Seine. Not finding here the ships of the maritime division of the
expedition, which he had expected to meet, he seized on the boats of the
French fishermen and pursued his course. Soon afterwards a French force
was met and put to flight, its leader, Duke Ragnold, being killed. This
event, as we are told, gave rise to a new change in the career of the
famous Hasting. A certain Tetbold or Thibaud, of Northman birth, came to
him and told him that he was suspected of treason, the defeat of the
French having been ascribed to secret information furnished by him.
Whether this were true, or a mere stratagem on the part of his
informant, it had the desired effect of alarming Hasting, who quickly
determined to save himself from peril by joining his old countrymen and
becoming again a viking chief. He thereupon sold his countship to
Tetbold, and hastened to join the army of Norsemen then besieging Paris.
As for the cunning trickster, he settled down into his cheaply bought
countship, and became the founder of the subsequent house of the Counts
of Chartres.
The siege of Paris ended in the usual manner of the Norseman invasions
of France,--that of ransom. Charles marched to its relief with a strong
army, but, instead of venturing to meet his foes in battle, he bought
them off as so often before, paying them a large sum of money, granting
them free navigation of the Seine and entrance to Paris, and confirming
them in the possession of Friesland. This occurred in 887. A year
afterwards he lost his crown, through the indignation of the nobles at
his cowardice, and France and Germany again fell asunder.
The plundering incursions continued, and soon afterwards the new
emperor, Arnulf, nephew of Charles the Fat, a man of far superior energy
to his deposed uncle, attacked a powerful force of the piratical
invaders near Louvain, where they had encamped after a victory over the
Archbishop of Mayence. In the heat of the battle that followed, the
vigilant Arnulf perceived that the German cavalry fought at a
disadvantage with their stalwart foes, whose dexterity as foot-soldiers
was remarkable. Springing from his horse, he called upon his followers
to do the same. They obeyed, the nobles and their men-at-arms leaping to
the ground and rushing furiously on foot upon their opponents. The
assault was so fierce and sudden that the Norsemen gave way, and were
cut down in thousands, Siegfried and Gottfried--a new Gottfried
apparently--falling on the field, while the channel of the Dyle, across
which the defeated invaders sought to fly, was choked with their
corpses.
This bloody defeat put an end to the incursions of the Norsemen by way
of the Rhine. Thenceforward they paid their attention to the coast of
France, which they continued to invade until one of their great leaders,
Rollo, settled in Normandy as a vassal of the French monarch, and served
as an efficient barrier against the inroads of his countrymen.
As to Hasting, he appears to have returned to his old trade of
sea-rover, and we hear of him again as one of the Norse invaders of
England, during the latter part of the reign of Alfred the Great.
_THE CAREER OF BISHOP HATTO._
We have now to deal with a personage whose story is largely legendary,
particularly that of his death, a highly original termination to his
career having arisen among the people, who had grown to detest him. But
Bishop Hatto played his part in the history as well as in the legend of
Germany, and the curious stories concerning him may have been based on
the deeds of his actual life. It was in the beginning of the tenth
century that this notable churchman flourished as Archbishop of Mayence,
and the emperor-maker of his times. In connection with Otho, Duke of
Saxony, he placed Louis, surnamed the Child,--for he was but seven years
of age,--on the imperial throne, and governed Germany in his name. Louis
died in 911, while still a boy, and with him ended the race of
Charlemagne in Germany. Conrad, Duke of Franconia, was chosen king to
succeed him, but the astute churchman still remained the power behind
the throne.
In truth, the influence and authority of the church at that time was
enormous, and many of its potentates troubled themselves more about the
affairs of the earth than those of heaven. Hatto, while a zealous
churchman, was a bold, energetic, and unscrupulous statesman, and
raised himself to an almost unlimited power in France and Southern
Germany by his arts and influence, Otho of Saxony aiding him in his
progress to power. Two of his opponents, Henry and Adelhart, of
Babenberg, took up arms against him, and came to their deaths in
consequence. Adalbert, the opponent of the Norsemen, was his next
antagonist, and Hatto, through his influence in the diet, had him put
under the ban of the empire.
