Around the beginning of the second decade of my life (for those of you in Rio Linda, that means I was eleven or so), I was told the story by Bronwyn Davies, my gifted English boarding school history teacher (The Abbey School, Malvern Wells), of “Emperor Frederick,” who–legend has it–had a nameless beggar entombed while still alive in an airtight barrel which was–at the point of his death–pierced by a drill so that observers could see how, when, or if, the man’s soul escaped. Other stories indicated that the barrel was weighed at intervals, in order to determine how much a soul actually weighed.
Bronwyn Davies was a Welshwoman, a marvelous teacher, and the housemistress of my School “House.” (Think Slytherin, Gryffindor, etc, but with no central heating, ancient and erratic plumbing, not much of the magic, and absolutely no Sorting Hat. And think of Miss Davies as a precursor of Minerva McGonigal, a role which [pace Dame Maggie] she’d have played to perfection.) Out of the classroom, she chain-smoked. The effects of this were imprinted on our laundry, which we girls sent off in an individual bag each week to be washed (every piece having a nametag sewn into it by our mothers before we got to school for the term), and which Miss Davies, smoking away regardless, carefully folded, before returning it to us in a pile on on our beds, for us to put away). The only other thing I remember about her, other than that she imbued me with a love of history for the ages, was that she had the hairiest legs I’ve ever seen on a woman — before or since.
Like every other adult human female we encountered in the institution, she was unmarried, and like many of them, she lived on-site. The only man in the mix—Mr. Cox, the vicar—had a wife and family and lived a few miles from the school.
The Abbey wasn’t really rigorous enough or competitive enough to attract bullies or much in the way of eccentrics, perverts, or lunatics, so we lived a pretty ordinary life, one on which I look back fondly, and at which–during my two years there–I learned much from the small cadre of celibate and devoted teachers. The education has held me in good stead ever since.
For some reason (and I am sure that reason has far more to do with my own failings rather than those of Bronwyn Davies), and at some point, I came to associate the “soul in the barrel story” with Frederick Barbarossa, the first Holy Roman Emperor of his name, who held that position from 1155 to 1190. Famous–among other things–for his red beard, he was crowned Emperor of the HRE in 1155 by the English Pope Adrian IV.
But I see today that the “soul in the barrel story” actually belongs to the second Holy Roman Emperor named Frederick.
Frederick II was the grandson of the first Frederick, and–by all accounts and contemporary illustrations–had inherited the family hair. He was an extraordinarily cultured, energetic, and engaged ruler from 1220 to 1250, although a thorn in the side of the Catholic Church. After Frederick II’s death his dynasty fell apart, and with it much of the cohesion of the Holy Roman Empire.
He’s the one who–at least according to a Franciscan monk named Salimbene–entombed a living man in a barrel, waiting until he starved to death, at which point a hole was drilled in the barrel so that those watching might see the man’s soul waft heavenwards. (TBC, Salimbene wasn’t a fan, and some of his stories about Frederick’s “experiments” are quite horrifying.)
When it comes to Frederick I (Barbarossa) though–and in my own defense–I feel obliged to point out that after he drowned in the Saleph river in June, 1190, during the Third Crusade while attempting to retake the Holy Land–in concert with Philip II of France and Richard I of England–his followers stuck him in a barrel and attempted to preserve his body in vinegar to get him home in one piece. Apparently, that attempt failed, and bits of Frederick were interred in Antioch, Tyre, and Tarsus. None of them made it back to his native Swabia (Germany).
That’s Barbarossa’s barrel story.
No wonder I got them muddled up.
PS: What got me thinking about this, and set me off–for just a few minutes–down the barrel-holes, was a mention, in today’s “On This Day” history site, which states that on November 25, 1165, HRE Frederick I (Barbarossa) visited Utrecht. That was fairly early in his reign, and perhaps he was trying to consolidate his power. I don’t know what else he might have been doing. Something, I suppose. A map of the HRE at its “territorial peak” in the 12th century can be seen here: https://brilliantmaps.com/peak-holy-roman-empire/. Not a small matter.
Note: The illustration at the top of this post (from the subject’s Wikipedia page) must be of Frederick II, not Frederick I. Pupils of Miss Bronwyn Davies would be able to tell that instantly. Because no red beard. Even without her instruction, though, what an absolute privilege it is to live at a time when–with just a little care, and with a determination not to be led astray–it’s so easy to verify facts.
PS: Anyone who’d like to learn more about the life of a young English girl at an also-ran boarding school, might think about clicking here.
