes.
Yet so great was the fear inspired by the former German onslaughts, and
by this destructive outbreak, that only threats of death induced the
Romans to serve. As it proved, this defensive activity was not needed.
The Germans, satisfied, as it seemed, with expelling the Romans from
their country, destroyed their forts and military roads, and settled
back into peace, with no sign of a desire to cross the Rhine.
For six years peace continued. Augustus died, and Tiberius became
emperor of Rome. Then, in the year 14 A.D., an effort was made to
reconquer Germany, an army commanded by the son of Drusus, known to
history under the name of Germanicus, attacking the Marsi, when
intoxicated and unarmed after a religious feast. Great numbers of the
defenceless tribesmen were slain, but the other tribes sprung to arms
and drove the invader back across the Rhine.
In the next year Hermann was again brought into the fray. Segestus had
robbed him of his wife, the beautiful patriot Thusnelda, who hitherto
had been his right hand in council in his plans against the Roman foe.
Hermann besieged Segestus to regain possession of his wife, and pressed
the traitor so closely that he sent his son Sigismund to Germanicus, who
was again on the German side of the Rhine, imploring aid. The Roman
leader took instant advantage of this promising opportunity. He advanced
and forced Hermann to raise the siege, and himself took possession of
Thusnelda, who was destined soon afterwards to be made the leading
feature in a Roman triumph. Segestus was rewarded for his treason, and
was given lands in Gaul, his life being not safe among the people he had
betrayed. As for the daughter whom he had yielded to Roman hands, her
fate troubled little his base soul.
Thusnelda is still a popular character in German legend, there being
various stories extant concerning her. One of these relates that, when
she lay concealed in the old fort of Schellenpyrmont, she was warned by
the cries of a faithful bird of the coming of the Romans, who were
seeking stealthily to approach her hiding-place.
The loss of his beloved wife roused Hermann's heroic spirit, and spread
indignation among the Germans, who highly esteemed the noble-hearted
consort of their chief. They rose hastily in arms, and Hermann was soon
at the head of a large army, prepared to defend his country against the
invading hosts of the Romans. But as the latter proved too strong to
face in the open field, the Germans retreated with their families and
property, the country left by them being laid waste by the advancing
legions.
Germanicus soon reached the scene of the late slaughter, and caused the
bones of the soldiers of Varus to be buried. But in doing this he was
obliged to enter the mountain defiles in which the former army had met
its fate. Hermann and his men watched the Romans intently from forest
and hilltop. When they had fairly entered the narrow valleys, the adroit
chief appeared before them at the head of a small troop, which retreated
as if in fear, drawing them onward until the whole army had entered the
pass.
Then the fatal signal was given, and the revengeful Germans fell upon
the legionaries of Germanicus as they had done upon those of Varus,
cutting them down in multitudes. But Germanicus was a much better
soldier than Varus. He succeeded in extricating the remnant of his men,
after they had lost heavily, and in making an orderly retreat to his
ships, which awaited him upon the northern coast whence he had entered
the country. There were two other armies, one of which had invaded
Germany from the coast of Friesland, and was carried away by a flood,
narrowly escaping complete destruction. The third had entered from the
Rhine. This was overtaken by Hermann while retreating over the long
bridges which the Romans had built across the marshes of Münsterland,
and which were now in a state of advanced decay. Here it found itself
surrounded by seemingly insuperable dangers, being, in part of its
route, shut up in a narrow dell, into which the enemy had turned the
waters of a rapid stream. While defending their camp, the waters poured
upon the soldiers, rising to their knees, and a furious tempest at the
same time burst over their heads. Yet discipline, again prevailed. They
lost heavily, but succeeded in cutting their way through their enemies
and reaching the Rhine.
In the next year, 17 A.D., Germanicus again invaded Germany, sailing
with a thousand ships through the northern seas and up the Ems. Flavus,
the brother of Hermann, who had remained in the service of Rome, was
with him, and addressed his patriotic brother from the river-side,
seeking to induce him to desert the German cause, by painting in
glowing colors the advantage of being a Roman citizen. Hermann, furious
at his desertion of his country, replied to him with curses, as the only
language worthy to use to a traitor, and would have ridden across the
stream to kill him, but that he was held back by his men.
