The Truce of God / A Tale of the Eleventh Century

rn for thee, he

d, and not thy

oul the cradl

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, though her breath was short and difficult, wore a smile upon her lips. The shadow of death was on her sunken temples, and had touched her quivering nostril and waxen ear, through which the light came as through porcelain. Yet the eyes were closed, and the pale lips moved, and the wasted hands, embracing

icity so striking in the images which adorned the old Gothic cathedrals. The eyes of the maiden frequently rested upon it, and as often as sunset

walls. The things of earth make the earthly heart ache in the presence of death. But h

She started and looked suddenly at Margaret. The invalid had caught the whisper, low as it was. A slight

It is my father!

is face in the curtains. Henry, all tears and sobs, caught his sister's outstretched hand and held it to his heart, gazing in anguish at the ruin of his idol. Behind these knelt Father Omehr. For a moment the man triumphed over the Christia

d us!" said the Lady Margaret, and they

whispered

d the moan deepened, but that be

her hand fell, in a cares

is face, as if a year had been ravaging there: it was so furrowed, so haggard. He gazed b

Omehr, who now stood at her at her

sionary

en, on her death-bed, entreated him

e impression upon the heart-broken baron. The Count Mont

our message, my child, as

on, she fell back upon her pillow. The countess prudently led the unresis

argaret to the mission

the old man, struggling with the weakness of human na

or His mercy is infinite. May He uphold and strengthen my fat

nce more the Lady Margaret opened

d sighs of anguish and affection were given and returned before another day began to dawn. How precious are the last hours of life!

new strength. Her father trembled at the suggestion-what if sh

ered the apartment. Sir Albert, obeying a look which the maiden gave him,

stood sorrowful and mute, nor did anger and disdain appear in the features with which th

the assurance of meeting you hereafter. In the name of

as trampled in the dust, his pride was broken. The stubborn rock was smitt

d," he murmured, kneeling an

ther. God is

mortal, her face assumed an expression of such unearthly meaning. Sir

y covered the hollow cheeks. Without a word, but with an eloquence that must have charmed the attendant Angels as much as it

ed down his brown cheeks, "I freely forgive you and yo

the words aft

t: and I declare, here in the presence of dying inno

o effort to conceal his tears. Father Omehr, who had raised h

Gilbert de Hers has long since forgiven

she had won heaven by prayer. What are earth's conquests to a victory like this! What the splendid overthrow of nations-what Thermopyl?, or Marathon, or Trafalgar to this triumph over long-

e wonted smile forsook her lips. She only felt the immensity of the goodness of God-she only bowed before this new manifestation of his power. The three knights,

light of faith and of the heavenly mansions, was lit, and the maiden, unable to kneel, received the Sacred Body as she lay. Her eyes were closed, and, as if detached from all earthly thing

ist, the Son of the living God, who suffered for it, in the name of the Holy Spirit, which had been imparted to it: in the name of Angels and Archangels, in the name of Thrones and Dominations, in the name of Principalities and Powers, in the name of Cherubim and Seraphim, in the name

of dissolution. The face only grew more serene and less

ell might they peal more merrily then, than at birth, or marriage, or earthly conquest

were expecting it, had gone forth to meet the remains of their dearly loved lady, and rosy children were scattering flowers before the bier. They could not repress some tears and sighs for their benefactress, yet they knew

oly priests to be buried within the church, or only extended to laics of distinguished sanctity. Yet Father Omehr had assured the maiden that she might be interred in the choir at Tübingen. Margaret had declined a privilege of which she deemed herself un

of those who stood around the grave would have said to the dead, "Awake!" if the word could have recalled her to share the beauty of the world before them. When the Count and Countess

to mark the scourge which had desolated the smiling country without. The Baron of Stramen sat down upon a bench, covering his face with his hands. Here, in the sight of his ruined castle, and with the funeral tears of his only daughter undried upon his cheeks, he was happier than he had been for many a year: happier than when carousing i

mself, however, and stood as if petrified at the sight of the group before him. Father Omehr, who rightly judged that his

