Barbarossa; An Historical Novel of the XII Century.

But Guerrazzi was not a vulgar rebel; he was a villain ready for anything, an accomplished scoundrel. Approaching the Pope with assurance, he drew himself up, threw back his head, and spoke thus:

"Sir Pope, we, the tribunes of the Roman people, wish you to understand that the Emperor has offered us his friendship, and that we have accepted it. No harm shall be done to your person, but you must resign the sovereign dignity, in order that the Roman people may, as is its right, choose a Pope. As you are a pious and a holy man, you may, perhaps, hope that our choice will fall again upon yourself as a fit person to occupy St. Peter's chair."

The demagogue was silent and awaited the Pontiff's answer, but there was none; the arrogance and importance of the harangue rendered any reply impossible.

The tailor had more skill and craftiness than the Holy Father. People of elevated sentiments can never understand all the insincerity and baseness of which vulgar minds are capable, and Alexander could not suppose that the speaker only sought to lead him into a snare which would make him odious to the people.

"I am aware, Holy Father," he continued, "that you desire to put an end to the war. Many hundreds of Roman citizens are in the hands of the enemy: Frederic has promised their release if we throw open our gates; but he threatens to hang them and treat Rome as he has treated Milan, in case we persevere in our resistance. He will demolish our fortifications, will put us to the sword or send us into exile, and will turn this noble city into a heap of ruins. It is in your power to avert all this and save us from inevitable misery, by resigning the throne and ordering the surrender of the city."

Despite the wickedness which appeared in the harangue, the Holy Father was moved by the picture. He would gladly have gone into exile, or even to death itself, in the discharge of his duty, but the people seemed ready to yield everything rather than persevere in the struggle.

"My son," said Alexander, after a moment's reflection, "you have undertaken a matter which is beyond the scope of your abilities, and which is even contrary to justice; I will therefore make you no reply. It is to be deplored that the Romans are less disposed to do battle for God and his Church, than to make arrangements with the Emperor, whose only object is the gratification of personal ambition. His intention is to destroy the Church of God in Rome."

"Allow me to say, Sir Pope, that the Emperor has not come here as a destroyer, but rather as a protector of our rights and liberties."

"You cannot believe that, poor misguided people that ye are!"

As if in answer to these words of the Pope, the yells of the infuriated mob were heard before the fortress.

"Long live Barbarossa! – Election of the Pope! – Down with the government of the priests! – Hurrah for the Senate!"

These words, and others of a similar nature, showed the spirit which animated the populace.

"Listen to them, then, Holy Father! mark with what enthusiasm they acclaim the Emperor!" said the tailor, insolently. "Barbarossa is really a great man, an Emperor worthy of the name of Augustus. I recollect well the time when he came to St. Peter's with Pope Adrian. Oh, the happy days! Why cannot you, too, become the Emperor's friend? Every difficulty would then be removed."

"You do not understand me, my son; personally, I have no dislike to Frederic, but it is my duty to oppose his perverse designs."

"Do you not admit that Pope Adrian was a wise and saintly Pontiff? – The people have always so considered him."

"And they were right."

"Why then could he be the friend of Barbarossa, whilst you are not so?"

Among the rare qualities of Alexander III. must be counted the truly Christian patience with which he listened to the reproaches of wicked men, and the mildness which he employed in trying to convince them of their perversity. But the Holy Father was compelled to admit the hopeless impossibility of impressing upon this rabble the great importance of his contest with Frederic.

After a moment's reflection, he went towards the table and sought among the parchments.

"Here is a document," he said, "written by Pope Adrian. It will show you that our predecessor was gravely annoyed by the Emperor's conduct which always was hostile to the independence of the Church. 'God be thanked,' he writes to the German bishops, 'that you have remained faithful! God be thanked for giving you the ability to judge, dispassionately, between Frederic and the Holy See! This schism which he has instigated will recoil upon his own head; it is like a dragon, which, wishing to fly to heaven, has fallen to the earth, and has been swallowed up. He who would exalt himself, shall be abased. This fox seeks to lay waste the Lord's vineyard; this guilty son forgets all gratitude and all fear. He has fulfilled none of his promises, he has deceived us in everything; he deserves then to be treated as a rebel to his God, as a heathen, as an outlaw.' You see then, my children, how severely Adrian judged the Emperor. What would this saintly Pontiff write now; what sentence would he pass upon Frederic at the time when he is persecuting with still more virulence the Church of God?"

