Barbarossa; An Historical Novel of the XII Century.

CHAPTER XV.
THE ANTI-POPE

Although Lanzo was merely the Duke of Saxony's buffoon, the Count could not but feel very uneasy, as he thought of their late conversation. The allusions to his intimacy with Bonello annoyed him, and he felt surprised to think that hitherto he had been blind to all the difficulties in which his position as godson to the Emperor had involved him. For it was highly probable that Barbarossa would refuse his consent to any alliance between him and the family of Bonello.

Under the influence of these reflections, Rechberg proceeded through the camp, without at first remarking the extraordinary calm which pervaded everything. The deserted streets and empty tents seemed to indicate that the troops were on some expedition, but when he approached the tent, or rather the palace of the Emperor, he saw on each side of the road both knights and men-at-arms drawn up in order of battle. Frederic's tent and all those in its vicinity were decked with flowers and ornamented with rich carpets, and Erwin soon learned that it was for the solemn reception of the pretended Pope Victor, whose entrance into the camp was already heralded by a full flourish of trumpets.

In the eyes of the young Count, Victor was merely an illustrious and important personage, for he could not admit his claims to the Papal throne, which, of right, belonged to Alexander III. He knew Victor's irresolute character, and as his very appearance was disagreeable to him, he decided not to present himself to the Emperor until after the ceremonies of the reception were concluded.

The Emperor had taken infinite pains to receive his Pope with becoming pomp; not because he wished to honor the head of the Church, but because he thought it expedient to give as much importance to the man whom he considered necessary to the accomplishment of his own projects, and with this view all the actions of the Emperor manifested a profound respect for the Head of the Church. He rode on his left hand, a little to the rear, as though he did not presume to put himself on an equality with the chief of Christendom. Barbarossa wore a scarlet doublet, over which was thrown the Imperial mantle, clasped with gold links and silver crescents. On his head was the crown, and in his hand the sceptre. His face was dignified and composed, and as they neared the camp and the crowd could judge better of his movements, he was more demonstrative in his attentions to the Anti-Pope; whose hand never ceased from blessing the bystanders.

Victor's tall stature, his bearing, and even his costume, were rather those of a temporal prince than those of a spiritual shepherd. Over his shoulders hung a scarlet robe, richly embroidered in gold, and on his long curling looks was placed the triple crown of Rome; his features reflected the pride and arrogance of his disposition.

Immediately after the Emperor rode Henry the Lion, the Dukes of Austria, of Bohemia, and of Rottemburg, and the Landgrave of Thuringen, followed by a brilliant array of princes and nobles. The escort was preceded by the military band, which marched, with a flourish of trumpets, about a hundred yards in advance of the Pope. But, although on all sides there were soldiers and martial standards, there was no religious display, no religious banners or chants; not even a cross was to be seen; for Victor's entry to the camp showed plainly that he was but a creature of the Emperor, from whom he derived all his pomp and greatness.

Frederic dismounted before his tent, and following an ancient custom, came forward respectfully, to hold the Pope's stirrup. But here the Cardinal Octavian, for such was his real title, showed an utter want of tact. Affecting to be deeply engaged in conversation with his immediate attendants, he permitted the Emperor to remain too long in his humiliating posture.

Frederic colored up with anger and mortification, while his Chancellor smiled with inward satisfaction. Rinaldo had long advised the discontinuance of this idle and useless ceremony, but the Emperor, with more foresight than his minister, judged that the moment was not yet ripe for the abolition of a custom which seemed to establish the supremacy of the chief of Christendom.

At last Octavian dismounted; he took the monarch in his arms and gave him the kiss of peace, and then, turning towards the assembled multitude, he gave them his benediction, and entered the Imperial tent.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE EMPEROR'S SLAVE

The first service which Barbarossa exacted of Victor, was the solemn excommunication of Alexander III., and his partisans, in presence of the army, and in front of the walls of Milan. A few days after his arrival at the Camp, an immense tribune, draped with black cloth, and provided with numerous seats, was erected at a safe distance from the city. In the centre was an elevated platform, and behind this a throne for the Emperor, whence he could communicate his desires to the various speakers. Thousands of soldiers from all parts of the Camp surrounded the tribune, and a crowd of curious spectators lined the towers and walls of the city.