A battle soon succeeded, the Germans falling into an ambuscade artfully
laid by the Roman leader, and being defeated with heavy loss. Germanicus
raised a stately monument on the spot, as a memorial of his victory. The
sight of this Roman monument in their country infuriated the Germans,
and they attacked the Romans again, this time with such fury, and such
slaughter on both sides, that neither party was able to resume the fight
when the next day dawned. Germanicus, who had been very severely
handled, retreated to his ships and set sail. On his voyage the heavens
appeared to conspire against him. A tempest arose in which most of the
vessels were wrecked and many of the legionaries lost. When he returned
to Rome, shortly afterwards, a fort on the Taunus was the only one which
Rome possessed in Germany. Hermann had cleared his country of the foe.
Yet Germanicus was given a triumph, in which Thusnelda walked, laden
with chains, to the capitol.
The remaining events in the life of this champion of German liberty were
few. While the events described had been taking place in the north of
Germany, there were troubles in the south. Here a chieftain named
Marbodius, who, like Hermann, had passed his youth in the Roman armies,
was the leader of several powerful tribes. He lacked the patriotism of
Hermann, and sought to ally himself with the Romans, with the hope of
attaining to supreme power in Germany.
Hermann sought to rouse patriotic sentiments in his mind, but in vain,
and the movements of Marbodius having revealed his purposes, a coalition
was formed against him, with Hermann at its head. He was completely
defeated, and southern Germany saved from Roman domination, as the
northern districts had already been.
Peace followed, and for several years Hermann remained general-in-chief
of the German people, and the acknowledged bulwark of their liberties.
But envy arose; he was maligned, and accused of aiming at sovereignty,
as Marbodius had done; and at length his own relations, growing to hate
and fear him, conspired against and murdered him.
Thus ignobly fell the noblest of the ancient Germans, the man whose
patriotism saved the realm of the Teutonic tribes from becoming a
province of the empire of Rome. Had not Hermann lived, the history of
Europe might have pursued a different course, and the final downfall of
the colossus of the south been long averted, Germany acting as its
bulwark of defence instead of becoming the nursery of its foes.
_ALBOIN AND ROSAMOND._
Of the Teutonic invaders of Italy none are invested with more interest
than the Lombards,--the Long Beards, to give them their original title.
Legend yields us the story of their origin, a story of interest enough
to repeat. A famine had been caused in Denmark by a great flood, and the
people, to avoid danger of starvation, had resolved to put all the old
men and women to death, in order to save the food for the young and
strong. This radical proposition was set aside through the advice of a
wise woman, named Gambara, who suggested that lots should be drawn for
the migration of a third of the population. Her counsel was taken and
the migration began, under the leadership of her two sons. These
migrants wore beards of prodigious length, whence their subsequent name.
They first entered the land of the Vandals, who refused them permission
to settle. This was a question to be decided at sword's point, and war
was declared. Both sides appealed to the gods for aid, Gambara praying
to Freya, while the Vandals invoked Odin, who answered that he would
grant the victory to the party he should first behold at the dawn of the
coming day.
The day came. The sun rose. In front of the Danish host were stationed
their women, who had loosened their long hair, and let it hang down over
their faces. "Who are these with long beards?" demanded Odin, on seeing
these Danish amazons. This settled the question of victory, and also
gave the invaders a new name, that of Longobardi,--due, in this legend,
to the long hair of the women instead of the long beards of the men.
There are other legends, but none worth repeating.
The story of their king Alboin, with whom we have particularly to deal,
begins, however, with a story which may be in part legendary. They were
now in hostile relations with the Gepidæ, the first nation to throw off
the yoke of the Huns. Alboin, son of Audoin, king of the Longobardi,
killed Thurismund, son of Turisend, king of the Gepidæ, in battle, but
forgot to carry away his arms, and thus returned home without a trophy
of his victory. In consequence, his stern father refused him a seat at
his table, as one unworthy of the honor. Such was the ancient Lombard
custom, and it must be obeyed.
The young prince acknowledged the justice of this reproof, and
determined to try and obtain the arms which were his by right of
victory. Selecting forty companions, he boldly visited the court of
Turisend, and openly demanded from him the arms of his son. It was a
daring movement, but proved successful. The old king received him
hospitably, as the custom of the time demanded, though filled with grief
at the loss of his son. He even protected him from the anger of his
subjects, whom some of the Lombards had provoked by their insolence of
speech. The daring youth returned to his father's court with the arms
of his slain foe, and won the seat of honor of which he had been
deprived.
