aking his peace with all mankind in anticipation of his
approaching end, he deliberately excepted from his own and God's mercy the
names of his arch-enemy Henry and the anti-pope Guibert, together with all
their followers. Thus the aged Pontiff languished to his end within the
walls of the Castle of Salerno, encircled by flattering Churchmen who did
their utmost to cheer their dying champion. "I have loved justice and
hated iniquity, and therefore I die in exile," are the famous words
recorded of Hildebrand in the face of the King of Terrors. "In exile thou
canst not die!" eagerly responded an attendant priest. "Vicar of Christ
and His Apostles, thou hast received the nations for thine inheritance,
and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession."

Perhaps the expiring Pope was cheered by these words--who can tell? In any
case they were prophetic, for the present world-wide character of the
Roman Church, which embraces in its fold all nationalities and holds its
members together all the globe over in one indissoluble bond of a
spiritual empire, is largely due to the trials and exertions of one man:
the monk Hildebrand, Pope Gregory the Seventh.

Here then he sleeps his last sleep, the friend of Matilda, the mortal foe
of King Henry, the patron of William the Conqueror, the guest of Robert
Guiscard:--what a galaxy of illustrious names shines upon that dim silent
chapel in the Cathedral of Salerno! Here stands in unchanging benediction
his gleaming marble effigy, calmly surveyed by King Manfred near at hand
in imperial robes, the last prince of the hated and twice banned Suabian
House, whose bones were destined to bleach in the sun and rattle in the
wind by the bridge of Benevento under a Papal curse.

Before we quit the Cathedral in order to enjoy the evening sunshine, which
is filling the interior with its roseate glow, let us return for one brief
moment to the northern aisle, to glance at the grave of the Duchess who
fought so boldly by her husband's side at Durazzo. It is easy to find, for
her simple tomb stands not far from the beautiful and elaborate monument
of Margaret of Durazzo (strange coincidence!) wife of King Charles of
Naples, wherein the sculptor has portrayed angels drawing aside a curtain
so as to display the sleeping form of the dead Queen within. Close to this
monument of a not unusual Renaissance type, we discover the last resting
place of Robert Guiscard's second wife, the Duchess Sigilgaita,