A savage yell, which seemed to approach the castle, interrupted Alexander, and Frangipani appeared.

"Holy Father," said the soldier, "I can no longer endure the presence of these bandits; allow me to drive them away by force."

"By no means; let no blood be spilled! Tell them," he said, turning to Guerrazzi, "that there can be no alliance between Christians and the enemies of God; tell them, distinctly, that Rome has naught to fear, so long as she fights against the foes of the Church!"

He withdrew, and a few moments later, Guerrazzi was again upon his column, haranguing the rabble which pressed eagerly around him. The tailor inveighed bitterly against the harshness of Alexander, who, he asserted, had no pity for the sufferings of the people, and was disposed to resist the Emperor at any cost.

"I represented everything to him," he said, "I reminded him of Milan, of your inevitable destruction if you rejected the proffered mercy! I reminded him of our captive brothers who will certainly be hung, unless we stretch out our hand to Barbarossa. With tears in my eyes, I besought him to have pity upon us, upon our wives, upon our helpless children; my words would have touched a heart of stone, but they were powerless to move this barbarian. Do you call such a one a holy man, a father? – He is a tyrant, a destroyer!"

Guerrazzi at last had carried his point; the crowd was rampant with sedition.

"Death to Alexander! Down with the tyrant!"

"Forward!" resumed the tailor, violently, – "brave people, rise in your might, break your chains, and go to meet your Augustus!"

He sprang to the ground, for his task was accomplished, and the fire of sedition was spread rapidly through the masses. Rinaldo's emissaries urged on the revolt, and soon nothing was heard but wild panegyrics of Barbarossa, and curses against the Pope.

Each day the excitement increased in Rome, where the Chancellor had already distributed large sums of money, and where the seditious harangues of Guerrazzi, Bariso, and many others embroiled everything.

Alexander was denounced as a merciless savage.

"Soon, brothers, you will suffer all the pangs of hunger," said the tailor, always speaking from his favorite column. "You will be obliged to feed upon roots, and leather, and old shoes, and other things too disgusting to mention. What does Alexander care for our sufferings, he is well provided with every luxury behind the walls of St. Angelo."

"The man of the castle has no heart!" cried Bariso, who had replaced Guerrazzi upon the pedestal; "if he had, would he compel us to bear this misery, and submit to the misfortunes which ruined Milan? Yes, the Emperor has sworn to destroy everything with fire and sword, if we do not surrender within a week."

"Alexander will not resign the pontifical chair," said another voice. "What does it signify to him if his obstinacy causes our destruction? Barbarossa desires to restore to Rome her ancient splendor and her liberty. Alexander has other intentions, he claims everything for himself. He cares for neither our honor, nor our glory; he is plotting our ruin!"

Every day there were popular meetings in different quarters of the city, and loud complaints were launched against Alexander, while some of the insurgents even went so far as to shout, through the loopholes in the walls, words of encouragement to the enemy.

At last Frederic stormed a portion of the works, and burned the church of Santa Maria della Torre; the conflagration spread, and the vestibule of the dome of Saint Peter was destroyed.

From the summit of St. Angelo, the Pope saw the flames surround the tomb of the prince of the Apostles; but although his face glowed with indignation, and his lips trembled with emotion at the sacrilege, he remained undaunted in his resolution to endure every trial in the interest of the Church. He wept, and his tears were doubtless carried to the foot of the eternal throne of God, where they pleaded for pity and forgiveness.

After the capture of the Vatican, Barbarossa attacked the castle of San Angelo, but the assault failed. Several other positions were also in the possession of the Papal troops, but a longer resistance seemed of no avail. It was useless to remain in a city the people of which was hostile.

Alexander saw the precarious condition of the desecrated Church, and resigning himself to his fate, determined to seek safety in flight. But the enemy had evidently foreseen the contingency, and every disposition had been made to prevent the escape of the Pontiff.

