Barbarossa; An Historical Novel of the XII Century.

by Conrad von Bolanden

  _CHAPTER LIV_.

  _THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY_.

  At last the day so anxiously longed for by Barbarossa arrived; thetents which had been overthrown by the storm were again pitched, andthe Romans completed their preparations for the festival.

  Still all hearts appeared to suffer from this fictitious joy; no oneseemed at his ease; a dull presentiment hovered over Rome, where allfelt vaguely that the angel of vengeance was at hand.

  A crowd of citizens dressed in holiday attire, was assembled upon themain road leading from Saint Angelo to the Basilica of St. Peter. Thesettled gloom of their features contrasted strikingly with theirbrilliant costume, and as they glanced towards the castle, where hadstood formerly the statue of St. Michael, they shook their heads andsighed.

  "Saint Michael has protected us for centuries," said an old man, "buthe has disappeared now! May God have mercy on us!"

  "You are alarmed at nothing, Master Bartholomew," replied his friendAnselm; "you know that metals attract the lightning, and as the statuewas of gilded bronze, it could scarcely escape the fluid at thatexposed point."

  "You are very wise, Anselm," resumed the first speaker; "but the statuehas stood there unhurt during all the storms of five hundred years! notone had power against it until the eve of our reception of thisschismatical Emperor!"

  "It is nothing but the merest chance!"

  "Take care, Bartholomew," added a third, "the Emperor has hosts offriends, and it might be dangerous to speak against him."

  "I am certain that chance has had nothing to do with it!--I take care!Anselm, do you think that an old man of eighty-seven years of age isafraid to speak the truth? Yes, Barbarossa is a schismatic, he is thescourge of the Church. He will bring bad luck to Rome, and I know thereare many who think as I do, but have not courage enough to expresstheir opinion!--Look how money has been lavished here for the last fourweeks! but see if the gold and the treason which it purchased do notburn those who are guilty!"

  And Bartholomew started off again in the direction of the Castle ofSaint Angelo.

  "He is right in the main," said Gervase; "not a man in Rome has a doubtwho is the lawful Pope, but what could we do? the terrible Barbarossawould have demolished Rome, as he did Milan, without the slightestscruple."

  "Certainly he would," replied Anselm.

  "Is it true that Alexander has anathematized the city?"

  "No, no!" exclaimed several voices; "he did not even curse Barbarossa."

  "I can speak positively on this point," said Anselm, "Frangipani heardthe Pope's very words as he was kneeling before the image of ourSaviour; this is what he said:--'Arise, O Lord, and judge between meand my enemies! O Almighty God, stretch out thine arm against theenemies of the Church!'--This was precisely what happened, and nothingmore."

  "It is quite enough! he called down Heaven's vengeance upon us, and wemay expect the most direful calamities!"

  "Nonsense!" said Anselm; "all this is merely the effect of yesterday'stempest."

  "What a time that was, what a storm!"

  "Yes, and cries and groans were heard in the air."

  "And some people even saw a cross of fire above St. Peter's Church."

  "Did not the hurricane come from the direction of Gaeta? Such a thingwas never known before; I tell you it was more than natural."

  "You are a fool, Ambrose."

  "Alexander is at Gaeta, and Rome may yet regret that she deserted theHead of the Church. Say what you please, that was no ordinary storm.Did you not notice in what a gloomy terrible manner it burst upon thecity?"

  "Cheer up; mayhap you will be elected to the Senate, and theembroidered toga will soon make you forget your scruples of conscience.But here comes the procession."

  At this moment the bells of St. Peter began to toll.

  "Come to my house," said Ambrose, "we can see it so much better fromthe balcony."

  The cavalcade advanced; first came a body of knights occupying theentire width of the street; at their head rode the herald ofthe Empire, dressed in a splendid tabard. On either side was astandard-bearer, clad in a sumptuous costume, and glancing haughtilyupon the crowd. Behind them came the serried ranks of the knights, whohad laid aside their coats-of-mail, their lances, and their shields.They wore only their swords, and were all in plated armor, which shonein the rays of the August sun like a moving sea of silver.

  "How formidable those men of iron appear on their chargers!" saidAmbrose; "how powerfully built they seem! those Germans are sturdysoldiers!"