s adying!" s

he?" asked

e Baron of Stramen seemed not to listen, for he sa

you?" he said t

, remain with

peasant's announcement, and followe

with it. After an interval of more than twenty years, it was restored to Rodolph by this Bertha, without a word of explanation. He gave it to me the night before his death"-here the baron paused an instant-"and informed

eath of Sir San

es

ssionary; "perhaps the mercy of God may choose to

le army had disappeared; but his account was discredited until she appeared by daylight to the surviving vassals of Stramen, when they emerged from the forest in which they had taken refuge. At the time of the return of the soldiers of Stramen, she was much thinner and walked with difficulty, rarely issuing from her retreat in the ravine, to which she had again retired. On the morning of Margaret's funeral

from his guide, as they walked swiftly t

, after keenly scanning the Lord of Hers, raised herself with difficulty upon her arm. Father Omehr started.

aid the missionary, springi

passed her hand over her high, clammy forehead. "And I know you, Sir Al

n was as remarkable as his valor, quivered before the mournful gaze of that we

f Stramen. Father, have him brought here

ds to a youth who was present, and

nt for him?"

es

e soon

carce a

yes; "God has designed it all! And now," she resumed, aft

, Albert of Hers and the wonder

he Baron of Hers, who in an agony of suspense paced up and down the clearing before

to Henry to assist him. There were traces of recent tears upon her furrowed

emporary mastery over grief; "listen, for it is God's mercy that permits me to speak and you to hear! Tw

e ring from his finger, advanced a step, saying hoa

r hand, and after examinin

ha. But how did

Rodolph, to who

some confused impression, and at length said: "Yes,

rust," replied

he poor creature, and she hung her head. The silence w

my account. I loved neither, for I had promised to marry Albert of the Thorn, and I loved him as much as my vain heart was able to love anything. But I was weak enough to receive the pr

ron sh

dashing along at full speed. He reined up when he saw me. It was the Lord of Hers. He began to smile, and asked me to forgive him the fright he had given me, and, untying a scarf which he wore around his waist, t

oble

ge had choked him, and drew his sword. Albert sprang quickly up the ledge of rocks, and Sir Robert followed. I saw Albert stoop, pick up a large fragment of rock, and hurl it-I saw Sir Robert fall, and then I grew sick and dizzy, and fainted. When I recovered, Albert was watching me, trembling and livid. I looked around, and there was Sir Robert, stretched out stiff and still and bloody. He had worn nothing but a light cap on his head, and the stone had made a fearful dent in his temple. I knelt beside him, and prayed, and chafed his hands, and brought water from the spring and poured it upon his face. I hoped he would come to life, even if he would only revive to kill me. It was all in vain. He grew cold: he was dead. Again I looked at Albert-he was shaking like a leaf. 'Bertha,' he said, '

as a perjured woman-perjured through love and fear. I heard you swear vengeance. I wept, but I was silent. I saw your fury and your wars. My heart bled, but I was silent. There was no rest, no sleep, no peace for me. It was not my husband's death that drove me mad. Oh, no! It was remorse. There were spectres all around me-I trembled

uite exhausted, then again

to forgive me-but

ther already," said Father

ien

t reconciled them

y Margar

uried this

oing. Yes, she is dead-the beautiful, the young, t

rp features, and she sank gradually back i

eproached himself with all its pernicious consequences. He saw in the wreck before him the fruits of his sin; Bertha's misery and madness s

riven Bertha to perjury and insanity by his impetuous and uncontrollable temper. For, he reaso

ainst the family of Hers were only unjustifiable murders an

tion, but he was entirely abs

missionary and all the neighborhood. On the third day she received the Viaticum, and expired in the arms of the Baron of Stramen, who, togethe

the Lady Margaret, with nothing but a

ert of Hers had prevailed upon the baron and his son to remain with him until they could find suitable lodgings at home. The reconciliation between the nobles was complete; and at sunrise the next

that he could not sha

f Tuscany, "the heroine of the Middle Ages." She devoted herself to the cause of the Holy See as early as 1604, and her life was a series of sacrifices cheerfully made for the security of the Church. While wondering at her heroism, you love her for her c

