"Long live the Emperor! Hail, Great Augustus!"
Frederic appeared mounted on a magnificent charger; by his side rode
the Empress Beatrice, and in front was borne the Imperial banner.
As he approached the castle, the crowd made a movement, the applause
ceased, and all eyes were turned to the tower of Saint Angelo.
In place of the image of the mighty Archangel, an immense flag hung
from its summit. This unexpected memento of their humiliation created a
most painful impression upon the Romans, who looked in vain for the
venerated emblem of their patron saint. Alexander's curse, with all its
fearful consequences, recurred to their minds, and hushed the cries of
rejoicing, even among the paid emissaries of the Chancellor, and it was
amid a death-like silence that Frederic moved towards the church of St.
Peter.
"What does this mean?" said Gervase, who, from the balcony, could not
perceive the flag; "everybody is staring at the castle, and the cries
of 'Hail to the Emperor! Glory to the great Augustus!' have ceased."
"Only look at the Imperial mantle! how it glitters!"
"Yes; and see how proudly Barbarossa rides! They might call him
_Jupiter tonans_!"
In fact, Frederic slowly advanced with the grave and stern bearing of a
conqueror. Not a trace of emotion was visible on his countenance, and
his eyes glanced calmly upon the admiring multitude.
A branch of laurel was entwined upon his diadem, and he bore, in his
right hand, the Imperial sceptre, with a more haughty grace than
Augustus himself in his triumphal chariot.
"The Empress is a gracious lady," said Anselm; "she looks like a lamb
by the side of a lion."
"Who is that red-bearded noble behind the Emperor?"
"Frederic of Hohenstauffen, Duke of Suabia, a good and kind prince,
very different from his cousin. They say the Emperor does not trust
him, and that the Duke looks so sadly, because Frederic forced him to
join his army.
"Ah! look there! Here comes the Chancellor Rinaldo! What a handsome
little man he is! See how he smiles,--you would never imagine, from his
appearance, that he is deceit personified?"
A squadron of men-at-arms closed the procession, which was followed by
an immense crowd.
"Quick, my friends," said Ambrose, "let us go to St. Peter's as fast as
we can! If we can only get through the crowd! What a retinue of
bishops!"
"Yes, seventy-three!--it is a holy number, for both seven and three are
in it!"
The church was filled to overflowing. Pascal offered up the holy
sacrifice, upon the tomb of the blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, in the
presence of those who, instead of discharging the functions of their
sacred ministry, had entered God's sanctuary like thieves and robbers.
The people often have singular presentiments, and scarcely had Pascal
mounted the steps of the altar, when a murmur of discontent broke out.
For a moment a riot seemed imminent, and many of the spectators
endeavored to leave the church, through dread of some violence to the
Antipope, the Emperor, and the schismatical bishops.
During the ceremony, Frederic knelt devoutly, and Beatrice took her
place by the side of her husband.
At the conclusion of the Mass, Frederic ascended his throne, and Pascal
seated himself in the pontifical chair, which was placed opposite. The
Emperor wore the Imperial crown, in his right hand he held the sceptre,
in his left the globe. In the space between the two thrones knelt the
bishops, all of whom rose when Rinaldo proceeded to the altar to read
aloud the formula, by which the clergy were to swear allegiance to
Pascal as lawful Pope.
The organ and the solemn chants ceased; and Rinaldo's voice resounded
through the church, while the people looked on with sullen interest.
The hands were raised, the oath administered, and then each in turn
approached the Emperor's throne to pledge him his obedience.
On the first step they bowed respectfully, on the second they knelt
before the monarch and kissed the hand which held the sceptre; then
they moved towards the altar, knelt before Pascal and kissed his
pastoral ring, in token of submission.
Meanwhile the organ broke out into a joyful strain, and the choir sang,
but the melody found no echo in the hearts of the Romans.
The conviction that the schismatic Pascal was a mere tool of the
Emperor, and that this assembly was composed of bishops who were aliens
to the Church, wounded all their preconceived ideas. They feared lest
the vengeance of God should come to punish this usurpation of Saint
Peter's chair. Many again tried to leave the church, but the crowd
without choked up all egress.