  "At last they have all gone by; how many were there? Just look, howthey drive the crowd back on St. Peter's Square, to form a brazen wallup to the Basilica."

  "Here come the bishops! Holy Virgin, how magnificently they aredressed! Anselm, count the prelates.--I want to know how many of themthere are."

  "Do you see that one with long, black hair? That is the bishop whofought so bravely in the last attack, And that one behind him, with thered head, is the Bishop of Osnabruck,--a miserable villain!"

  "Yes; they all look ill-natured and wicked; they ought to be called theEmperor's spiritual knights; how they glare at everybody!--By St.Peter! I would not like to be confirmed by one of those gentlemen; theystrike too hard!"

  During this conversation, the bishops had approached the Church; theywore brilliant mitres on their heads, and their steeds were coveredwith gorgeous housings.

  Next after the bishops came the Antipope Pascal in full Pontificalrobes, surrounded by the prelates of his court. But the costume of thisHead of the Church became him as little as it had done his predecessor,Octavian, and his embarrassed manner and undignified carriage formed apainful contrast with the exalted and difficult functions of theministry which he was called upon to discharge.

  "Fancy Alexander by the side of Pascal," said Ambrose. "What adifference! In Alexander everything showed the real pope: his looks,his words, his bearing, even the glance of his eye. But with Pascalthere is nothing! Bah! the Emperor has made a singular choice to fillSt. Peter's chair."

  "Silence!" cried Anselm, "here comes the divinity of the festival, the_Divus Augustus_ himself."

  At this moment the mob shouted,--

  "Long live the Emperor! Hail, Great Augustus!"

  Frederic appeared mounted on a magnificent charger; by his side rodethe Empress Beatrice, and in front was borne the Imperial banner.

  As he approached the castle, the crowd made a movement, the applauseceased, and all eyes were turned to the tower of Saint Angelo.

  In place of the image of the mighty Archangel, an immense flag hungfrom its summit. This unexpected memento of their humiliation created amost painful impression upon the Romans, who looked in vain for thevenerated emblem of their patron saint. Alexander's curse, with all itsfearful consequences, recurred to their minds, and hushed the cries ofrejoicing, even among the paid emissaries of the Chancellor, and it wasamid a death-like silence that Frederic moved towards the church of St.Peter.

  "What does this mean?" said Gervase, who, from the balcony, could notperceive the flag; "everybody is staring at the castle, and the criesof '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 aconqueror. Not a trace of emotion was visible on his countenance, andhis eyes glanced calmly upon the admiring multitude.

  A branch of laurel was entwined upon his diadem, and he bore, in hisright hand, the Imperial sceptre, with a more haughty grace thanAugustus himself in his triumphal chariot.

  "The Empress is a gracious lady," said Anselm; "she looks like a lambby 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 n
ot trusthim, and that the Duke looks so sadly, because Frederic forced him tojoin his army.

  "Ah! look there! Here comes the Chancellor Rinaldo! What a handsomelittle man he is! See how he smiles,--you would never imagine, from hisappearance, that he is deceit personified?"

  A squadron of men-at-arms closed the procession, which was followed byan immense crowd.

  "Quick, my friends," said Ambrose, "let us go to St. Peter's as fast aswe can! If we can only get through the crowd! What a retinue ofbishops!"

  "Yes, seventy-three!--it is a holy number, for both seven and three arein it!"

  The church was filled to overflowing. Pascal offered up the holysacrifice, upon the tomb of the blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, in thepresence of those who, instead of discharging the functions of theirsacred ministry, had entered God's sanctuary like thieves and robbers.The people often have singular presentiments, and scarcely had Pascalmounted the steps of the altar, when a murmur of discontent broke out.For a moment a riot seemed imminent, and many of the spectatorsendeavored to leave the church, through dread of some violence to theAntipope, the Emperor, and the schismatical bishops.

  During the ceremony, Frederic knelt devoutly, and Beatrice took herplace by the side of her husband.

  At the conclusion of the Mass, Frederic ascended his throne, and Pascalseated himself in the pontifical chair, which was placed opposite. TheEmperor 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 thebishops, all of whom rose when Rinaldo proceeded to the altar to readaloud the formula, by which the clergy were to swear allegiance toPascal as lawful Pope.

