Arab allies in battle, and now occurred that singular adventure and
reverse of fortune which has made this engagement memorable. The battle
took place at a point near the sea-shore, in the vicinity of Basantello,
not far from Taranto, and at first went to the advantage of the
imperial forces. They attacked the Greeks with great impetuosity, and,
after a stubborn defence, broke through their ranks, and forced them
into a retreat, which was orderly conducted.
It was now mid-day. The victors, elated with their success and their
hopes of pillage, followed the retreating columns along the banks of the
river Corace, feeling so secure that they laid aside their arms and
marched leisurely and confidently forward. It was a fatal confidence. At
one point in their march the road led between the river and a ridge of
serried rocks, which lay silent beneath the mid-day sun. But silent as
they seemed, they were instinct with life. An ambuscade of Arabs
crouched behind them, impatiently waiting the coming of the unsuspecting
Germans.
Suddenly the air pealed with sound, the "Allah il Allah!" of the
fanatical Arabs; suddenly the startled eyes of the imperialists saw the
rugged rocks bursting, as it seemed, into life; suddenly a horde of
dusky warriors poured down upon them with scimitar and javelin,
surrounding them quickly on all sides, cutting and slashing their way
deeply into the disordered ranks. The scattered troops, stricken with
dismay, fell in hundreds. In their surprise and confusion they became
easy victims to their agile foes, and in a short time nearly the whole
of that recently victorious army were slain or taken prisoners. Of the
entire force only a small number broke through the lines of their
environing foes.
The emperor escaped almost by miracle. His trusty steed bore him
unharmed through the crowding Arabs. He was sharply pursued, but the
swift animal distanced the pursuers, and before long he reached the
sea-shore, over whose firm sands he guided his horse, though with little
hope of escaping his active foes. Fortunately, he soon perceived a Greek
vessel at no great distance from the shore, a vision which held out to
him a forlorn hope of escape. The land was perilous; the sea might be
more propitious; he forced his faithful animal into the water, and swam
towards the vessel, in the double hope of being rescued and remaining
unknown.
He was successful in both particulars. The crew willingly took him on
board, ignorant of his high rank, but deeming him to be a knight of
distinction, from whom they could fairly hope for a handsome ransom. His
situation was still a dangerous one, should he become known, and he
could not long hope to remain incognito. In truth, there was a slave on
board who knew him, but who, for purposes of his own, kept the perilous
secret. He communicated by stealth with the emperor, told him of his
recognition, and arranged with him a plan of escape. In pursuance of
this he told the Greeks that their captive was a chamberlain of the
emperor, a statement which Otho confirmed, and added that he had
valuable treasures at Rossano, which, if they would sail thither, they
might take on board as his ransom.
The Greek mariners, deceived by the specious tale, turned their vessel's
prow towards Rossano, and on coming near that city, shifted their
course towards the shore. Otho had been eagerly awaiting this
opportunity. When they had approached sufficiently near to the land, he
suddenly sprang from the deck into the sea, and swam ashore with a
strength and swiftness that soon brought him to the strand. In a short
time afterwards he entered Rossano, then held by his forces, and joined
his queen, who had been left in that city.
This singular adventure is told with a number of variations by the
several writers who have related it, most of them significant of the
love of the marvellous of the old chroniclers. One writer tells us that
the escaping emperor was pursued and attacked by the Greek boatmen, and
that he killed forty of them with the aid of a soldier, named Probus,
whom he met on the shore. By another we are told that the Greeks
recognized him, that he enticed them to the shore by requesting them to
take on board his wife and treasures, which had been left at Rossano,
and that he sent young men on board disguised as female attendants of
his wife, by whose aid he seized the vessel. All the stories agree,
however, in saying that Theophania jeeringly asked the emperor whether
her countrymen had not put him in mortal fear,--a jest for which the
Germans never forgave her.
To return to the domain of fact, we have but further to tell that the
emperor, full of grief and vexation at the loss of his army, and the
slaughter of many of the German and Italian princes and nobles who had
accompanied him, returned to upper Italy, with the purpose of collecting
another army.
