The Italian Campaigns
There was little sincerity in the protestations of loyalty which the
Italian cities made to the Emperor; indeed their disrespect for him was
soon openly displayed. Milan defied his authority with contemptuous
arrogance. Tortoria,[10] which had been destroyed by Frederick, was
rebuilt under Milan’s protection. The Milanese also demanded homage from
Lodi[11] and when that city refused to break faith with the Emperor,
they advanced upon it in force, drove away its citizens, robbed them of
their property, and demolished the city’s walls. Complaints of these
acts of violence were made to the Reichstag at Worms, and after the
hearing it was decided to send an expedition to Italy for the punishment
of the audacious rebels.
The expedition was considered all the more necessary because the Pope
had taken sides against the Emperor, and his legate had declared before
the Reichstag that the Emperor derived his authority from the Pope. This
aroused the indignation of the German knights, who haughtily declared
that the Emperor occupied a free throne given to him by the free choice
of the German princes; that the Church was dependent upon the Empire;
and that the latter would not permit any usurpation of its authority.
An armed force more numerous and better equipped than any previous one
crossed the Alps.[12] The Milanese this time appeared to be
conciliatory, for, at the Emperor’s summons, a delegation went to him
and sought to justify their conduct. Their explanations, however, did
not satisfy either the Emperor or the knights, still less the other
Italian cities which had suffered. Milan was declared under the ban of
the Empire, promptly besieged, and forced to surrender after making a
gallant defence. It was compelled to take the oath of loyalty, give up
its plunder, and promise to let its neighbors rest in peace. The
Milanese were also ordered to build an imperial castle and send three
hundred hostages to the Emperor’s camp. The nobles and dignitaries,
barefooted and with halters about their necks, begged for clemency.
Frederick decided that it was not enough merely to punish crimes already
committed. Wisdom dictated precaution against their commission in
future. He therefore summoned four of the most experienced law
authorities and required them to investigate and settle what rights
belonged to the Empire and what to the cities. He was willing to concede
all the rights of the latter, but he demanded that the cities should
take a solemn oath to respect the rights of the Empire.
Everything now appeared settled and most of the German princes returned
home with their followers; but Frederick was anxious for the future, and
remained in Italy to watch the progress of events. His fears were
justified, for the wildest confusion soon prevailed. Milan, encouraged
by the Emperor’s complications with the Pope, secured the help of
Crema[13] and other cities, and the struggle began anew. Crema was
besieged by Frederick, but made a stout defence. The dreadful struggle
lasted seven months before Crema was forced to surrender. Abandoned by
its citizens, it was sacked and then destroyed.
After obtaining reinforcements from Germany Frederick moved against
Milan. The same barbarities which had marked the siege of Crema were
repeated, and the Emperor could not prevent his troops from retaliating
in kind. He made a vow not to wear his crown again until Milan was
destroyed. The Milanese well knew that he would carry out his pledge to
the very letter. As the year drew near to its close they saw to their
dismay that he was not withdrawing his army as was his usual custom at
the approach of winter, and that the siege was to be continued. It
lasted all winter, but on March 1, 1162, the exhausted city sent
messengers to Frederick, tendering its submission and pleading for
merciful treatment.
Frederick sternly replied, “I demand your unconditional surrender”;
whereupon the supplicants abandoned themselves to their fate. Three
hundred knights brought the keys of all the castles and gates, and
thirty-six municipal banners were laid at his feet. All persons of rank
took the oath of allegiance. The entire population of the city came
barefooted into camp with halters round their necks, ashes on their
heads, and crosses in their hands, pleading for mercy. As the long
procession was passing the Emperor, the state chariot, bearing the huge
banner of the city adorned with the portrait of Saint Ambrose, was
demolished, and the pride of Milan was humbled in the dust.