Adalbert, however, vigorously resisted this decree, taking up arms in
his own defence, and defeating his opponent in the field. But soon,
being closely pressed, he retired to his fortress of Bamberg, which was
quickly invested and besieged. Here he defended himself with such energy
that Hatto, finding that the outlawed noble was not to be easily subdued
by force, adopted against him those spiritual weapons, as he probably
considered them, in which he was so trained an adept.
Historians tell us that the priest, with a pretence of friendly purpose,
offered to mediate between Adalbert and his enemies, promising him, if
he would leave his stronghold to appear before the assembled nobles of
the diet, that he should have a free and safe return. Adalbert accepted
the terms, deeming that he could safely trust the pledged word of a high
dignitary of the church. Leaving the gates of his castle, he was met at
a short distance beyond by the bishop, who accosted him in his
friendliest tone, and proposed that, as their journey would be somewhat
long, they should breakfast together within the castle before starting.
Adalbert assented and returned to the fortress with his smooth-tongued
companion, took breakfast with him, and then set out with him for the
diet. Here he was sternly called to answer for his acts of opposition to
the decree of the ruling body of Germany, and finding that the tide of
feeling was running strongly against him, proposed to return to his
fortress in conformity with the plighted faith of Bishop Hatto. Hatto,
with an aspect of supreme honesty, declared that he had already
fulfilled his promise. He had agreed that Adalbert should have a free
and safe return to his castle. This had been granted him. He had
returned there to breakfast without opposition of any sort. The word of
the bishop had been fully kept, and now, as a member of the diet, he
felt free to act as he deemed proper, all his obligations to the accused
having been fulfilled. Just how far this story accords with the actual
facts we are unable to say, but Adalbert, despite his indignant protest,
was sentenced to death and beheaded.
Hatto had reached his dignity in the church by secular instead of
ecclesiastic influence, and is credited with employing his power in this
and other instances with such lack of honor and probity that he became
an object of the deepest popular contempt and execration. His name was
derided in the popular ballads, and he came to be looked upon as the
scapegoat of the avarice and licentiousness of the church in that
irreligious mediæval age. Among the legends concerning him is one
relating to Henry, the son of his ally, Otho of Saxony, who died in 912.
Henry had long quarrelled with the bishop, and the fabulous story goes
that, to get rid of his high-spirited enemy, the cunning churchman sent
him a gold chain, so skilfully contrived that it would strangle its
wearer.
[Illustration: THE MOUSE-TOWER ON THE RHINE.]
The most famous legend about Hatto, however, is that which tells the
manner of his death. The story has been enshrined in poetry by
Longfellow, but we must be content to give it in plain prose. It tells
us that a famine occurred in the land, and that a number of peasants
came to the avaricious bishop to beg for bread. By his order they were
shut up in a great barn, which then was set on fire, and its miserable
occupants burned to death.
And now the cup of Hatto's infamy was filled, and heaven sent him
retribution. From the ruins of the barn issued a myriad of mice, which
pursued the remorseless bishop, ceaselessly following him in his every
effort to escape their avenging teeth. At length the wretched sinner,
driven to despair, fled for safety to a strong tower standing in the
middle of the Rhine, near Bingen, with the belief that the water would
protect him from his swarming foes. But the mice swam the stream,
invaded the tower, and devoured the miserable fugitive. As evidence of
the truth of this story we are shown the tower, still standing, and
still known as the Mäusethurm, or Mouse Tower. It must be said, however,
that this tradition probably refers to another Bishop Hatto, of
somewhat later date. Its utterly fabulous character, of course, will be
recognisable by all.