All his conquests in the south had fallen again into the hands of the
enemy, and his work remained to be done over again. He held a grand
assembly in Verona, in which he had his son Otho, three years old,
elected as his successor. From there he proceeded to Rome, in which city
he was attacked by a violent fever, brought on by the grief and
excitement into which his reverses had thrown his susceptible and
impatient mind. He died December 7, 983, and was buried in the church of
St. Peter, at Rome.
The fancy of the chroniclers has surrounded his death with legends,
which are worth repeating as curious examples of what mediæval writers
offered and mediæval readers accepted as history. One of them tells the
story of a naval engagement between Otho and the Greeks, in which the
fight was so bitter that the whole sea around the vessels was stained
red with blood. The emperor won the victory, but received a mortal
wound.
Another story, which does not trouble itself to sail very close to the
commonplace, relates that Otho met his end by being whipped to death on
Mount Garganus by the angels, among whom he had imprudently ventured
while they were holding a conclave there. These stories will serve as
examples of the degree of credibility of many of the ancient chronicles
and the credulity of their readers.
_THE FORTUNES OF HENRY THE FOURTH._
At the festival of Easter, in the year 1062, a great banquet was given
in the royal palace at Kaiserswerth, on the Rhine. The Empress Agnes,
widow of Henry III., and regent of the empire, was present, with her
son, then a boy of eleven. A pious and learned woman was the empress,
but she lacked the energy necessary to control the unquiet spirits of
her times. Gentleness and persuasion were the means by which she hoped
to influence the rude dukes and haughty archbishops of the empire, but
qualities such as these were wasted on her fierce subjects, and served
but to gain her the contempt of some and the dislike of others. A plot
to depose the weakly-mild regent and govern the empire in the name of
the youthful monarch was made by three men, Otto of Norheim, the
greatest general of the state, Ekbert of Meissen, its most valiant
knight, and Hanno, Archbishop of Cologne, its leading churchman. These
three men were present at the banquet, which they had fixed upon as the
occasion for carrying out their plot.
The feast over, the three men rose and walked with the boy monarch to a
window of the palace that overlooked the Rhine. On the waters before
them rode at anchor a handsome vessel, which the child looked upon with
eyes of delight.
[Illustration: SCENE OF MONASTIC LIFE.]
"Would you like to see it closer?" asked Hanno. "I will take you on
board, if you wish."
"Oh, will you?" pleaded the boy. "I shall be so glad."
The three conspirators walked with him to the stream, and rowed out to
the vessel, the empress viewing them without suspicion of their design.
But her doubts were aroused when she saw that the anchor had been raised
and that the sails of the vessel were being set. Filled with sudden
alarm she left the palace and hastened to the shore, just as the
kidnapping craft began to move down the waters of the stream.
At the same moment young Henry, who had until now been absorbed in
gazing delightedly about the vessel, saw what was being done, and heard
his mother's cries. With courage and resolution unusual for his years he
broke, with a cry of anger, from those surrounding him, and leaped into
the stream, with the purpose of swimming ashore. But hardly had he
touched the water when Count Ekbert sprang in after him, seized him
despite his struggles, and brought him back to the vessel.
The empress entreated in pitiful accents for the return of her son, but
in vain; the captors of the boy were not of the kind to let pity
interfere with their plans; on down the broad stream glided the vessel,
the treacherous vassals listening in silence to the agonized appeals of
the distracted mother, and to the mingled prayers and demands of the
young emperor to be taken back. The country people, furious on learning
that the emperor had been stolen, and was being carried away before
their eyes, pursued the vessel for some distance on both sides of the
river. But their cries and threats were of no more avail than had been
the mother's tears and prayers. The vessel moved on with increasing
speed, the three kidnappers erect on its deck, their only words being
those used to cajole and quiet their unhappy prisoner, whom they did
their utmost to solace by promises and presents.