A cordon of troops was drawn around the citadel; these were doubled after nightfall, and so great was the importance which the Emperor attached to the Pope's capture, that none but Germans were detailed on the service, for Frederic had little confidence in his Italian mercenaries.

The gigantic castle of Saint Angelo rose towards heaven, and the gilded statue of St. Michael glittered upon its summit. The helmeted sentinels in full armor, their lances poised upon their shoulders, paced the bridge with measured tread. At times they looked towards the castle, then upon the river, and then towards the distant horizon; for they knew that the Pope would seek to escape.

Further on, a strong detachment of soldiers were sleeping on the ground, with their helmets and lances carefully piled near them. Among these might have been seen the knight Goswin and the tailor Guerrazzi, who were engaged in earnest conversation.

The frankness of the worthy German found little to sympathize with in the crafty Italian; but Guerrazzi, who never lost the opportunity of showing his zeal for the Emperor, had offered to keep him company and share the fatigues of the night-watch. Of course no fault could be found with this, but Goswin looked upon his companion much as a dog would on a cat which fawned upon him. The German, it is true, had a very limited intellect, but his natural good sense taught him that the Italian was full of tricks and artifice.

At first he paid no attention whatever to Guerrazzi, as if to show him that his presence was a matter of perfect indifference, and he walked up and down the banks of the Tiber immersed in thought.

But Goswin was not a philosopher, and could not remain for hours at a time in a revery, so he very soon began to weary of the silence, and finally approached Guerrazzi.

"A very fine evening!" said the knight, opening the conversation like one who did not know what to say.

"We are in the month of July, noble sir, and at this season, I think, the custom ought to be to sleep all day and work at night."

"Sleep all day! – you?" said Goswin; "did I not see you on the square, haranguing the Romans, and working them up as a baker kneads soft dough? And if I mistake not, you were at the allied camp before daybreak? Don't you sleep either day or night?"

"Not when there is anything to be done, my lord; and there will be, as long as Rome is not entirely in the power of the Emperor!"

"What means that statue on the top of the tower?" asked Goswin, pointing to the castle.

"Ah! that is a strange story," replied the tailor, laughing. "They used to call the fort, Adrian's Mausoleum, but ever since an angel lighted on it, it has been named the tower of Saint Angelo."

"An angel came there? This is a strange story."

"I will tell it to you in a few words. It happened one night while Gregory the Great occupied the throne of St. Peter, that a terrible pestilence had broken out in Rome. None knew whence the scourge came, nor what caused it, but he who was smitten fell dead at once; the very air was infected, and it is since then that it is customary to say when a man sneezes: God bless you! – that means: may God preserve you from the pestilence! Now, when the disease had reached its height, Pope Gregory ordered a general fast and a procession through the city, to implore God's pity. Nothing was of any avail, although the physicians opposed the procession, on the ground that the concourse of so many persons would necessarily tend to spread the contagion. Gregory, absorbed in pious meditations, mounted to the summit of that tower, precisely as Alexander has since done. The people marched slowly onward, chanting the miserere; at every moment their ranks grew thinner, as a corpse fell to the ground. Suddenly the sky became illumined, and an angel was seen upon the tower. He held in his hand a fiery sword, which he brandished over the city, and then he seemed to return it to the scabbard. At the same instant the plague disappeared. It is for this that you see there the image of the blessed Archangel St. Michael, who protects us still, for since then the pestilence has never appeared among us."

"This is indeed a marvellous legend!" said Goswin. "The flaming sword in the hand of St. Michael clearly shows the punishment which God intended for the Romans."

"There is no doubt about it," sneered Guerrazzi.

"You laugh?"

"Certainly; for I look upon the legend as an idle tale: old women often see miracles where our cool, good sense perceives nothing which is not entirely natural."

"But did not the plague cease?"

"Yes; but it would have disappeared all the same without St. Michael's interference."

The tailor's irony shocked the honest German, whose pious faith saw nothing astonishing in the visitation of the glorious archangel.

"If all the Romans thought as you do, they did not deserve St. Michael's assistance."

"Bah! the St. Michael of the mausoleum is not an article of the Creed! Although I may think the story of the apparition false, I am not a pagan."

