Chapter XVII · AN EVIL SPIRIT.

After communicating to Barbarossa, Victor's promise of obedience, Dassel took his way towards the tent of Henry the Lion, to announce to the prince the speedy dissolution of his marriage. The Saxon Duke lodged in the Augustinian convent in front of the city. In spite of the decisions of the council of war, this cloister had been neither pillaged nor burned, for it stood in the midst of his camp, and served as his headquarters; and the demand for its destruction, urged by some of the Italians, had met with a stern refusal.

"In the North," he said, "I spare neither time nor money in building churches and monasteries. Why should I consent to destroy them in the South? You must understand, once for all, that I will not do violence to my principles, in order to gratify your hatred for the Milanese."

These words put an end to the discussion; the beautiful church was spared, but the anxious monks were driven to take shelter within the city. Ever since Henry had begun to entertain seriously the idea of a divorce, he had lost the air of frankness and good-nature which had formerly characterized him. He walked with downcast eyes, his brows were knit, his head stooped, and a heavy burden seemed to oppress his intellect. While Rinaldo urged the divorce, the Duke remained irresolute; his pride prompted him to the step, but his heart opposed it. A union of fifteen years had proved the sincere affection and unalterable fidelity of his wife, who lived only in her husband's love. He could not call to mind a single unkind word; Clemence, on the contrary, had always striven to make her husband forget his cares and anxieties. And even now, although well aware of this scheme for their separation, she never gave utterance to one murmur or reproach; all her efforts were directed to conceal her sadness and despair. But his wife's anguish was not unknown to the Duke. He admired the generous spirit of the noble woman, and it cost him many a heartache, to feel himself, as it were, compelled to do her such a cruel wrong. Had the Duchess reproached him with his injustice, the struggle would have been less difficult, but this mute sorrow, this submissive love disarmed him. It was in vain that he looked back over years long gone by, he could discover nothing worthy of dissatisfaction, for each succeeding year since their marriage gave new proofs of Clemence's affection and fidelity.

Sad thoughts filled his mind as he sat beneath an arbor of clematis in the convent garden. His back leaning against the wall, his limbs stretched out and his hands clenched upon his breast, his haggard, downcast face denoted the painful struggle raging within him, which from time to time took vent in a deep sigh.

A child's clear voice awoke him from his mournful revery. At the end of the grove his wife appeared, leading his little daughter Adelaide by the hand. As soon as she perceived her father, she ran towards him, but suddenly stopped at a short distance with an air of indecision and doubt.

"Well, well! little one, come on!" said Henry, forcing a smile.

The child obeyed, but it was plain that she did not feel at ease, for she looked anxiously towards her mother.

Henry seemed annoyed as Clemence seated herself beside him, but although the noble woman had remarked his grave and troubled expression and divined its cause, her strong will concealed her sad emotions.

"Father, why do you always wear these iron clothes?" said the child, playing with the rings of his coat of mail.

"Because it is necessary in time of war, my child. Would you not like to have one like it? See how it shines and sparkles!"

"No, father; it is too hard and stiff; I like my mother's dresses better."

"If you were a boy, instead of a little girl, it would please you more."

These words produced a strange effect upon the infant. She first turned towards Clemence who seemed ready to burst into tears, and then threw her arms around her father's neck, as if to prevent him reproaching her mother.

"I want to be a boy, father!" said Adelaide, laughing through her tears.

"You do, do you? and what for?"

"So that my mother may not cry any more!"

"Nonsense, little chatterbox; why should your mother cry?"

"Oh yes, she does cry, and a great deal too; only when you come, she dries her eyes, and smiles."

The Duke was touched; these artless words from the mouth of his child contained a reproach which shamed him. Until then, he had never spoken to his wife of the proposed divorce, and even now, although the opportunity seemed favorable, he hesitated, for the consciousness of his injustice deprived him of his courage.

Clemence read his thoughts, and a mingling of love for her husband and pity for his weakness, joined to a faint hope that, even yet, he might be weaned from his determination, decided her to speak.

"Dear Henry," she began, "a wife's duty is to watch and pray, whenever a danger menaces her lord. I can no longer remain silent in the presence of the schemers who seek to beguile you. The sinful projects of the chancellor Rinaldo will destroy your eternal soul. Believe me, no motive can excuse an evil deed; nothing can make innocent that which the laws of God forbid. I am ready, if it were possible, to make any sacrifice to your happiness, even were my heart to break in the attempt!"

Tears choked her further utterance; but the Duke well knew that her words were not an idle speech, but that they were dictated by true and sincere affection.

"Why do you allude to this circumstance, so painful to us both," he said. "There are some things which must be placed even above the feelings of the heart. On the honor of a knight, Clemence, I look upon you as the noblest of women, and yet, with me the Guelphic dynasty in the North will end."

"I know the chancellor's famous discovery of our consanguinity!" replied the Duchess. "Henry, you know that the plea is false. If our divorce will make you happier, I would submit, without a murmur; but the certainty that this divorce will imperil your immortal soul, wrings my heart with anguish. Henry! I implore you, give up this guilty project! Trust to the future.--Perhaps--perhaps, my days are numbered."

At this moment a horse's hoofs rang on the pavement of the outer court, and almost immediately Rinaldo stood before the arbor. Clemence rose hastily; although pale and trembling, her tears had ceased, and she gazed upon the chancellor with a look of horror. Slowly leaving with her child the presence of her husband, she cast upon him one lingering glance in which were reflected the feelings of her soul.

Robed in the magnificent costume which he wore only on great occasions of ceremony, wearing on his finger the pastoral ring of the Archbishopric of Cologne (conferred upon him by the Emperor), a costly chain of triple gold around his neck, and on his head a splendid mitre, the Count of Dassel, with a smiling face, saluted the Saxon Duke.