  The organ and the solemn chants ceased; and Rinaldo's voice resoundedthrough the church, while the people looked on with sullen interest.The hands were raised, the oath administered, and then each in turnapproached the Emperor's throne to pledge him his obedience.

  On the first step they bowed respectfully, on the second they kneltbefore the monarch and kissed the hand which held the sceptre; thenthey moved towards the altar, knelt before Pascal and kissed hispastoral 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 theEmperor, and that this assembly was composed of bishops who were aliensto the Church, wounded all their preconceived ideas. They feared lestthe vengeance of God should come to punish this usurpation of SaintPeter's chair. Many again tried to leave the church, but the crowdwithout choked up all egress.

  The Emperor placed his right hand (which had borne the sceptre) uponhis knee, and each bishop kissed it as he passed, but he scarcelyperceived their presence. His haughty soul was floating in an ocean ofgratified pride. At last he was seated in that place which Alexanderonce had occupied, and where his predecessors used to receive thehomage of Christendom. What a change! Alexander was a helplessfugitive, and Pascal was his creature, his puppet; he himself was thereal _Pontifex Maximus_. Absolute master of Church and State, he was atlast at the pinnacle of greatness; success had crowned his efforts; allChristendom was his vassal. He glanced towards the kneeling bishops,and then his eyes turned to the crowd as if he could no longer delaythe 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 offat 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 dreamingof 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 bythe Emperor, was not to Pascal's liking; still he dared not disobey hismaster's sign--he descended from the altar. Again the music ceased, anda profound silence prevailed through the church, where all listenedanxiously 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 movementcommenced in the crowd; here and there persons fell lifeless. It seemedas though death was smiting its chosen victims. At first it was thoughtto be merely the result of fainting-fits, so often met with in crowdedassemblages; but as the mortality continued to spread, and the corpsesimmediately became covered with black spots, a great fear seized theminds of all.

  "He is dead! really dead!" said Gervase, who was supporting the body ofhis 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 isthe 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 theyfled tumultuously through the doors to escape from the infectedatmosphere.

  At first the Emperor's face flushed with anger, for he imagined that itwas a scheme concocted by the malevolence of his adversaries; but whenthe crowd began to scatter in disorder, and the terrible cry, "thepestilence is among us," was heard, a mortal dread fell upon theImperial retinue. The bishops grew pale, and many a remorsefulconscience whispered,--

  "It is the vengeance of an offended God."

  Still Frederic gave no signs of fear or agitation; his dauntless spiritwas a stranger to any such sentiments. He merely regretted theinterruption of the ceremony, that was all. He had erected histriumphal throne in the Church of St. Peter, in the very heart ofChristendom, and his eyes gleamed with menace and discontent, as thoughhe would have forced the pestilence itself to recoil before his frown.But death fears no mortal man, not even him who, seated on the topmostpinnacle 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 afew steps from the throne; and his neighbor, the Bishop Alexander ofLodi, a few moments after, shared his fate. The prelates looked withstupid wonder at these corpses, all bearing distinctive marks of thescourge. Not one among them had the courage to stoop down and performthe last duties which the Church enjoins. These men had none of thenoble sentiments of their calling; they had the vices and the passionsof the court, hands fitted only to wield the sword, and guilty heartswhich scarcely now began to be touched by repentance.

  Many wished to follow the example set them by the Romans, but theEmperor's voice forbade.

  "What means this, my lords? What, Bishop of Luttich, you, one of themost valiant swords in my army, would you too be one of the first tofly from danger? If God sends us a misfortune, we will bear it withbecoming resignation."

  He ordered the grand marshal to arrange the return to his camp. Therewas 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 thepestilence, had sought refuge within their dwellings. At first thebugles sounded the march, but the joyous music met with no response;there were no shouts of popular applause; the streets were empty, andon all sides were seen the corpses of the victims. Princes and prelatesrode along with downcast eyes and looks expressive of grief andapprehension. Suddenly a soldier fell dead from his horse; thepestilence was among the men-at-arms. The bugles were silent, thecavalcade halted for an instant, and then all was wild confusion; theranks were broken, and each man dashed madly forward to escape from theinfected air of the empoisoned city.

  All order was lost; the return to camp was like a rout, and evenBarbarossa and his consort urged their horses to a gallop to regaintheir tents.