The Emperor placed his right hand (which had borne the sceptre) upon
his knee, and each bishop kissed it as he passed, but he scarcely
perceived their presence. His haughty soul was floating in an ocean of
gratified pride. At last he was seated in that place which Alexander
once had occupied, and where his predecessors used to receive the
homage of Christendom. What a change! Alexander was a helpless
fugitive, and Pascal was his creature, his puppet; he himself was the
real _Pontifex Maximus_. Absolute master of Church and State, he was at
last at the pinnacle of greatness; success had crowned his efforts; all
Christendom was his vassal. He glanced towards the kneeling bishops,
and then his eyes turned to the crowd as if he could no longer delay
the moment when they too should swear him their allegiance.
But God has not yet given to mortals the power to thwart his designs.
If for a time he allows the wicked man to prosper, it is to cut him off
at the decisive moment of his career.
The hand of the Almighty was raised against the master of the world:
the cup was full, and at the very moment when Barbarossa was dreaming
of new conquests, the avenging angel hovered around his head.
The ceremony was nearly at an end.
Frederic turned towards the Pope, as if to say:
"Well then, speak, repeat the lesson which I have taught you."
It appeared as though the sermon which had been prepared and revised by
the Emperor, was not to Pascal's liking; still he dared not disobey his
master's sign--he descended from the altar. Again the music ceased, and
a profound silence prevailed through the church, where all listened
anxiously for what the Imperial Pope was to say.
But Pascal was not to speak.
Scarcely was he in front of the altar, when an extraordinary movement
commenced in the crowd; here and there persons fell lifeless. It seemed
as though death was smiting its chosen victims. At first it was thought
to be merely the result of fainting-fits, so often met with in crowded
assemblages; but as the mortality continued to spread, and the corpses
immediately became covered with black spots, a great fear seized the
minds of all.
"He is dead! really dead!" said Gervase, who was supporting the body of
his friend Ambrose. "May God have mercy on his soul!"
And he made the sign of the cross on his forehead.
"But see how black he becomes!" said Anselm. "By all the saints! it is
the plague!"
Scarcely had he spoken, when his words were repeated by the crowd.
"The plague! the plague!" was cried out on all sides.
"God help us! the pestilence is in Rome!" exclaimed the people, as they
fled tumultuously through the doors to escape from the infected
atmosphere.
At first the Emperor's face flushed with anger, for he imagined that it
was a scheme concocted by the malevolence of his adversaries; but when
the crowd began to scatter in disorder, and the terrible cry, "the
pestilence is among us," was heard, a mortal dread fell upon the
Imperial retinue. The bishops grew pale, and many a remorseful
conscience whispered,--
"It is the vengeance of an offended God."
Still Frederic gave no signs of fear or agitation; his dauntless spirit
was a stranger to any such sentiments. He merely regretted the
interruption of the ceremony, that was all. He had erected his
triumphal throne in the Church of St. Peter, in the very heart of
Christendom, and his eyes gleamed with menace and discontent, as though
he would have forced the pestilence itself to recoil before his frown.
But death fears no mortal man, not even him who, seated on the topmost
pinnacle of successful ambition, thinks to rival God.
Already the plague had struck down some of Frederic's own retinue.
Count Ludolf of Dassel, the Chancellor's brother, had fallen dead, at a
few steps from the throne; and his neighbor, the Bishop Alexander of
Lodi, a few moments after, shared his fate. The prelates looked with
stupid wonder at these corpses, all bearing distinctive marks of the
scourge. Not one among them had the courage to stoop down and perform
the last duties which the Church enjoins. These men had none of the
noble sentiments of their calling; they had the vices and the passions
of the court, hands fitted only to wield the sword, and guilty hearts
which scarcely now began to be touched by repentance.
Many wished to follow the example set them by the Romans, but the
Emperor's voice forbade.
"What means this, my lords? What, Bishop of Luttich, you, one of the
most valiant swords in my army, would you too be one of the first to
fly from danger? If God sends us a misfortune, we will bear it with
becoming resignation."
He ordered the grand marshal to arrange the return to his camp. There
was no disorder. The people had left the church, and the square of St.