Turisend died, and Cunimund, his son, became king. Audoin died, and
Alboin became king. And now new adventures of interest occurred. In his
visit to the court of Turisend, Alboin had seen and fallen in love with
Rosamond, the beautiful daughter of Cunimund. He now demanded her hand
in marriage, and as it was scornfully refused him, he revenged himself
by winning her honor through force and stratagem. War broke out in
consequence, and the Gepidæ were conquered, Rosamond falling to Alboin
as part of the trophies of victory.
We are told that in this war Alboin sought the aid of Bacan, chagan of
the Avars, promising him half the spoil and all the land of the Gepidæ
in case of victory. He added to this a promise of the realm of the
Longobardi, in case he should succeed in winning for them a new home in
Italy, which country he proposed to invade.
About fifteen years before, some of his subjects had made a warlike
expedition to Italy. Their report of its beauty and fertility had
kindled a spirit of emulation in the new generation, and inspired the
young and warlike king with ambitious hopes. His eloquence added to
their desire. He not only described to them in glowing words the land of
promise which he hoped to win, but spoke to their senses as well, by
producing at the royal banquets the fairest fruits that grew in that
garden land of Europe. His efforts were successful. No sooner was his
standard erected, and word sent abroad that Italy was his goal, than the
Longobardi found their strength augmented by hosts of adventurous youths
from the surrounding peoples. Germans, Bulgarians, Scythians, and others
joined in ranks, and twenty thousand Saxon warriors, with their wives
and children, added to the great host which had flocked to the banners
of the already renowned warrior.
It was in the year 568 that Alboin, followed by the great multitude of
adventurers he had gathered, and by the whole nation of the Longobardi,
ascended the Julian Alps, and looked down from their summits on the
smiling plains of northern Italy to which his success was thenceforward
to give the name of Lombardy, the land of the Longobardi.
Four years were spent in war with the Romans, city after city, district
after district, falling into the hands of the invaders. The resistance
was but feeble, and at length the whole country watered by the Po, with
the strong city of Pavia, fell into the hands of Alboin, who divided the
conquered lands among his followers, and reduced their former holders to
servitude. Alboin made Pavia his capital, and erected strong
fortifications to keep out the Burgundians, Franks, and other nations
which were troubling his new-gained dominions. This done, he settled
down to the enjoyment of the conquest which he had so ably made and so
skilfully defended.
History tells us that the Longobardi cultivated their new lands so
skilfully that all traces of devastation soon vanished, and the realm
grew rich in its productions. Their freemen distinguished themselves
from the other German conquerors by laboring to turn the waste and
desert tracts into arable soil, while their king, though unceasingly
watchful against his enemies, lived among his people with patriarchal
simplicity, procuring his supplies from the produce of his farms, and
making regular rounds of inspection from one to another. It is a picture
fitted for a more peaceful and primitive age than that turbulent period
in which it is set.
But now we have to do with Alboin in another aspect,--his domestic
relations, his dealings with his wife Rosamond, and the tragic end of
all the actors in the drama of real life which we have set out to tell.
The Longobardi were barbarians, and Alboin was no better than his
people; a strong evidence of which is the fact that he had the skull of
Cunimund, his defeated enemy and the father of his wife, set in gold,
and used it as a drinking cup at his banquets.
Doubtless this brutality stirred revengeful sentiments in the mind of
Rosamond. An added instance of barbarian insult converted her outraged
feelings into a passion for revenge. Alboin had erected a palace near
Verona, one of the cities of his new dominion, and here he celebrated
his victories with a grand feast to his companions in arms. Wine flowed
freely at the banquet, the king emulating, or exceeding, his guests in
the art of imbibing. Heated with his potations, in which he had drained
many cups of Rhætian or Falernian wine, he called for the choicest
ornament of his sideboard, the gold-mounted skull of Cunimund, and drank
its full measure of wine amid the loud plaudits of his drunken guests.
"Fill it again with wine," he cried; "fill it to the brim; carry this
goblet to the queen, and tell her that it is my desire and command that
she shall rejoice with her father."
Rosamond's heart throbbed with grief and rage on hearing this inhuman
request. She took the skull in trembling hands, and murmuring in low
accents, "Let the will of my lord be obeyed," she touched it to her
lips. But in doing so she breathed a silent prayer, and resolved that
the unpardonable insult should be washed out in Alboin's blood.