Wailing and wringing their hands, the people prostrated themselves,
begging for mercy in the name of Christ. Every one wept. Even the stern
faces of the German knights were moistened by tears; for the severity of
the penalty, richly as it was merited, touched them. The Emperor alone
remained unmoved. Milan’s repeated acts of treachery, and its lust for
power, required exemplary punishment.
“Your lives shall be spared,” he said, “but the city, with the exception
of the churches, shall be destroyed. Lodi, Cremona, Pavia, and Como
shall perform the work, and you Milanese must find homes among these
four cities.”
Remonstrances and prayers alike were of no avail. The work of
destruction began at once and the sister cities exultantly revenged
themselves upon their haughty oppressor. Soon Milan was no more, and the
other cities leagued with it voluntarily surrendered. They, too, were
destroyed.
The Italian troubles were hardly ended when the presence of the Emperor
was urgently demanded at home. There were quarrels and complications to
be settled everywhere. He travelled all over the Empire. Now he was at
Passau and Vienna, again at Cologne and Utrecht. From the Reichstags at
Ulm and Laufen he hurried to the eastern frontier and quelled the
Hungarian uprising. Soon after this he was at the Reichstags of Speier
and Nuremberg, organizing another expedition against Italy. His
representatives there unfortunately had failed to conciliate his
conquered enemies. Their passion for revenge had smouldered like a spark
in the ashes. Even without their once powerful leader, Milan, the larger
cities had leagued themselves against the Emperor. Pavia alone remained
loyal to him.
Frederick now devoted his entire attention to the restoration of order
in the refractory cities, but his customary good fortune deserted him. A
virulent pestilence quickly swept away a large part of his army, and
those who had been weakened by illness were exposed to the fierce
attacks of the Lombardians, who, emboldened by this disaster among the
Germans, seized all the mountain passes in hopes of capturing the
Emperor. Secret flight was his only hope of escape. With his true friend
Conrad and a little band[14] of knights, he fortunately reached Savoy,
and attempted to enter Germany by way of the mountains; but he was
recognized by his enemies, who planned to murder him in the night. Their
plot was discovered, however. After considering various ways of escape,
a knight, Hermann of Siebeneich, who closely resembled the Emperor,
offered to lie in his bed while Frederick made his escape. His enemies
were not so inhuman as to punish the knight for his gallant act.
Greatly depressed but not disheartened, Frederick returned to Germany,
where he found plenty to occupy his attention. Henry the Lion, Duke of
Brunswick and Saxony, the most powerful prince next to the Emperor, was
sorely oppressing his neighbors. All of them had suffered from his
depredations, the Archbishops of Magdeburg and Bremen being the special
objects of his hatred. Frederick quickly ended the trouble, however, and
made all concerned promise to keep the peace.
In 1174 Frederick undertook his fifth Italian expedition. At the outset,
fortune seemed more propitious than before, but this was only an
illusion. He realized that there was no hope of success without fresh
reinforcements from Germany, and Conrad was sent to fetch them. The
latter had often performed this errand, and knew the roads and all the
dangers attending the task. He did not delay the faithful performance of
his mission. Many of the bravest knights hastened to the assistance of
the Emperor. Conrad brought both his sons with him, that they might have
their first experience of war under the greatest princes of their time.
That powerful Prince, Henry the Lion, however, was angry with the
Emperor, although he had been his benefactor and had increased his
possessions. He pretended he was too old for service.
As soon as his reinforcements arrived, Frederick resolved to risk all in
one engagement. The Italians, who outnumbered his army, made a stand at
Legnano. The fields were decked in their loveliest attire; the sky
arched over the charming spot like a pure crystal, and was reflected in
the dancing ripples of the Ticino. It did not seem possible that deeds
of slaughter and death could be committed upon such a beautiful May
morning. The hosts on each side prepared for the fray. Frederick
carefully disposed his troops and gave the signal for attack, he
himself, as was his practice, leading the onset with desperate bravery.