Peter was deserted; for the Romans, in the vain hope of escaping the
pestilence, had sought refuge within their dwellings. At first the
bugles sounded the march, but the joyous music met with no response;
there were no shouts of popular applause; the streets were empty, and
on all sides were seen the corpses of the victims. Princes and prelates
rode along with downcast eyes and looks expressive of grief and
apprehension. Suddenly a soldier fell dead from his horse; the
pestilence was among the men-at-arms. The bugles were silent, the
cavalcade halted for an instant, and then all was wild confusion; the
ranks were broken, and each man dashed madly forward to escape from the
infected air of the empoisoned city.
All order was lost; the return to camp was like a rout, and even
Barbarossa and his consort urged their horses to a gallop to regain
their tents.
_CHAPTER LV_.
_THE HAND OF GOD_.
The plague continued to rage as violently as it had broken out. Death
smote its victims without forewarning: some fell as they were putting
foot in stirrup to mount their steeds; others, by the side of the
friend whom they were placing in the grave, which had been dug for him
through charity.
"God chastises us for our behavior to the Pope," said the Romans.
This feeling spread even among the German soldiery. The tents were
emptied of their inhabitants who had fallen victims to the direful
contagion. In a few days, many thousands had perished, and among them
the Emperor's cousin, the Duke of Suabia, and Diepold of Bohemia; but
the bishops were attacked with marked virulence, and it seemed as
though not one of them was destined to return to his home. There was a
dead silence everywhere, unbroken even by the clash of arms, and naught
was heard but the creaking of the death-carts piled up with corpses
which were thrown together by hundreds into a common pit. But soon it
was no longer possible even to bury them, and the dead bodies lay
rotting in the sun; adding by their pestilential odors to the malignity
of the disease.
Even the horses were attacked; they fell into a species of stupor which
terminated in death. Still, although his camp was almost depopulated,
Barbarossa remained unmoved; he hoped that the plague would wear itself
out, and that he might resume the great work which it had interrupted.
As yet the Romans had not sworn allegiance to the Empire, Pascal had
not been installed as sovereign Pontiff and Frangipani still held
bravely out in the Castle of St. Angelo, The partisans of Alexander
must be entirely destroyed; and to accomplish this Frederic would not
yield a step, not even to the plague.
In this determination he was encouraged by Dassel.
"If we give up now," he said, "we are lost. All Christendom will look
upon our defeat as a judgment of Heaven. You cannot hereafter undertake
anything which will not appear to be marked with the seal of divine
displeasure."
Frederic admitted the justice of the policy, and determined to dare
everything. He rode through the streets of the camp, striving to
encourage his troops. Erwin was always at his side, although he had
frequently implored his young kinsman to return to Germany.
"You must go beyond the Alps," he said. "I wish it; and as soon as this
Roman question is settled, I will join you."
"But I will not go, my dear godfather, even were the camp peopled with
corpses."
The Emperor was deeply touched by this mark of affection, and he
pressed the young man's hand with emotion.
One day, Barbarossa returned to his tent, after his usual round of
inspection. The destruction of his army seemed inevitable, if it was
not soon removed from this pestilential atmosphere, and his indomitable
pride was crushed at last.
He ordered the immediate attendance of his chancellor.
Rinaldo was writing in his tent; near him sat his favorite pupil
Hillin, who had been nominated upon his recommendation to the bishopric
of Augsburg, and the Chancellor was then dispatching his orders and
instructions to the chapter, for which Hillin was to start at once.
"You have scarcely as yet the age which is prescribed by the canons,"
said Dassel; "but the canons are out of date, like many other things.
What an absurdity it is to leave talent unrewarded on the pretext of
youth! How old are you, Hillin?"
There was no reply.
"I ask you your age."
Still there was the same silence! He turned his head and started back
in horror. Hillin was dead, his hand still held the pen, his arms
rested on the table, and his head had fallen forward upon the
parchment.
Shaking his head in astonishment, Dassel walked towards the corpse and
then called for his servants. His fear had passed away, for the
Chancellor was not easily agitated.
"Hillin is dead," he said; "the young man had fine prospects, and would
have been useful; but dead, he is only a nuisance. Take away this
carcass!"
At this moment the Emperor sent for him, and Rinaldo, throwing into the
fire the now useless letter, dressed himself in his court-robes and
repaired to his master's presence.