If she had ever loved her lord, she felt now for him only the bitterness
of hate. She had a friend in the court on whom she could depend,
Helmichis, the armor-bearer of the king. She called on him for aid in
her revenge, and found him willing but fearful, for he knew too well the
great strength and daring spirit of the chief whom he had so often
attended in battle. He proposed, therefore, that they should gain the
aid of a Lombard of unequalled strength, Peredeus by name. This
champion, however, was not easily to be won. The project was broached to
him, but the most that could be gained from him was a promise of
silence.
Failing in this, more shameful methods were employed. Such was
Rosamond's passion for revenge that the most extreme measures seemed to
her justifiable. Peredeus loved one of the attendants of the queen.
Rosamond replaced this frail woman, sacrificed her honor to her
vengeance, and then threatened to denounce Peredeus to the king unless
he would kill the man who had so bitterly wronged her.
Peredeus now consented. He must kill the king or the king would kill
him, for he felt that Rosamond was quite capable of carrying out her
threat. Having thus obtained the promise of the instruments of her
vengeance, the queen waited for a favorable moment to carry out her dark
design. The opportunity soon came. The king, heavy with wine, had
retired from the table to his afternoon slumbers. Rosamond, affecting
solicitude for his health and repose, dismissed his attendants, closed
the palace gates, and then, seeking her spouse, lulled him to rest by
her tender caresses.
Finding that he slumbered, she unbolted the chamber door, and urged her
confederates to the instant performance of the deed of blood. They
entered the room with stealthy tread, but the quick senses of the
warrior took the alarm, he opened his eyes, saw two armed men advancing
upon him, and sprang from his couch. His sword hung beside him, and he
attempted to draw it, but the cunning hand of Rosamond had fastened it
securely in the scabbard. The only weapon remaining was a small
foot-stool. This he used with vigor, but it could not long protect him
from the spears of his assailants, and he quickly fell dead beneath
their blows. His body was buried beneath the stairway of the palace, and
thus tragically ended the career of the founder of the kingdom of
Lombardy.
But the story of Rosamond's life is not yet at an end. The death of
Alboin was followed by another tragic event, which brought her guilty
career to a violent termination. The wily queen had not failed to
prepare for the disturbances which might follow the death of the king.
The murder of Alboin was immediately followed by her marriage with
Helmichis, whose ambition looked to no less a prize than the throne of
Lombardy. The queen was surrounded by a band of faithful Gepidæ, with
whose aid she seized the palace and made herself mistress of Verona, the
Lombard chiefs flying in alarm. But the assassination of the king who
had so often led them to victory filled the Longobardi with indignation,
the chiefs mustered their bands and led them against the stronghold of
the guilty couple, and they in their turn, were forced to fly for their
lives. Helmichis and Rosamond, with her daughter, her faithful Gepidæ,
and the spoils of the palace, took ship down the Adige and the Po, and
were transported in a Greek vessel to the port of Ravenna, where they
hoped to find shelter and safety.
Longinus, the Greek governor of Ravenna, gave willing refuge to the
fugitives, the more so as the great beauty of Rosamond filled him with
admiration. She had not been long there, indeed, before he offered her
his hand in marriage. Rosamond, moved by ambition or a return of his
love, accepted his offer. There was, it is true, an obstacle in the way.
She was already provided with a husband. But the barbarian queen had
learned the art of getting rid of inconvenient husbands. Having,
perhaps, grown to detest the tool of her revenge, now that the purpose
of her marriage with him had failed, she set herself to the task of
disposing of Helmichis, this time using the cup instead of the sword.
As Helmichis left the bath he received a wine-cup from the hands of his
treacherous wife, and lifted it to his lips. But no sooner had he tasted
the liquor, and felt the shock that it gave his system, than he knew
that he was poisoned. Death, a speedy death, was in his veins, but he
had life enough left for revenge. Seizing his dagger, he pressed it to
the breast of Rosamond, and by threats of instant death compelled her to
drain the remainder of the cup. In a few minutes both the guilty
partners in the death of Alboin had breathed their last.
When Longinus was, at a later moment, summoned into the room, it was to
find his late guests both dead upon the floor. The poison had faithfully
done its work. Thus ended a historic tragedy than which the stage
possesses few of more striking dramatic interest and opportunities for
histrionic effect.