Goswin stared angrily at the tailor, and turned away.

Whilst this scene was passing upon the bridge, Alexander was hurriedly preparing for his flight. The garrison was ignorant of the intentions of his Holiness, but in the antechamber of the apartment, the bishops and cardinals were kneeling, and reciting fervently the prayer for the safety of travellers.

The door of the Pope's chamber was open, and through it might be seen the Head of the Church and two ecclesiastics, all clothed as pilgrims, kneeling before the little altar, on which burned two candles before a large crucifix.

The cardinals and bishops prayed with voices tremulous with emotion.

"Aid thy servants, who have faith in thee, O God! Send us assistance from thy holy place, and from Sion protect us! O Lord, be our strength to resist the enemy, and let him not prevail against us! Praised be the Lord! May he grant us a prosperous journey! Show us thy ways, and direct us in thy paths. The crooked road shall be made straight, for God has commanded his angels to protect thee on thy way. Lord, listen to my prayer, and let the voice of my supplication come unto thee."

"The Lord be with you," said the Pope at the altar.

"And with thy Spirit," answered the cardinals.

"Let us pray," added the Pope. "O God! thou who hast caused the sea to be crossed as the dry land, thou who hast guided the magi by thy holy star, grant to us a prosperous journey; and may we, under thy gracious protection, arrive in safety at the goal to which we direct our steps.

"Amen!" answered the cardinals.

There was a profound silence, which was broken by the entrance of Frangipani, who in full armor stood motionless before the door. The bishops and cardinals remained seated, but the tears were coursing down their cheeks, for as they looked upon the Pope, they trembled for his safety.

Without, was heard the measured tramp of the sentinels, then soon all again was still.

Alexander knelt once more at the foot of the altar, and raising his eyes to the crucifix,

"O my God! my Saviour!" said he with emotion, "protect the flock which I am compelled to abandon! Be merciful to thy deluded people, for they know not what they do."

He paused and bent his head; then suddenly looking up, he exclaimed in a loud voice:

"O Almighty God of justice, look upon thy Church: turn thine eyes towards thy spouse. See her misery, her forlorn condition, her persecution, her danger! How far wilt thou allow this wickedness to triumph, O Lord? O Lord, if thou hast pity on our misfortunes and our griefs, come to the aid of thy Church! Awake, O Almighty God, bare thy avenging arm! O Sweet Jesus, deign to save thy holy Church."

Alexander's voice became stronger, and his features more animated, as though he had seen a vision. His words also had a supernatural expression, and the Pontiff seemed to have received, directly from the Almighty, the power to bless and curse.

At this critical moment, the representative of God upon earth had repassed in his mind all the circumstances by the aid of which he had struggled so long for the holy cause which had just been overthrown. The giant grasp of the Emperor had clutched on the Church, and God alone could compel him to leave his prey. The Pope felt all this, and consequently it was to God that he looked for assistance, to him that he addressed his prayers.

The cardinals and bishops remained kneeling in deep emotion, as the Pope, rising with the air of one who had confided everything to faithful hands, bestowed upon them his solemn benediction. Then he took his pilgrim's hat and staff, and, followed by his companions, descended the steps of the altar.

Frangipani had got all his men under arms in order to cover the Pope's flight by a vigorous sortie, in case it was noticed by the besiegers. Goswin had just lain down upon the ground and had begun to doze.

The sentinel stood upon the bridge, his head bent forward upon his breast, scarcely awake. A heavy cloud veiled the moon and threw long shadows upon the city; a few doubtful rays glided upon the surface of the stream and played here and there upon the armors. Suddenly a small postern was cautiously opened and three persons came out from the castle.

Goswin was seated upon the ground, his face towards the river, his back against a stone. The fatigues of the day forced Rinaldo's spy to struggle against sleep, and he was scarcely conscious of what he saw, everything was dim and indistinct before him. But the sense of hearing had become more acute in proportion as the other faculties of the tailor had diminished.

An almost imperceptible noise came from the tower, and in a moment Guerrazzi was on his feet peering eagerly into the night. He fancied that he perceived human forms moving away under cover of the darkness, and he hastily gave the alarm.

"Halloa! up! look yonder; they are escaping from the castle."