The vessel continued its course until it reached Cologne, where the
imperial captive was left under the charge of the archbishop, his two
confederates fully trusting him to keep close watch and ward over their
precious prize. The empress was of the same opinion. After vainly
endeavoring to regain her lost son from his powerful captors, she
resigned the regency and retired with a broken heart to an Italian
convent, in which the remainder of her sad life was to be passed.
The unhappy boy soon learned that his new lot was not to be one of
pleasure. He had a life of severe discipline before him. Bishop Hanno
was a stern and rigid disciplinarian, destitute of any of the softness
to which the lad had been accustomed, and disposed to rule all under his
control with a rod of iron. He kept his youthful captive strictly
immured in the cloister, where he had to endure the severest discipline,
while being educated in Latin and the other learning of the age.
The regency given up by Agnes was instantly assumed by the ambitious
churchman, and a decree to that effect was quickly passed by the lords
of the diet, on the grounds that Hanno was the bishop of the diocese in
which the emperor resided. The character of Hanno is variously
represented by historians. While some accuse him of acts of injustice
and cruelty, others speak of him as a man of energy, yet one whose holy
life, his paternal care for his see, and his zealous reformation of
monasteries and foundation of churches, gained him the character of a
saint.
Young Henry remained but a year or two in the hands of this stern
taskmaster. An imperative necessity called Hanno to Italy, and he was
obliged to leave the young monarch under the charge of Adalbert,
Archbishop of Bremen, a personage of very different character from
himself. Adalbert, while a churchman of great ability, was a courtier
full of ambitious views. He was one of the most polished and learned men
of his time, at once handsome, witty, and licentious, his character
being in the strongest contrast to the stern harshness of Hanno and the
coarse manners of the nobles of that period.
It would have been far better, however, for Henry could he have remained
under the control of Hanno, with all his severity. It is true that the
kindness and gentleness of Adalbert proved a delightful change to the
growing boy, and the unlimited liberty he now enjoyed was in pleasant
contrast to his recent restraint, while the gravity and severe study of
Hanno's cloister were agreeably replaced by the gay freedom of
Adalbert's court, in which the most serious matters were treated as
lightly as a jest. But the final result of the change was that the boy's
character became thoroughly corrupted. Adalbert surrounded his youthful
charge with constant alluring amusements, using the influence thus
gained to obtain new power in the state for himself, and places of honor
and profit for his partisans. He inspired him also with a contempt for
the rude-mannered dukes of the empire, and for what he called the stupid
German people, while he particularly filled the boy's mind with a
dislike for the Saxons, with whom the archbishop was at feud. All this
was to have an important influence on the future life of the growing
monarch.
It was more Henry's misfortune than his fault that he grew up to manhood
as a compound of sensuality, levity, malice, treachery, and other mean
qualities, for his nature had in it much that was good, and in his
after-life he displayed noble qualities which had been long hidden under
the corrupting faults of his education. The crime of the ambitious
nobles who stole him from his pious and gentle mother went far to ruin
his character, and was the leading cause of the misfortunes of his life.
As to the character of the youthful monarch, and its influence upon the
people, a few words may suffice. His licentious habits soon became a
scandal and shame to the whole empire, the more so that the mistresses
with whom he surrounded himself were seen in public adorned with gold
and precious stones which had been taken from the consecrated vessels of
the church. His dislike of the Saxons was manifested in the scorn with
which he treated this section of his people, and the taxes and enforced
labors with which they were oppressed.
The result of all this was an outbreak of rebellion. Hanno, who had
beheld with grave disapproval the course taken by Adalbert, now exerted
his great influence in state affairs, convoked an assembly of the
princes of the empire, and cited Henry to appear before it. On his
refusal, his palace was surrounded and his person seized, while Adalbert
narrowly escaped being made prisoner. He was obliged to remain in
concealment during the three succeeding years, while the indignant
Saxons, taking advantage of the opportunity for revenge, laid waste his
lands.