At the appointed hour, the Emperor, the nobles, the false Pope, and the prelates, ascended the platform and took seats according to their respective rank. Alberic, the Pope's chaplain, first, in a noisy harangue, explained the object of the assembly. He denounced Alexander and his adherents as heretics, and extolled Victor as the legitimate Pope.

Lighted tapers were then handed to the nobles and the clergy; and Octavian, mounting the pulpit, began to recite, in a voice trembling with passion, the usual lengthy formula of excommunication, at the close of which, as the sentence of malediction was thundered out, the Emperor, nobles, and clergy extinguished their candles.

This solemn farce, enacted by Frederic's orders, in the immediate vicinity of a city whose inhabitants were enthusiastic partisans of the cause of Alexander, was received by the Milanese with shouts of derision; and scarcely had the anathema been uttered when a speaking-trumpet was heard upon the walls.

"Octavian," it cried, "wrongfully surnamed Victor, slave of the Emperor, we scorn your maledictions. – Heaven blesses whom you curse, and curses whom you bless!"

Few of the soldiers present had ever before heard a speaking-trumpet, and these words seemed supernatural, while the distant echo gave credence to the speedy realization of the prophecy. But Frederic, more enlightened, skilfully parried the blow, and aware of a report which had been circulated latterly, that an angel had descended from heaven to curse Victor and his partisans, he looked on in scornful silence, while the crowd broke out in clamorous surprise.

Suddenly a straw effigy of the Pope, crowned with rags, with a paper mitre on its head, and a scroll with the inscription, in large letters, of "Pope Victor" in its hand, was hurled from the walls by a catapult, and fell close to Octavian's feet, while, amid a burst of contemptuous laughter, the voice again shouted through the trumpet, "Straw Pope! Straw Pope!"

Octavian was thunderstruck, and stood gazing with a wild stare upon the effigy, and his face assumed an expression so ridiculously stupid, that Rinaldo and the bystanders, remarking the absurd resemblance between it and the figure, could with difficulty restrain their mirth.

Frederic reflected grimly for a moment, but soon found means to turn this incident to profit.

"Resume your seat!" he said to Victor, and then rising with the fierce and decided manner which so well became him, he commanded silence. Even Rinaldo's face wore a serious expression, and all awaited, breathlessly, the monarch's harangue.

"What means all this? What seeks Milan with these sinful mockeries? Will that accursed city never respect anything? She turns into ridicule even the holy symbols of spiritual power; she mocks at the legitimate Head of the Church; and that her insults may be the better heard, a miserable speaking-trumpet cries them from the walls! Remember the tyranny which reigns in Milan, think of the destruction of Lodi and the misfortunes of Como; think of all those things, and then tell me if that city does not merit destruction!"

Frederic ceased, but his words had produced the desired effect.

"She deserves her fate!" cried, eagerly, the soldiers of Lodi and Como who were present; "she deserves her fate; down with Milan!"

"Yes, she deserves it," resumed the Emperor, "and this time we ourselves will execute the decrees of justice!" He paused, and raising his hand to his brow, took off the crown. Then, his eyes raised to heaven, and his right hand extended, he cried, with a loud voice, -

"I, Frederic of Hohenstauffen, king of the Germans and Emperor of Rome, do swear before Almighty God and the ever blessed Virgin Mary, by the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and all the Saints of Paradise, that this crown will no more grace my brow until the city of Milan shall have been destroyed in chastisement for her crimes!"

The Emperor made the sign of the cross, and delivered the diadem into the keeping of the Imperial Chancellor.

This solemn oath electrified the Italians.

"Long live the Emperor!" shouted a thousand voices. "Long live the Emperor! Down with Milan!"

In the midst of the applause, Barbarossa, well satisfied with the result of his harangue, left the tribune, followed by his nobles. Meanwhile Victor, who had returned to his tent, gave free vent to his anger, and while Alberic was divesting him of his mantle, shook his head with most unequivocal marks of resentment.