Frederic's face was sad and calm. He replied to his minister's bow with
a mute smile, and motioned him to a seat.
"Chancellor," he said; "we have done all that is possible. But Heaven
seems inexorable; the plague rages with renewed fury; two-thirds of my
army have perished, and if we remain here longer, the remainder will
share their fate."
"Still we must stay here. Our flight will only aggravate our condition;
I have foreseen all this. The plague will cease as unexpectedly as it
began."
"But if it really were a chastisement from God?" said Barbarossa.
Rinaldo sneered viciously: he looked steadily at the Emperor for a
moment, and then answered,--
"We must then suppose that God amuses himself by punishing the Romans
every year; for every year the heat raises these noxious vapors from
the marshes, and breeds a pestilential fever; it is an unhealthy
climate, that is all that can be said."
Barbarossa shook his head.
"Your explanations are not satisfactory," he replied; "this is no
fever, it is the plague, and the plague is not the result of mere
chance, it is the effect of divine wrath! We must humble ourselves
before God!"
"By all means, Sire; and since God opposes our designs, we must give
up, and acknowledge ourselves to be beaten by Alexander!"
This remark touched the Emperor's pride, and Rinaldo continued his
arguments.
"I thought," he said, "that it was only the rabble who had these ideas
about God's judgment--"
A wild shriek closed his speech: the Chancellor was a corpse, and
Barbarossa stood gazing upon his confidant, whose features still bore
the impress of devilish hate.
The Germans, however, did not abandon the bodies of their princes. All
were embalmed and transported from Italy beyond the Alps, to be buried
in the cathedrals of their native land. Two large tents were pitched,
beneath which were laid out in state the deceased nobles: the bishops
in full canonicals, with cross and mitre; the knights in complete
armor, as if about to go to battle.
A small escort rode up: in front came the cross, borne by the Bishop of
Pavia, and followed by the clergy, and then Rinaldo's body, carried by
four of his own soldiers; Barbarossa, Rechberg, and a few of the nobles
closed the procession. At the entrance, the Bishop of Pavia recited the
prayers for the dead, and then the mortal remains of the once powerful
Chancellor were deposited with the others. All, save the Emperor and
his kinsman, departed in silence, but Frederic still stood there, sad
and dejected, a tear in his eye, gazing upon all that was left on earth
of those who had died in his cause. There lay his cousin the Duke of
Suabia; near him Diepold of Bohemia, Count Berenger of Sulzbach.
Rodolph of Pfulendorf, Henry of Tubingen, and Ludolf of Dassel, the
bishops of Prague, Ratisbon, and Augsburg, of Basle, of Spires, and of
Constance, of Toul and Verdern and Cologne. Who could say whether he
too would not soon take his place among these lifeless bodies? He began
at last to look with awful fear upon his eternal future, and almost
completely weaned from earthly vanities, he returned to his own
apartments.
_CHAPTER LVI_.
_CONCLUSION_.
Barbarossa retreated with the remains of his once powerful army towards
Germany; but before he had reached Lucca, two thousand more were
stricken down by the pestilence. Attacked and annoyed on all sides by
the Lombard league, he finally fought his way to the loyal city of
Pavia, where he rejoined the Empress Beatrice and was able to take some
repose.
But the terrible chastisement at Rome had only quelled his pride for
the moment, and it now broke out again, as he turned to crush the
Lombard league. The confederation had attained an extension which he
had not anticipated; Lodi and Cremona had joined it, and all swore to
root the German rule out of Italy.
But although Frederic was preparing to open an energetic campaign
against the Lombards, the reasons which had induced our hero to remain
in the camp existed no longer, and he felt himself irresistibly drawn
towards Castellamare. He was only at two days' journey from the
dwelling of his betrothed; but the roads were infested with the light
troops of the Lombard league. Still the young knight determined to risk
everything, and he informed the Emperor of his intentions, with little
care whether they met with his sovereign's approval or not.
To his surprise, however, Barbarossa listened gravely, but without any
marks of disapprobation.