"I have ridden over to examine the tower which your Highness has built," he said, with a low bow; "what a noble piece of work! I can only compare it to the one constructed by the Emperor for the Siege of Cremona."

This was one of Henry's weak points, and the crafty Dassel knew it.

"You are in error, my dear Count," he replied; "it is very true that my Imperial cousin constructed a splendid machine for that siege, but his tower could not accommodate, by two hundred men, as many as mine. Besides, it could only be moved slowly and with much danger."

Rinaldo did not venture to doubt the superiority of the ducal construction.

"Oh, if that is the case, the perfection of your edifice threatens to become dangerous."

"Dangerous! and how so?"

"Yes," said Dassel; "dangerous to the fame and aspirations of more than one hero who has built up his dreams of glory and renown upon the taking of Milan. Think of the disappointment of the Count Palatine Otho, of the Duke of Austria, of the Landgrave of Thuringen, and a host of other illustrious captains, when they see the Suabian lion float over the ramparts of the city."

The Duke laughed boisterously.

"The thoughts of your triumph recalls to me naturally the certitude of your good fortune. His Holiness, the Pope, has expressed his readiness to annul the marriage which you have contracted with your relative."

At these words the Duke's face darkened as his right hand began to play with his beard, while the left sought angrily his sword-hilt.

"It only remains for your Highness to indicate the day and hour for this wished-for divorce," added the Chancellor.

"Hum! you appear very much interested in my affairs," replied the Duke. "Why this precipitation?"

"Was it not your desire, my lord?"

"Certainly, it was my desire. But I will not submit to dictation from any one, and it may suit me better to leave matters as they are."

The courtier appeared surprised.

"Oh! that amazes you; yes, I said it might suit me better to leave matters as they were, my dear Count."

"Your Highness is certainly the best judge of your own affairs," replied Dassel, cautiously, as if he felt himself in the presence of an unchained lion; "still I must observe that matters are already pretty far advanced."

"Well, turn them back again. That must be an easy matter for you; you have experience in such things."

"May I venture to inquire the reasons which have influenced your Highness to this sudden change?"

"The reasons!" he cried angrily; "the reasons! because it would be infamous! Why do you stare at me thus? Look there!"

And he pointed to where, at the extremity of the garden, Clemence, half hidden by the rose-trees, was kneeling before an image of the Madonna. Near her stood the little Adelaide with clasped bands, gazing alternately at the image and at her weeping mother. Rinaldo saw the mother and the child; he understood the Duke's anger; he resolved to complete his infernal work.

"She is a pious woman," he said; "a model for her sex! The separation will be most painful to her. I understand it well; but it is also painful for a valiant prince to witness the extinction of his race."

"Oh! the pangs of separation, the grief which they cause a loving heart, may be healed in time," said Henry; "but, my dear Count, this action will be not only cruel and pitiless, but it will be criminal in the sight of God."

"Criminal in the sight of God! this is a new phase to give to the affair. The Pope annuls your marriage; he knows his privileges, and is responsible for the consequences."

"Yes, your Pope," replied Henry, with an angry sneer. "Tell me, can the act of that puppet of the Emperor make an evil act a good one?"

"This is certainly a grave point for a timid conscience," said Dassel, ironically.

"But yourself, my dear Count? Years ago, the Emperor put that archiepiscopal ring on your finger; tell me, how it happens that you have not yet been consecrated? All that is needed is your request. Victor will be delighted. But--and it is natural enough--you despise the consecration of the Anti-Pope! And yet you pretend that his intervention ought to be sufficient for me?"

"There is no hurry about my consecration," replied Rinaldo, quickly; "but your Highness makes a mistake in being influenced by such scruples of conscience, which are, to say the least, exaggerated."

"Exaggerated!"

"Certainly! Is it not the Emperor's prerogative to appoint the Bishop of Rome? The history of the Empire is there to prove the correctness of my assertion."

"Without any doubt, my Imperial cousin needs, for the accomplishment of his designs, a very submissive Pope. I shall not discuss this subject. The Northern bishops, likewise, owe me obedience.--There is but one difference in our positions,--none of my bishops is the supreme chief of Christendom."

"There is still another difference," resumed Rinaldo, with some hesitation, "and that is, your cousin Frederic is laying the foundations of a dynasty which is destined to rule the world, whilst your works will perish with you."

The Duke of Saxony was speechless, as, with contracted features, he rose and stood like a bronze statue before the tempter. The vulnerable point of his armor had been touched; for many years Henry's dream had been, to found an independent empire in the North, and all his efforts, all his warlike enterprises looked to this end. Dassel made a last effort to excite the Duke's ambition.

"You have, it is true, several lovely daughters; but you cannot bequeath your domains to them. All your conquests will revert to the Empire; nothing will remain to them, save their titles and their rights of dower."

"Stop a moment, Count!" cried Henry, furious at seeing his conquests, so painfully made, disposed of thus summarily.

"I am well aware, that my words may have offended your Highness; but, pardon my frankness, they were none the less just."

"It is false, I tell you! entirely false! Do you imagine that for years I have toiled and fought, have borne hunger and thirst, and a thousand fatigues of every kind, only to descend to the tomb like a brainless fool?"

"I regret it sincerely, my lord; but, since you refuse the divorce which is proposed, you must take the consequences."

"Refuse it! No; I must consider the matter further. What shall be, shall be; yes, on my honor!"

Rinaldo trembled with pleasure.

"Go, and thank my Imperial cousin!" continued Henry. "This divorce must be pronounced, even should it insure my own ruin! Still, beg his Majesty not to carry the matter further than I wish myself."