So much for Bishop Hatto and his fate. It may be said, in conclusion,
that his period was one of terror and excitement in Germany, sufficient
perhaps to excuse the overturning of ideas, and the replacement of
conceptions of truth and honor by their opposites. The wild Magyars had
invaded and taken Hungary, and were making savage inroads into Germany
from every quarter. The resistance was obstinate, the Magyars were
defeated in several severe battles, yet still their multitudes swarmed
over the borders, and carried terror and ruin wherever they came. These
invaders were as ferocious in disposition, as fierce in their onsets, as
invincible through contempt of death, and as formidable through their
skilful horsemanship, as the Huns had been before them. So rapid were
their movements, and so startling the suddenness with which they would
appear in and vanish from the heart of the country, that the terrified
people came to look upon them as possessed of supernatural powers. Their
inhuman love of slaughter and their destructive habits added to the
terror with which they were viewed. They are said to have been so
bloodthirsty, that in their savage feasts after victory they used as
tables the corpses of their enemies slain in battle. It is further said
that it was their custom to bind the captured women and maidens with
their own long hair as fetters, and drive them, thus bound, in flocks
to Hungary.
We may conclude with a touching story told of these unquiet and
misery-haunted times. Ulrich, Count of Linzgau, was, so the story goes,
taken prisoner by the Magyars, and long held captive in their hands.
Wendelgarde, his beautiful wife, after waiting long in sorrow for his
return, believed him to be dead, and resolved to devote the remainder of
her life to charity and devotion. Crowds of beggars came to her castle
gates, to whom she daily distributed alms. One day, while she was thus
engaged, one of the beggars suddenly threw his arms around her neck and
kissed her. Her attendants angrily interposed, but the stranger waved
them aside with a smile, and said,--
"Forbear, I have endured blows and misery enough during my imprisonment
without needing more from you; I am Ulrich, your lord."
Truly, in this instance, charity brought its reward.
_THE MISFORTUNES OF DUKE ERNST._
In the reign of Conrad II., Emperor of Germany, took place the event
which we have now to tell, one of those interesting examples of romance
which give vitality to history. On the death of Henry II., the last of
the great house of the Othos, a vast assembly from all the states of the
empire was called together to decide who their next emperor should be.
From every side they came, dukes, margraves, counts and barons, attended
by hosts of their vassals; archbishops, bishops, abbots, and other
churchmen, with their proud retainers; Saxons, Swabians, Bavarians,
Bohemians, and numerous other nationalities, great and small; all
marching towards the great plain between Worms and Mayence, where they
gathered on both sides of the Rhine, until its borders seemed covered by
a countless multitude of armed men. The scene was a magnificent one,
with its far-spreading display of rich tents, floating banners, showy
armor, and everything that could give honor and splendor to the
occasion.
We are not specially concerned with what took place. There were two
competitors for the throne, both of them Conrad by name. By birth they
were cousins, and descendants of the emperor Conrad I. The younger of
these, but the son of the elder brother, and the most distinguished for
ability, was elected, and took the throne as Conrad II. He was to prove
one of the noblest sovereigns that ever held the sceptre of the German
empire. The election decided, the great assembly dispersed, and back to
their homes marched the host of warriors who had collected for once with
peaceful purpose.
[Illustration: PEASANT WEDDING PROCESSION.]
Two years afterwards, in 1026, Conrad crossed the Alps with an army, and
marched through Italy, that land which had so perilous an attraction for
German emperors, and so sadly disturbed the peace and progress of the
Teutonic realm. Conrad was not permitted to remain there long. Troubles
in Germany recalled him to his native soil. Swabia had broken out in hot
troubles. Duke Ernst, step-son of Conrad, claimed Burgundy as his
inheritance, in opposition to the emperor himself, who had the better
claim. He not only claimed it, but attempted to seize it. With him were
united two Swabian counts of ancient descent, Rudolf Welf, or Guelph,
and Werner of Kyburg.
Swabia was in a blaze when Conrad returned. He convoked a great diet at
Ulm, as the legal means of settling the dispute. Thither Ernst came, at
the head of his Swabian men-at-arms, and still full of rebellious
spirit, although his mother, Gisela, the empress, begged him to submit
and to return to his allegiance.
The angry rebel, however, soon learned that his followers were not
willing to take up arms against the emperor. They declared that their
oath of allegiance to their duke did not release them from their higher
obligations to the emperor and the state, that if their lord was at feud
with the empire it was their duty to aid the latter, and that if their
chiefs wished to quarrel with the state, they must fight for themselves.
