Page:A Dictionary of Saintly Women Volume 1.djvu/21

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ST. ADELAIDE
7

his two daughters, and brought them up at her court.

On Feb. 2, 962, the long-deferred coronation of Otho and Adelaide took place at Rome, whither they were invited by John XII.; but, before leaving Germany, Otho had his young son, Otho, crowned at Aix-la-Chapelle. The next year, at the instance of a council of bishops, the Emperor deposed Pope John, on account of his crimes, and appointed instead his own secretary, a layman, as Leo VIII. In 973 Otho died at Memleben, universally and heartily regretted, having been king of Germany thirty-six years, and Emperor nearly eleven. He was buried at Magdeburg by the side of his first wife, Edith of England, and Adelaide spent much of her time there in religious retirement. He was succeeded by his son, Otho II., who, under the influence of his wife, Theophanie, banished his mother from court. Adelaide went to her native land. The empire, however, did not prosper in her absence; the people were anxious for her return; and a reconciliation having been effected by St. Majolus, Adelaide kept the Easter festival of 981 at Rome, with her son and his wife.

Otho died at Rome in 983, leaving Theophanie regent for his son, Otho III., then nine years old. Adelaide and Theophanie, although not always in perfect harmony, agreed in bestowing an excellent education on the young king, who, for his beauty and acquirements, was called "the Wonder of the World." One of his tutors was a Frenchman, Gerbert d'Aurillac, a man so learned that he was accused of using magic arts. He was made archbishop of Rheims, and ultimately Pope Sylvester II. The empresses quarrelled, and Theophanie boasted that, if she lived a year, Adelaide should not have a foot of ground left in her possession. It seemed probable at the moment that her life had not one, but many years to run, but in one month it was cut off, and Adelaide ruled alone. Her love for her grandson kept her at court when she had grown weary of its splendour; and for his sake she continued to employ herself in worldly affairs and politics when their yoke had grown irksome. In 986 the two greatest crowned heads in Europe were her grandsons, namely, Otho III, the Emperor, and Louis V., king of France; and this circumstance led Sylvester II. (Gerbert) to style her "the Mother of the Kings." About this year, if at all, occurred the extraordinary incident of the crime and punishment of the empress Mary. It rests on no contemporary authority, but is spoken of as a fact by accredited historians who lived within half a century of the events.

Historians do not record the marriage of Otho III., but the legend, which is very ancient, has it that he was married to Mary of Aragon. Mary had fallen in love—as Isolde with Tristram—with Count Emmeran, when he was the Emperor ambassador to bring her from her father's court. As Emmeran was devoted to his own wife, and loyal to his master, he ignored the empress's preference, until her love changed to vindictive hatred, and she determined that he should pay for his coldness with his life. She accused him to her husband. Otho, in his distress, sought counsel of that wisest of women, his grandmother. She advised him to make no scandal. "Let it not be known," said she, "that any one mistook the empress for a woman who could be disloyal." Mary stood in awe of the old empress, who had sometimes gently reproached her for a certain lack of circumspection; she kept quiet for a time, but her vengeance suffered her not to rest; she so wrought on Otho's feelings that he charged Emmeran with the crime. Emmeran would not tell the real circumstances; he thought it nobler to bear the unjust imputation than to dis her, and wreck the young king's happiness by disclosing the real occurrences, so he kept silence, and was beheaded. The court was now at Modena; and the Emperor, in accordance with immemorial custom, sat in the hall to hear complaints and redress wrongs. Round him stood many knights and nobles, but he was sad for the loss and the supposed treachery of one of his best and bravest companions, and as he sighed and mused, there entered a pale