_THE CAREER OF GRIMOALD._
The Avars, led by Cacan, their king, crossed, in the year 611, the
mountains of Illyria and Lombardy, killed Gisulph, the grand duke, with
all his adherents, in battle, and laid siege to the city of Friuli,
behind whose strong walls Romilda, the widow of Gisulph, had taken
refuge. These events formed the basis of the romantic, and perhaps
largely legendary, story we have to tell.
One day, so we are told, Romilda, gazing from the ramparts of the city,
beheld Cacan, the young khan of the Avars, engaged in directing the
siege. So handsome to her eyes appeared the youthful soldier that she
fell deeply in love with him at sight, her passion growing until, in
disregard of honor and patriotism, she sent him a secret message,
offering to deliver up to him the city on condition of becoming his
wife. The khan, though doubtless despising her treachery to her people,
was quick to close with the offer, and in a short time Friuli was in his
hands.
This accomplished, he returned to Hungary, taking with him Romilda and
her children, of whom there were four sons and four daughters. Cacan
kept his compact with the traitress, marrying her with the primitive
rites of the Hungarians. But her married life was of the shortest. He
had kept his word, and such honor as he possessed was satisfied. The
morning after his marriage, moved perhaps by detestation of her
treachery, he caused the hapless Romilda to be impaled alive. It was a
dark end to a dark deed, and the perfidy of the woman had been matched
by an equal perfidy on the part of the man.
The children of Romilda were left in the hands of the Avars. Of her
daughters, one subsequently married a duke of Bavaria and another a duke
of Allemania. The four sons, one of whom was Grimoald, the hero of our
story, managed to escape from their savage captors, though they were
hotly pursued. In their flight, Grimoald, the youngest, was taken up
behind Tafo, the oldest; but in the rapid course he lost his hold and
fell from his brother's horse.
Tafo, knowing what would be the fate of the boy should he be captured,
turned and galloped upon him lance in hand, determined that he should
not fall alive into the hands of his cruel foes. But Grimoald's
entreaties and Tafo's brotherly affection induced him to change his
resolution, and, snatching up the boy, he continued his flight, the
pursuing Avars being now close at hand.
Not far had they ridden before the same accident occurred. Grimoald
again fell, and Tafo was now obliged to leave him to his fate, the
fierce pursuers being too near to permit him either to kill or save the
unlucky boy. On swept Tafo, up swept the Avars, and one of them,
halting, seized the young captive, threw him behind him on his horse,
and rode on after his fellows.
Grimoald's peril was imminent, but he was a child with the soul of a
warrior. As his captor pushed on in the track of his companions, the
brave little fellow suddenly snatched a knife from his belt, and in an
instant had stabbed him to the heart with his own weapon Tossing the
dead body from the saddle, Grimoald seized the bridle and rode swiftly
on, avoiding the Avars, and in the end rejoining his flying brothers. It
was a deed worthy the childhood of one who was in time to become a
famous warrior.
The fugitives reached Lombardy, where Tafo was hospitably received by
the king, and succeeded his father as Grand Duke of Friuli. Grimoald was
adopted by Arigil, Duke of Benevento, in whose court he grew to manhood,
and in whose service his courage and military ability were quickly
shown. There were wars between Benevento and the Greeks of southern
Italy, and in these the young soldier so greatly distinguished himself
that on the death of Arigil he succeeded him as Duke of Benevento.
Meanwhile, troubles arose in Lombardy. Tafo had been falsely accused, by
an enemy of the queen, of criminal relations with her, and was put to
death by the king. Her innocence was afterwards proved, and on the death
of Ariowald the Lombards treated her with the greatest respect, and
raised Rotharis, her second husband, to the throne. He, too, died, and
Aribert, uncle of the queen, was next made king. On his death, his two
sons, Bertarit and Godebert, disputed the succession. A struggle ensued
between the rival brothers, in the course of which Grimoald was brought
into the dispute.
The events here briefly described had taken place while Grimoald was
engaged in the Greek wars of his patron, Duke Arigil. When he succeeded
the latter in the ducal chair, the struggle between Bertarit and
Godebert was going on, and the new Duke of Benevento declared in favor
of the latter, who was his personal friend.