This defection left the rebels powerless. Duke Ernst was arrested and
imprisoned on a charge of high treason. Eudolf was exiled. Werner, who
took refuge in his castle, was besieged there by the imperial troops,
against whom he valiantly defended himself for several months. At
length, however, finding that his stronghold was no longer tenable, he
contrived to make his escape, leaving the nest to the imperialists empty
of its bird.
Three years Ernst remained in prison. Then Conrad restored him to
liberty, perhaps moved by the appeals of his mother Gisela, and promised
to restore him to his dukedom of Swabia if he would betray the secret of
the retreat of Werner, who was still at large despite all efforts to
take him.
This request touched deeply the honor of the deposed duke. It was much
to regain his ducal station; it was more to remain true to the fugitive
who had trusted and aided him in his need.
"How can I betray my only true friend?" asked the unfortunate duke, with
touching pathos.
His faithfulness was not appreciated by the emperor and his nobles. They
placed Ernst under the ban of the empire, and thus deprived him of rank,
wealth, and property, reducing him by a word from high estate to abject
beggary. His life and liberty were left him, but nothing more, and,
driven by despair, he sought the retreat of his fugitive friend Werner,
who had taken refuge in the depths of the Black Forest.
Here the two outlaws, deprived of all honest means of livelihood, became
robbers, and entered upon a life of plunder, exacting contributions from
all subjects of the empire who fell into their hands. They soon found a
friend in Adalbert of Falkenstein, who gave them the use of his castle
as a stronghold and centre of operations, and joined them with his
followers in their freebooting raids.
For a considerable time the robber chiefs maintained themselves in their
new mode of life, sallying from the castle, laying the country far and
wide under contribution, and returning to the fortress for safety from
pursuit. Their exactions became in time so annoying, that the castle was
besieged by a strong force of Swabians, headed by Count Mangold of
Veringen, and the freebooters were closely confined within their walls.
Impatient of this, a sally in force was made by the garrison, headed by
the two robber chiefs, and an obstinate contest ensued. The struggle
ended in the death of Mangold on the one side and of Ernst and Werner on
the other, with the definite defeat and dispersal of the robber band.
Thus ended an interesting episode of mediæval German history. But the
valor and misfortunes of Duke Ernst did not die unsung. He became a
popular hero, and the subject of many a ballad, in which numerous
adventures were invented for him during his career as an opponent of the
emperor and an outlaw in the Black Forest. For the step-son of an
emperor to be reduced to such a strait was indeed an event likely to
arouse public interest and sympathy, and for centuries the doings of the
robber duke were sung.
In the century after his death the imagination of the people went to
extremes in their conception of the adventures of Duke Ernst, mixing up
ideas concerning him with fancies derived from the Crusades, the whole
taking form in a legend which is still preserved in the popular ballad
literature of Germany. This strange conception takes Ernst to the East,
where he finds himself opposed by terrific creatures in human and brute
form, they being allegorical representations of his misfortunes. Each
monster signifies an enemy. He reaches a black mountain, which
represents his prison. He is borne into the clouds by an old man; this
is typical of his ambition. His ship is wrecked on the Magnet mountain;
a personification of his contest with the emperor. The nails fly out of
the ship and it falls to pieces; an emblem of the falling off of his
vassals. There are other adventures, and the whole circle of legends is
a curious one, as showing the vagaries of imagination, and the strong
interest taken by the people in the fortunes and misfortunes of their
chieftains.
_THE REIGN OF OTHO II._
Otho II., Emperor of Germany,--Otho the Red, as he was called, from his
florid complexion,--succeeded to the Western Empire in 973, when in his
eighteenth year of age. His reign was to be a short and active one, and
attended by adventures and fluctuations of fortune which render it
worthy of description. Few monarchs have experienced so many of the ups
and downs of life within the brief period of five years, through which
his wars extended.