Right and left he drove the enemy before him. Here he rode with levelled
spear straight against an entire troop, and there he smote with his
mighty war-club, or clove the heads of the rebels with his two-edged
sword, until blood flowed in streams. Conrad fought by his side with
equal spirit, and with him his sons, who were inspired by the great
examples before them. Notwithstanding their unflinching courage,
however, they could not force the enemy to give up an inch of ground,
although they hurled themselves again and again upon the very flower of
the Italian army and fought like desperate giants.
The Germans, with their utmost efforts, made no progress. The Emperor
and those about him seemed rooted to the spot where they stood. Where
ten fell, twenty others immediately filled their places. Frederick’s
standard-bearer was felled by a terrible blow. The standard, emblem of
victory, dropped, and the exultant shouts of the enemy followed its
capture. Frederick grimly gnashed his teeth. He put spurs to his battle
horse, and dashed forward to recover it. As the noble animal reared, its
broad breast was pierced by a spear; a stream of blood gushed from the
wound, and it fell under its master. The enemy swept over them like a
great wave. Conrad, mindful of his duty as a vassal and brother-in-arms,
rushed upon them like a lion, but he, too, disappeared as if into a
grave.
When the standard fell, the Germans wavered. When they no longer saw the
gleam of the Emperor’s helmet and heard the exultant shouts of the
enemy, they gave up all for lost. Their noblest and stoutest fighters
either had fallen or were incapacitated for further resistance. They
began to give way. The enemy charged them on all sides, and they were
soon routed. Thousands were drowned in the Ticino, and thousands more
were killed in retreat.
The Germans were in a lamentable plight, for they believed they had lost
their Emperor. His devoted spouse, when she heard the news of the
disaster, clad herself in mourning and was inconsolable over her
loss.[15] The enemy were jubilant, for their most formidable foe was no
more. Then came the news, which sounded like a romance, that the Emperor
was living, and was safe and well in his faithful Pavia, to which city
he had fought his way with his friend Conrad. Who can describe the
change of feeling on both sides when this news was confirmed? To his
faithful followers he was still their great leader and Emperor. To the
enemy he was more an object of fear than a whole army.
As Frederick could not expect any further reinforcements from Germany,
and the Lombardians feared to take part any longer in outside matters,
an agreement was made for a six years’ truce, to be followed by a treaty
of peace. Concessions were granted on both sides. Each retained its own
rights and respected those of the other. This was as satisfactory to the
Emperor as a great victory would have been, for there was a divine
spirit of compassion as well as of heroic courage in his nature. He did
not love war, but when forced to make war he was a lion.
A sorrowful duty, which he could not shirk except at the risk of the
disintegration of the Empire, awaited him at home. It will be remembered
that Henry the Lion had refused service to him on the ground of age, and
paid no heed to his earnest pleading for assistance. His excuse was a
lie. He had shown, during the Emperor’s absence, that he was not too old
for war by harrying and attacking his neighbors. It was the Duke’s
disobedience and defiance which forced the Emperor to humble this
insolent vassal. Besides this, the German princes also demanded the
punishment of this disturber of their peace. Frederick would gladly have
effected his purpose in some mild way, but it was impossible. Henry
failed to appear before the Reichstag after being thrice summoned. The
decision was then announced that he should be outlawed as a disobedient
vassal and deprived of all his rights.
Thereupon, the lion-hearted Henry unsheathed his sword. He feared not
the whole German Empire. He defeated small bodies of the army, but when
the Emperor took the field the end came speedily. Subdued by the greater
hero, he threw himself at his feet. With tears in his eyes the Emperor
was forced to execute the penalty; for they had been good friends, and
until now there had been peace between the houses of Hohenstauffen and
Welf. Henry retained only his hereditary possessions; his feudal tenure
and rights were distributed among more faithful subjects, and he was
banished from Germany for three years.
Thus, after years of warfare, the enemies of the Emperor were either
destroyed or they wisely decided to submit to the stronger power.