The licentious young ruler found his career of open vice brought to a
sudden end. The stern Hanno was again in power. Under his orders the
dissolute courtiers were dispersed, and Henry was compelled to lead a
more decorous life, a bride being found for him in the person of Bertha,
daughter of the Italian Margrave of Susa, to whom he had at an earlier
date been affianced. She was a woman of noble spirit, but,
unfortunately, was wanting in personal beauty, in consequence of which
she soon became an object of extreme dislike to her husband, a dislike
which her patience and fidelity seemed rather to increase than to
diminish.
The feeling of the young monarch towards his dutiful wife was overcome
in a singular manner, which is well worth describing. Henry at first was
eager to free himself from the tie that bound him to the unloved Bertha,
a resolution in which he was supported by Siegfried, Archbishop of
Mayence, who offered to assist him in getting a divorce. At a diet held
at Worms, Henry demanded a separation from his wife, to whom he
professed an unconquerable aversion. His efforts, however, were
frustrated by the pope's legate, who arrived in Germany during these
proceedings, and the licentious monarch, finding himself foiled in these
legal steps, sought to gain his end by baser means. He caused beautiful
women and maidens to be seized in their homes and carried to his palace
as ministers to his pleasure, while he exposed the unhappy empress to
the base solicitations of his profligate companions, offering them large
sums if they could ensnare her, in her natural revulsion at his
shameless unfaithfulness.
But the virtue of Bertha was proof against all such wiles, and the story
goes that she turned the tables on her vile-intentioned husband in an
amusing and decisive manner. On one occasion, as we are informed, the
empress appeared to listen to the solicitations of one of the would-be
seducers, and appointed a place and time for a secret meeting with this
profligate. The triumphant courtier duly reported his success to Henry,
who, overjoyed, decided to replace him in disguise. At the hour fixed he
appeared and entered the chamber named by Bertha, when he suddenly found
himself assailed by a score of stout servant-maids, armed with rods,
which they laid upon his back with all the vigor of their arms. The
surprised Lothario ran hither and thither to escape their blows, crying
out that he was the king. In vain his cries; they did not or would not
believe him; and not until he had been most soundly beaten, and their
arms were weary with the exercise, did they open the door of the
apartment and suffer the crest-fallen reprobate to escape.
This would seem an odd means of gaining the affection of a truant
husband, but it is said to have had this effect upon Henry, his wronged
wife from that moment gaining a place in his heart, into which she had
fairly cudgelled herself. The man was really of susceptible disposition,
and her invincible fidelity had at length touched him, despite himself.
From that moment he ceased his efforts to get rid of her, treated her
with more consideration, and finally settled down to the fact that a
beautiful character was some atonement for a homely face, and that
Bertha was a woman well worthy his affection.
We have now to describe the most noteworthy event in the life of Henry
IV., and the one which has made his name famous in history,--his contest
with the great ecclesiastic Hildebrand, who had become pope under the
title of Gregory VII. Though an aged man when raised to the papacy,
Gregory's vigorous character displayed itself in a remarkable activity
in the enhancement of the power of the church. His first important step
was directed against the scandals of the priesthood in the matter of
celibacy, the marriage of priests having become common. A second decree
of equal importance followed. Gregory forbade the election of bishops by
the laity, reserving this power to the clergy, under confirmation by the
pope. He further declared that the church was independent of the state,
and that the extensive lands held by the bishops were the property of
the church, and free from control by the monarch.
These radical decrees naturally aroused a strong opposition, in the
course of which Henry came into violent controversy with the pope.
Gregory accused Henry openly of simony, haughtily bade him to come to
Rome, and excommunicated the bishops who had been guilty of the same
offence. The emperor, who did not know the man with whom he had to deal,
retorted by calling an assembly of the German bishops at Worms, in which
the pope was declared to be deposed from his office.