As heir to the imperial title of Charlemagne, he was lord of the ancient
palace of the great emperor, at Aix-la-Chapelle, and here held court at
the feast of St. John in the year 978. All was peace and festivity
within the old imperial city, all war and threat without it. While Otho
and his courtiers, knights and ladies, lords and minions, were enjoying
life with ball and banquet, feast and frivolity, in true palatial
fashion, an army was marching secretly upon them, with treacherous
intent to seize the emperor and his city at one full swoop. Lothaire,
King of France, had in haste and secrecy collected an army, and, without
a declaration of hostilities, was hastening, by forced marches, upon
Aix-la-Chapelle.
It was an act of treachery utterly undeserving of success. But it is not
always the deserving to whom success comes, and Otho heard of the rapid
approach of this army barely in time to take to flight, with his
fear-winged flock of courtiers at his heels, leaving the city an easy
prey to the enemy. Lothaire entered the city without a blow, plundered
it as if he had taken it by storm, and ordered that the imperial eagle,
which was erected in the grand square of Charles the Great, should have
its beak turned westward, in token that Lorraine now belonged to France.
Doubtless the great eagle turned creakingly on its support, thus moved
by the hand of unkingly perfidy, and impatiently awaited for time and
the tide of affairs to turn its beak again to the east. It had not long
to wait. The fugitive emperor hastily called a diet of the princes and
nobles at Dortmund, told them in impassioned eloquence of the faithless
act of the French king, and called upon them for aid against the
treacherous Lothaire. Little appeal was needed. The honor of Germany was
concerned. Setting aside all the petty squabbles which rent the land,
the indignant princes gathered their forces and placed them under Otho's
command. By the 1st of October the late fugitive found himself at the
head of a considerable army, and prepared to take revenge on his
perfidious enemy.
Into France he marched, and made his way with little opposition, by
Rheims and Soissons, until the French capital lay before his eyes. Here
the army encamped on the right bank of the Seine, around Montmartre,
while their cavalry avenged the plundering of Aix-la-Chapelle by laying
waste the country for many miles around. The French were evidently as
little prepared for Otho's activity as he had been for Lothaire's
treachery, and did not venture beyond the walls of their city, leaving
the country a defenceless prey to the revengeful anger of the emperor.
The Seine lay between the two armies, but not a Frenchman ventured to
cross its waters; the garrison of the city, under Hugh Capet,--Count of
Paris, and soon to become the founder of a new dynasty of French
kings,--keeping closely within its walls. These walls proved too strong
for the Germans, and as winter was approaching, and there was much
sickness among his troops, the emperor retreated, after having
devastated all that region of France. But first he kept a vow that he
had made, that he would cause the Parisians to hear a _Te Deum_ such as
they had never heard before. In pursuance of this vow, he gathered upon
the hill of Montmartre all the clergymen whom he could seize, and forced
them to sing his anthem of victory with the full power of their lungs.
Then, having burned the suburbs of Paris, and left his lance quivering
in the city gate, he withdrew in triumph, having amply punished the
treacherous French king. Aix-la-Chapelle fell again into his hands; the
eyes of the imperial eagle were permitted once more to gaze upon
Germany, and in the treaty of peace that followed Lorraine was declared
to be forever a part of the German realm.
Two years afterwards Otho, infected by that desire to conquer Italy
which for centuries afterwards troubled the dreams of German emperors,
and brought them no end of trouble, crossed the Alps and descended upon
the Italian plains, from which he was never to return. Northern Italy
was already in German hands, but the Greeks held possessions in the
south which Otho claimed, in view of the fact that he had married
Theophania, the daughter of the Greek emperor at Constantinople. To
enforce this claim he marched upon the Greek cities, which in their turn
made peace with the Arabs, with whom they had been at war, and gathered
garrisons of these bronzed pagans alike from Sicily and Africa.
For two years the war continued, the advantage resting with Otho. In 980
he reached Rome, and there had a secret interview with Hugh Capet, whom
he sustained in his intention to seize the throne of France, still held
by his old enemy Lothaire. In 981 he captured Naples, Taranto, and other
cities, and in a pitched battle near Cotrona defeated the Greeks and
their Arab allies. Abn al Casem, the terror of southern Italy, and
numbers of his Arab followers, were left dead upon the field.