"I should be wrong," he said, "to make any further opposition to a love
which has survived so many trials. Bonello acted badly, but I have
since learned he is not implicated in this new confederation, although
his refusal may have been really perilous to his own safety, and this
deserves some consideration. I approve of your choice, Erwin, and wish
you every happiness; but the roads are unsafe, and I cannot now give
you the proper escort."
"The insurgents will respect my pilgrim's cape," replied the young man.
It was true, the pious spirit of this age forgot every party feeling in
presence of the crusader's staff, and even Frederic's hatred was
obliged to do this justice to his adversaries.
Rechberg left the Emperor to search for his faithful Gero. As he passed
through the palace he met a nobleman who was entering at the gates. It
was Heribert of Rapallo.
"Have you aught to lay before His Majesty, sir knight?" asked Rechberg.
"Yes, if you will assist me," replied Heribert, who was attracted by
the frank demeanor of our hero; "but I can find no one to present me to
him. I have already spoken fruitlessly to several persons, but it is
absolutely necessary that I communicate to the Emperor a message from
the lady of Castellamare. I must speak with him."
"The lady of Castellamare!" said Erwin, whose heart was beating
violently.
"As you are the only person who has shown me any courtesy, you shall
know the whole affair. Hermengarde, for so the lady is named, has been
betrothed for six years past to the Emperor's cousin, the famous Count
Erwin of Rechberg. But the Count went to Palestine, where, it is said,
he fell a victim to the Saracens; and Bonello, the lady's father, now
wishes her to choose another husband."
"And Hermengarde?" said Erwin, trembling.
"She will obey, provided the Count be really dead, but she still doubts
the fact."
The young man grew pale.
"Count Rechberg!" he spoke wildly as if he scarcely knew the import of
his words. "But I have heard of him; I think that I remember."
"Where then is he? does he live?" inquired Rapallo, with a voice of
mixed joy and sadness.
"He does live."
"God be thanked!"
"Do you know him who seeks Hermengarde's love?" asked Rechberg.
"It is I."
"And yet you would rejoice at the Count's safe return?"
"With all my heart! Hermengarde would have married me only through
obedience to her father's wishes."
"You are a noble heart," said Rechberg, taking the other's hand. "Yes,
Erwin of Rechberg still lives, and he stands before you now."
Heribert uttered an involuntary ejaculation of surprise and started
back; then he bowed respectfully.
"The Emperor's cousin is your friend for life," said Erwin; "it can
never be otherwise, after such noble self-devotion. Come with me to my
own apartments, for I have many questions to ask you."
On the next day they started with their retinue for Castellamare. The
journey was made without interruption, for although they encountered
many of the Lombard bands, Heribert's pass-words removed every
opposition. Erwin soon perceived that his companion belonged to the
League; but this circumstance in no way injured him in his
consideration. Although thoroughly loyal to his sovereign, Rechberg
could not approve of his system of government, and was obliged to admit
that the insurrection was by no means without cause. On the second day
they reached Castellamare, where joy knew no bounds, and the old
Bonello even wept with emotion.
A few months later, the marriage of the long betrothed couple took
place in the presence of all the nobility of the province.
Frederic succeeded in retreating into Germany; but he was no longer a
conqueror at the head of his army; he was a fugitive.
The catastrophe at Rome had annihilated all his plans, and the people
were convinced that God had interfered between him and the Church. His
partisans were discouraged and lost all influence; and he was at last
compelled to sue for a reconciliation with Alexander.
The meeting of the two sovereigns took place at Venice, where they
embraced, and swore a friendship which was never afterwards broken.
No longer guided by the pernicious counsels of his Chancellor, Frederic
attended to his duties, and abjured all his errors. He governed his
empire with energy and justice; and what he could not accomplish with
the Church against him, was an easy task as soon as he submitted to her
sway; within a few years he became the most powerful sovereign of the
world.
At last, at an advanced age, he left Germany for the Holy Land. But he
could not reach the goal which he sought, and on the very frontier of
Palestine, on the 10th of June, 1190, he found his death in the
freezing waters of the Cyanus.
The crusaders recovered his body, which they buried under the banner of
the cross, at Antioch.
Recalled to the presence of his God, in the fulfilment of a holy
enterprise, Barbarossa, we may hope, expiated the errors of his past
life, and was vouchsafed the forgiveness of his sins.