The result was very different from that looked for by the volatile young
ruler. The vigorous and daring pontiff at once placed Henry himself
under interdict, releasing his subjects from their oath of allegiance,
and declaring him deprived of the imperial dignity. The scorn with which
the emperor heard of this decree was soon changed to terror when he
perceived its effect upon his people. The days were not yet come in
which the voice of the pope could be disregarded. With the exception of
the people of the cities and the free peasantry, who were opposed to
the papal dominion, all the subjects of the empire deserted Henry,
avoiding him as though he were infected with the plague. The Saxons flew
to arms; the foreign garrisons were expelled; the imprisoned princes
were released; all the enemies whom Henry had made rose against him; and
in a diet, held at Oppenheim, the emperor was declared deposed while the
interdict continued, and the pope was invited to visit Augsburg; in
order to settle the affairs of Germany. The election of a successor to
Henry was even proposed, and, to prevent him from communicating with the
pope, his enemies passed a decree that he should remain in close
residence at Spires.
The situation of the recently great monarch had suddenly become
desperate. Never had a decree of excommunication against a crowned ruler
been so completely effective. The frightened emperor saw but one hope
left, to escape to Italy before the princes could prevent him, and
obtain release from the interdict at any cost, and with whatever
humiliation it might involve. With this end in view he at once took to
flight, accompanied by Bertha, his infant son, and a single knight, and
made his way with all haste towards the Alps.
The winter was one of the coldest that Germany had ever known, the Rhine
remaining frozen from St. Martin's day of 1076 to April, 1077. About
Christmas of this severe winter the fugitives reached the snow-covered
Alps, having so far escaped the agents of their enemies, and crossed
the mountains by the St. Bernard pass, the difficulty of the journey
being so great that the empress had to be slid down the precipitous
paths by ropes in the hands of guides, she being wrapped in an ox-hide
for protection.
Italy was at length reached, after the greatest dangers and hardships
had been surmounted. Here Henry, much to his surprise, found prevailing
a very different spirit from that which he had left behind him. The
nobles, who cordially hated Gregory, and the bishops, many of whom were
under interdict, hailed his coming with joy, with the belief "that the
emperor was coming to humiliate the haughty pope by the power of the
sword." He might soon have had an army at his back, but that he was too
thoroughly downcast to think of anything but conciliation, and to the
disgust of the Italians insisted on humiliating himself before the
powerful pontiff.
Gregory was little less alarmed than the emperor on learning of Henry's
sudden arrival in Italy. He was then on his way to Augsburg, and, in
doubt as to the intentions of his enemy, took hasty refuge in the castle
of Canossa, then held by the Countess Matilda, recently a widow, and the
most powerful and influential princess in Italy.
But the alarmed pope was astonished and gratified when he learned that
the emperor, instead of intending an armed assault upon him, had applied
to the Countess Matilda, asking her to intercede in his behalf with the
pontiff. Gregory's acute mind quickly perceived the position in which
Henry stood, and, with great severity, he at first refused to speak of a
reconciliation, but referred all to the diet; then, on renewed
entreaties, he consented to receive Henry at Canossa, if he would come
alone, and as a penitent. The castle was surrounded with three walls,
within the second of which Henry was admitted, his attendants being left
without. He had laid aside every badge of royalty, being clothed in
penitential dress and barefoot, and fasting and praying from morning to
evening. For a second and even a third day was he thus kept, and not
until the fourth day, moved at length by the solicitations of Matilda
and those about him, did Gregory grant permission for Henry to enter his
presence. An interview now took place, in which the pope consented to
release the penitent emperor from the interdict. One of the conditions
of this release was he should leave to Gregory the settlement of affairs
in Germany, and to give up all exercise of his imperial power until he
should be granted permission to exercise it again.
This agreement was followed by a solemn mass, after which Gregory spoke
to the following effect: As regarded the crimes of which Henry had
accused him, he could easily bring evidence in disproof of the charges
made, but he would invoke the judgment of God alone. "May the body of
Jesus Christ, which I am about to receive," he said, "be the witness of
my innocence. I beseech the Almighty thus to dispel all suspicions, if
I am innocent; to strike me dead on the spot, if guilty."
He then received one-half the Sacred Host, and turning to the king,
offered him the remaining half, bidding him to follow his example, if he
held himself to be guiltless. Henry refused the ordeal, doubtless
because he did not dare to risk the penalty, and was glad enough to
escape from the presence of the pope, a humble penitent.