A scheme of treachery, of a singular character, put an end to their
friendship and to the life of Godebert. A man who was skilled in the
arts of dissimulation, and who was secretly in the pay of Bertarit,
persuaded Godebert that his seeming friend, Duke Grimoald, was really
his enemy, and was plotting his destruction. He told the same story to
Grimoald, making him believe that Godebert was his secret foe. In proof
of his words he told each of them that the other wore armor beneath his
clothes, through fear of assassination by his assumed friend.
The suspicion thus artfully aroused produced the very state of things
which the agent of mischief had declared to exist. Each of the friends
put on armor, as a protection against treachery from the other, and when
they sought to test the truth of the spy's story it seemed fully
confirmed. Each discovered that the other wore secret armor, without
learning that it had just been assumed.
The two close friends were thus converted by a plotting Iago into
distrustful enemies, each fearing and on guard against assassination by
the other. The affair ended tragically. Grimoald was no sooner fully
convinced of the truth of what had been told him than he slew his
supposed enemy, deeming it necessary to save his own life. The dark
scheme had succeeded. Treason and falsehood had sown death between two
friends.
Bertarit, his rival removed, deemed the throne now securely his. But the
truth underlying the tragedy we have described became known, and the
Lombards, convinced of the innocence of Grimoald, and scorning the
treachery by which he had been led on to murder, dismissed Bertarit's
pretensions and placed Grimoald on the throne. His career had been a
strange but highly successful one. From his childhood captivity to the
Avars he had risen to the high station of King of Lombardy, a position
fairly earned by his courage and ability.
We are not yet done with the story of this distinguished warrior.
Bertarit had taken the field against him, and civil war desolated
Lombardy, an unhappy state of affairs which was soon taken advantage of
by the foes of the distracted kingdom. The enemy who now appeared in the
field was Constans, the Greek emperor, who laid siege to Benevento,
hoping to capture it while Grimoald was engaged in hostilities with
Bertarit in the north.
Grimoald had left his son, Romuald, in charge of the city. On learning
of the siege he despatched a trusty friend and officer, Sesuald by
name, with some troops, to the relief of the beleaguered stronghold,
proposing to follow quickly himself with the main body of his army.
And now occurred an event nobly worthy of being recorded in the annals
of human probity and faithfulness, one little known, but deserving to be
classed with those that have become famous in history. When men erect
monuments to courage and virtue, the noble Sesuald should not be
forgotten.
This brave man fell into the hands of the emperor, who sought to use him
in a stratagem to obtain possession of Benevento. He promised him an
abundance of wealth and honors if he would tell Romuald that his father
had died in battle, and persuade him to surrender the city. Sesuald
seems to have agreed, for he was led to the walls of the city that he
might hold the desired conference with Romuald. Instead, however, of
carrying out the emperor's design, he cried out to the young chief, "Be
firm, Grimoald approaches"; then, hastily telling him that he had
forfeited his life by those words, he begged him in return to protect
his wife and children, as the last service he could render him.
Sesuald was right. Constans, furious at his words, had his head
instantly struck off; and then, with a barbarism worthy of the times,
had it flung from a catapult into the heart of the city. The ghastly
trophy was brought to Romuald, who pressed it to his lips, and deeply
deplored the death of his father's faithful friend.
This was the last effort of the emperor. Fearing to await the arrival
of Grimoald, he raised the siege and retreated towards Naples, hotly
pursued by the Lombards. The army of Grimoald came up with the
retreating Greeks, and a battle was imminent, when a Lombard warrior of
giant size, Amalong by name, spurring upon a Greek, lifted him from the
saddle with his lance, and rode on holding him poised in the air. The
sight of this feat filled the remaining Greeks with such terror that
they broke and fled, and their hasty retreat did not cease till they had
found shelter in Sicily.
After this event Bertarit, finding it useless to contend longer against
his powerful and able opponent, submitted to Grimoald. Yet this did not
end their hostile relations. The Lombard king, distrusting his late foe,
of whose treacherous disposition he already had abundant evidence, laid
a plan to get rid of him by murdering him in his bed. This plot was
discovered by a servant of the imperilled prince, who aided his master
to escape, and, the better to secure his retreat, placed himself in his
bed, being willing to risk death in his lord's service.