The drowsy soldiers heard a fall, a shout, and then a splashing in the water.

"What is the matter with you? what are you shouting about?" asked Goswin. "Halloa! there he is again; ah! he has sunk a second time," said the soldier, pointing with his lance towards the water. "The idiot! why did he jump into the river if he did not know how to swim?"

"Who has jumped into the river?" asked the sentinel.

"The Italian; I don't know what was the matter; he suddenly cried out that some one was leaving the castle, and then sprang into the Tiber. Did you see anything?"

"Nothing at all; everything was quiet; the idiot was dreaming, I suppose."

"All this comes because of his want of respect for St. Michael," said Goswin. "The devil has blinded him so that he took the water to be the solid ground. I should have liked to save him, but it is not possible to fish in the dark."

The soldiers crowded around the bridge and gazed at the water, which was carrying the villain's body away.

CHAPTER LIII.

BARBAROSSA IN ROME

Alexander was in safety at Gaeta before his flight was discovered by the Romans. Frederic's anger knew no bounds.

"He has succeeded, after all, in eluding your guards and your Brabançons," he said to Rinaldo, who communicated the fact to him.

"If we were unable to seize the Pope in Rome, we shall be more successful at Beneventon or Naples," replied the Chancellor. "It is probably a piece of good luck by which not only Alexander but also his champion, King William, will together swell the triumph of the Roman Emperor."

The news spread rapidly through the city, and a thousand details were added, all in favor of the Pope's sanctity. Some even asserted that he had penetrated unseen the line of sentinels, and that Guerrazzi had perceived and tried to seize him, but had been thrown by invisible hands into the Tiber. As he was going, added the crowd, the Holy Father had fulminated the anathema against Barbarossa, and had called down the vengeance of Heaven upon the head of the wicked Emperor, while a flash of lightning had pierced the clouds, announcing the most dire misfortunes.

These marvels were related everywhere, and acquired additional credit from their very circulation.

Frederic determined to make his triumphal entry into Rome on the 3d of August, when he and Beatrice would be crowned in the Church of St Peter, and receive the allegiance of the inhabitants. It was necessary that Frederic should enter Rome with becoming pomp, and immense preparations were being made for the reception. St. Peter's Square and its vicinity was profusely decked with flags, and flowers, and laurel crowns; and tall poles, hung with streamers and appropriate emblems, were set up in all the streets through which the procession was to pass. Frederic had announced three days of popular festivity, during which he was to appear in public, robed in the Imperial purple, and dispense his bounties in person. The Romans were favorably disposed; all the avenues were alive with crowds of citizens in their holiday attire, and in each house everything was being made ready for the banquet.

In the army, too, every one was busy; the squires and men-at-arms brightened up their armor and polished their lances and bucklers; in the ecclesiastical quarter, the chaplains were preparing the sumptuous vestments of the prelates, while the nobles were assembled in Council near their sovereign, deeply intent upon the organization of the cavalcade.

Heaven alone appeared unwilling to take part in the festival. Until then the burning sky had diffused a stifling heat, but on the eve of the ceremony heavy clouds began to collect upon the distant horizon, and pile up in dark masses, whence flashed lurid sheets of fire, while the thunder rolled menacingly. Still the air was calm, and scarcely a puff of wind fluttered the gay pennons of the knights. All nature seemed hushed in dread expectancy.

Goswin was seated at his door, watching the darkening sky, and as the weather became more overcast and the lightning blazed more fiercely, he shook his head uneasily.

"Tighten the tent-cords, Bruno," he said, turning to his squire; "we shall have a storm soon."

Hardly was the order given before the tempest burst forth in all its fury. The tents were prostrated or else whirled away by the wind; and on all sides were heard the shouts and cries of the soldiers struggling amidst a deluge of rain to repair the wild confusion.

Fortunately the hurricane was of short duration, and subsided as rapidly as it had arisen; but it seemed as though a threat from Heaven weighed down the army and the city. The lightning had ceased, and the thunder rolled no longer, but the clouds, which had been chasing rapidly through the air, suddenly stopped, as though they had reached their destination, and hung over Rome, gloomy and mournful as a funeral-pall.