"Straw pope!" he exclaimed; "straw pope! the wretches, to compare me, the legitimate Head of the Church, to a man of straw!"

"It is most infamous!" replied the chaplain; "it merits the vengeance of heaven."

"Patience, the Milanese will pay dearly for their insolence. It needed but this to fill the cup of Imperial anger. This city must be destroyed and levelled with the earth. Henceforth whoever dares to intercede for this new Nineveh, is the foe of the Church, of the Pope, and of the Emperor."

"And the speaking-trumpet," added Alberic; "that abominable speaking-trumpet!"

"True, I had almost forgotten that," replied Victor. "What was it they called me? Straw Pope! – the villains! I am the true Pope, both by the choice of the people and Imperial sanction. Yes, of course I am," he repeated, as though wishing to persuade himself that it really was so. "Alexander can never be more than the Cardinal Roland, for he was neither elected by the people nor confirmed by the Emperor."

"Most certainly, there is no doubt of the fact," added Alberic, quickly, for he knew Victor's anxiety in the matter.

"But what was it they really called me? – I think I heard the words 'Slave of the Emperor'!"

"That was what they said," my lord. "It was a ridiculous epithet, for you, who seek to defend the prerogatives of the Church, can be slave to no one."

These words were bitterly ironical, for Octavian remembered his base servility to the wishes of his master Barbarossa, and he moved uneasily upon his chair, as he resumed, -

"I give to the Emperor what is his by right, and in this I obey the commands of our Lord; but in all that concerns the Church, I am inflexible and yield obedience to no earthly power. Have I not often given proofs of this? Did I not do so only on the day before yesterday, when the Emperor urged me to pronounce the separation of Henry and Clemence? And did we not, in virtue of our sacred office, refuse the demand?"

"I admired your energy, my lord."

"There are no excuses, no threats which can decide us to annul this marriage!" continued Octavian. "If monarchs could, at their pleasure, divorce their wives, we should have little justice and order. No, by the eternal salvation of my soul, to which may God be merciful, I will never countenance a like enormity!"

As Victor finished, Rinaldo entered the room. Octavian's tirade had not escaped the watchful observation of the courtier. Indeed, although rarely bold enough to resist the Emperor's commands, there were times when Octavian, either through shame or anger, refused obedience. Like all men of contracted and timid ideas, he sometimes tried to show proof of energy. Deploring his position, but without greatness of soul enough to consent to break his chains and retire to a subordinate capacity, he gave full vent to his ill-temper against all whom he had no especial cause to fear. Humble and submissive towards the Emperor and his ministers, he was disdainful and supercilious to his inferiors.

For once, Victor seemed decided to give an evidence of character. He remained seated, and replied coldly to the salutations of the Chancellor. But the wily courtier paid no attention to his insolence; and seating himself quietly, he began, -

"Before submitting to your Holiness the message intrusted me by our sovereign lord the Emperor, I desire to offer my sincere regrets for the grave scandal caused by the Milanese."

"The devilful blindness of these Godforsaken people is the surest proof of our legitimacy," interrupted Victor; "we have therefore no need either of your commiseration or your sympathy. You will communicate this reply to the Emperor. We will now examine whether this message, in case it should be a petition, merits our consideration."

It needed all Rinaldo's self-command to remain serious at Octavian's speech, and particularly at the air with which it was uttered. If Victor really were what he tried to seem, the Count of Dassel would have had good reason to be provoked; but as he had known the Pope for many years, his arrogance only excited a smile, as he answered, -

"In this business, I am well aware that the well known wisdom of your Holiness has no need of my sympathy. I will therefore, as such is your desire, explain the purport of the Emperor's communication. It concerns the rupture of the marriage between the Duke of Saxony and his wife Clemence."

"We have already expressed our opinions decidedly on that point," replied Octavian.

"True, a few days ago," said Rinaldo; "but at present His Majesty desires to terminate the matter without delay, and requests you to appoint a time when the divorce shall be solemnly pronounced in public."

"Must I then repeat what I have already said?" replied Victor, with surprise. "The marriage is legal, and cannot be annulled. The question of consanguinity is, by no means, clearly established, and the degree is too remote."