Grimoald discovered the stratagem of the faithful fellow, but, instead
of punishing him for it, he sought to reward him, attempting to attach
him to his own service as one whose fidelity would make him valuable to
any master. The honest servant refused, however, to desert his old lord
for a new service, and entreated so earnestly for permission to join
his master, who had taken refuge in France, that Grimoald set him free,
doubtless feeling that such faithfulness was worthy of encouragement.
In France Bertarit found an ally in Chlotar II., who took up arms
against the Lombards in his aid. Grimoald, however, defeated him by a
shrewd stratagem. He feigned to retreat in haste, leaving his camp,
which was well stored with provisions, to fall into the hands of the
enemy. Deeming themselves victorious, the Franks hastened to enjoy the
feast of good things which the Lombards had left behind. But in the
midst of their repast Grimoald suddenly returned, and, falling upon them
impetuously, put most of them to the sword.
In the following year (666 A.D.) he defeated another army by another
stratagem. The Avars had invaded Lombardy, with an army which far
out-numbered the troops which Grimoald could muster against them. In
this state of affairs he artfully deceived his foes as to the strength
of his army by marching and countermarching his men within their view,
each time dressed in uniform of different colors, and with varied
standards and insignia of war. The invaders, deeming that an army
confronted them far stronger than their own, withdrew in haste, leaving
Grimoald master of the field.
We are further told of the king of the Lombards whose striking history
we have concisely given, that he gave many new laws to his country, and
that in his old age he was remarkable for his bald head and long white
beard. He died in 671, sixty years after the time when his mother acted
the traitress, and suffered miserably for her crime. After his death,
the exiled Bertarit was recalled to the throne of Lombardy, and Romuald
succeeded his father as Duke of Benevento, the city which he had held so
bravely against the Greeks.
_WITTEKIND, THE SAXON PATRIOT._
As Germany, in its wars with the Romans, found its hero in the great
Arminius, or Hermann; and as England, in its contest with the Normans,
found a heroic defender in the valiant Hereward; so Saxony, in its
struggle with Charlemagne, gave origin to a great soul, the indomitable
patriot Wittekind, who kept the war afoot years after the Saxons would
have yielded to their mighty foe, and, like Hereward, only gave up the
struggle when hope itself was at an end.
The career of the defender of Saxony bears some analogy to that of the
last patriot of Saxon England. As in the case of Hereward, his origin is
uncertain, and the story of his life overlaid with legend. He is said to
have been the son of Wernekind, a powerful Westphalian chief,
brother-in-law of Siegfried, a king of the Danes; yet this is by no
means certain, and his ancestry must remain in doubt. He came suddenly
into the war with the great Frank conqueror, and played in it a
strikingly prominent part, to sink again out of sight at its end.
The attempt of Charlemagne to conquer Saxony began in 772. Religion was
its pretext, ambition its real cause. Missionaries had been sent to the
Saxons during their great national festival at Marclo. They came back
with no converts to report. As the Saxons had refused to be converted by
words, fire and sword were next tried as assumed instruments for
spreading the doctrines of Christ, but really as effective means for
extending the dominion of the monarch of the Franks.
In his first campaign in Saxony, Charlemagne marched victoriously as far
as the Weser, where he destroyed the celebrated Irminsúl, a famous
object of Saxon devotion, perhaps an image of a god, perhaps a statue of
Hermann that had become invested with divinity. The next year, Charles
being absent in Italy, the Saxons broke into insurrection, under the
leadership of Wittekind, who now first appears in history. With him was
associated another patriot, Alboin, Duke of Eastphalia.
Charles returned in the succeeding year, and again swept in conquering
force through the country. But a new insurrection called him once more
to Italy, and no sooner had he gone than the eloquent Wittekind was
among his countrymen, entreating them to rise in defence of their
liberties. A general levy took place, every able man crowded to the
ranks, and whole forests were felled to form abatis of defence against a
marching enemy.
Again Charles came at the head of his army of veterans, and again the
poorly-trained Saxon levies were driven in defeat from his front. He now
established a camp in the heart of the country, and had a royal
residence built at Paderborn, where he held a diet of the great vassals
of the crown and received envoys from foreign lands. Hither came
delegates from the humbled Saxons, promising peace and submission, and
pledging themselves by oaths and hostages to be true subjects of Charles
the Great. But Wittekind came not. He had taken refuge at the court of
Siegfried, the pagan king of the Danes, where he waited an opportunity
to strike a new blow for liberty.