tle of the Elster, thi

d by the Lombards, who

gained a victory at Ma

g royal

princess took little notice of the nameless knight who came among them without follower or page, and whose shield was simply blazon

ernal dissensions, and unable to profit by their victory. Inspired by this, and by his rival's death, and encouraged by the attitude and successes of the Lombards, Henry meditated an invasion of Italy, and the

anger. England and France looked coldly on, and the emp

in the recollection of the trials of the Apostles and their successors abundant consolation for himself and his friends. Florence, Padua, Cremona, Milan had fallen before the Austrian invader. Lucca swelled the triumphs of the tyrant. Fortress af

o the young knight's heart, wounded by the siege of Rome and misfortunes of Matilda, the tidings of the reconciliation at home were like a sweet balsam. And though the blessed intelligence was blended with the account of the Lady Margaret's death, it was not the less welcome.

ed the eternal city. Hitherto, the Romans, encouraged by the Pope, had made an heroic resistance, and the besiegers had suffered incredibly from their desperate sallies, as well as from the diseases that decimated them. But the fideli

d she now selected him as the instrument of her generosity. She pointed to a large amount of silver, saying that she intrusted him with the dangerous and difficult duty of conveying it to Gregory. Gilbert gladly accepted the perilous commission. He load

nd venerated. When the Pontiff rose and spoke of the virtue and fortitude that ought to sustain them in this crisis, he seemed endowed with supernatural power

consecrated on the twenty-fourth of March, by the bishops of Modena and Arezzo. His first act was to crown King Henry in the Vatican. Gregory retired to the castle of San Angelo, and the giddy populace greeted the anti-pope with shouts of joy. A severe chastisement awaited their perfidy and inconstancy. Robert Guiscard was advancing with thirty thousand infantry and six thousand cavalry, and Henry fled before the redoubtable prince, whom he had provoked by an alliance with Alexis, the Emperor of the East. Abandoned by Henry, who had returned to Austria, the treacherous Romans barred their gates. Robert asked admission, but in vain; and his irritated soldiers forced their way at midnight through the Flaminian gate. The city was crimsoned with flame and sword. A body of Saracens formed part of the Norman's army, an

sts, secure in their numerical superiority, were plunged in sleep, she led the remnants of her troops into the hostile camp. The sleepers awoke to the cry of "St. Peter! St. Peter!" and perished ere they could grasp their arms. The chivalry and nobility of Lombardy were well-nigh exterminated. In a few hours, corpses and tents alone remained of the hostile array.

le, Gilbert was summoned

tary services and fidelity are enhanced by your brilliant exploits in

tep, and sinking upo

our own valor-victorious and secure. I must decline your bounty, for from this moment I renounce the soldier. Here is my sword, ma

Hers, accompanied by a troop of

ght over the world, despite the mists and clouds of error and vice, was setting at last. How his dying words bespeak the Saint: "My best-loved friends, I count my labors nothing. That which gives me confidence is the consciousness of having l

that smote the forehead of guilty Europe as if with a burning hand:

*

. The Church of the Nativity was repaired, and again rose in beauty over the faithful who flocked there to worship. Yet there was a str

Redemptor

in the hearts of all who knew him, and, transmitted from sire to son, r

r vassals for their uniform courtesy and charity. Their hairs were whitenin

*

rnal tribunal, and his body had been cast out as excommunicated from its sepulchre. The male line of the Franconian emperors had expired in Henry V; Lothaire of Saxony, a zealous champion of Rome, h

winters, still lived at the foot of the hill, surrounded by a goodly number of stalwart sons and fair-haired daughters. And sometimes in the long winter evenings, when the fire sparkled brightly and the old man was garrulous with joy, he would tell how he once entered a hostile castle as a minnesinger with a noble lover,

f to God, but on the battle-field of the Elster, and over the corpse of Rodolph of Suabia. He had proved his sincerit

*

y. One was attired as a Benedictine, the other as a knight. They stopped at the church and before a cluster of

ancta adj

and mother. The monk and the knight knelt down and prayed. As they rose, the b

y years before they had met in youth and enmity, and they knelt together beside the grave of Father Omehr, with their hearts f

E