"Nevertheless, the Emperor desires the divorce for grave political reasons," said Rinaldo, quietly.

"Political reasons! What have we to do with politics?"

"Very true, affairs of state are not your province, still, your Holiness might have some consideration for the Emperor's wishes."

"Very well, my lord chancellor! you say that the affairs of state are not our province, and yet in the affairs of the Church we must consult the Emperor's wishes. If that were so, what position should we occupy? The Milanese have defined it perfectly: 'the base slave of the Emperor'!"

"Your Holiness should remember that you owe everything to the Emperor."

"I beg your pardon, my lord chancellor; I hold my power in virtue of my election by the Cardinals and the people."

"The Cardinals!" Dassel cried, ironically; "how many of them voted for you? if I remember rightly, only two. And you speak of the people's choice? The pagan Jugurtha reproached the Roman people with its corruption; yet, without the rich bribes paid by your friends, even that venal people would not have pronounced in your favor."

Octavian colored violently at the insult.

"I have no wish to wound your Holiness," continued Dassel, "but simply to warn you against any feelings of ingratitude to the Emperor."

"Admitting what you have said to be true, was not our election ratified by four plenary councils?"

"Four plenary councils!" sneered Rinaldo. "There should have been four, but the Emperor has never been able to bring the Bishops together. You should know of what value is a plenary council where there are no Bishops! But let me beg you to put an end to this useless discussion. I only wish to transmit the Emperor's orders and carry back to him your answer."

"The Emperor's orders! Oh! this is too much, my lord!"

"Yes; but if you prefer, we will call it the Emperor's request," said the minister, rising as he spoke; "orders or request, it matters little! since the Emperor insists upon implicit obedience to the one, as to the other. Perhaps, upon reflection, you will perceive that your disobedience may possibly have most disagreeable consequences."

"For the love of God! do not leave me," cried the alarmed Victor. "Only show me how I can, in defiance of my duty and my conscience, annul a legal marriage? I am always ready to show my obedience to His Majesty; I only implore him not to insist upon this flagrant violation of divine and ecclesiastical laws."

"Have you the power to loose?"

"Yes; but not the bonds of an indissoluble marriage."

"The consanguinity between Henry and Clemence is a valid cause of divorce. Their genealogical tree shall be submitted for your examination; you can then conscientiously annul the marriage."

Victor was dreadfully embarrassed, and sought in vain an escape from the dilemma. On the one side, he felt ashamed of his weakness, and his conscience reproached him bitterly; but on the other, he saw that most disagreeable consequences would result from his refusal. The tone of the Chancellor, his gloomy and threatening demeanor, his readiness to leave the apartment, alarmed Octavian, on whose forehead stood great drops of perspiration, a striking proof that bad actions are often more painful in their accomplishment than those dictated by a worthy motive.

"May I then announce to the Emperor, that you will obey him?" resumed Dassel; "or shall I transmit your refusal, so that His Majesty can at once proclaim the illegality of your claims to the Papal throne?"

"I will obey," faltered Victor.

"At last you have come to a wise decision," said the courtier, whose face immediately resumed its cordial expression. "May I ask when your Holiness will fulfil your promise?"

"Whenever it may so please the Emperor."

"Your visit will be most agreeable to His Majesty," Dassel resumed. "I have only now to request your Holiness to confer the Episcopal mitre upon some young man, high in favor with His Majesty, to whom he wishes to offer this mark of his confidence. He thinks that it would be well for the ceremony to take place next week, in the Cathedral of Pavia. One of the candidates is the young Count Biandrate, whose nomination to the Archbishopric of Ravenna was delayed, owing to some objections on the part of your predecessor, Pope Adrian."

"I must confirm His Majesty's choice, and will be at Pavia on the day mentioned."

The Chancellor bowed and withdrew. Ashamed and cast down, the Pope stood motionless, gazing at the door through which Dassel had disappeared. He seemed scarcely to credit his humiliation, as he murmured, -

"Aye, I am the Emperor's slave, naught but his miserable, degraded slave!"

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?"