CHAPTER LI.
THE TRIBUNE
Whilst the deputies of the Lombard cities were travelling through the province and working at the organization of the league, Frederic and his army were encamped before the walls of Rome. Informed of the storm which threatened from the North, he would have raised the siege and marched at once against the rebels, but Dassel dissuaded him. It was first necessary, the statesman urged, to expel Alexander from Rome, and place Pascal upon the throne of Saint Peter.
Henry the Lion, the Duke of Austria, and nearly all the princes of note had refused to send their contingents against Rome, and remained quietly in their homes, for they had begun to foresee the designs of the Emperor.
The German and Italian bishops, however, eagerly took part in the siege, and, clothed in armor, prepared to use the sword and lance to overthrow the successor of St. Peter. For the monarch had at last humbled the pride of the prelates, who, for the most part, were his mere tools, whose consciences were fettered with golden shackles. Rich and powerful, their ambition urged them to further the projects of the Emperor, which in abasing the Papacy lessened the power of the temporal princes.
Frederic's army was numerous, brave, and accustomed to victory. A division commanded by the Archbishop of Mayence and Cologne, had already achieved some successes, but Rome still held out, and her fall seemed yet uncertain. Everything presaged a long struggle, much to the dissatisfaction of the Emperor, who had just learned the increasing development of the Lombard league and the advance of William of Naples, who was marching to the assistance of the eternal city.
"Your advice is replete with danger," said Barbarossa to his Chancellor; "the Lombards are rising en masse; they have decapitated or hung my lieutenants, and are working diligently upon the fortifications of Milan, whilst we stand here idle. It is a mistake, an evident mistake."
Rinaldo merely smiled with the air of one who feels certain of success.
"When we can strike at the heart of our enemy it would be folly to try only to wound his foot," said he. "Rome is the heart; Alexander is the life of the confederation. Let Alexander fall, the rest must die of necessity."
"Your arguments are good, but mere argument will not harm a hair of Roland's head."
"Every precaution has been taken against contingencies," continued Dassel, without replying to the Emperor's observation. "The Pisan fleet guards the mouth of the Tiber, our Brabançon troops scour the country; in short, Roland's escape is impossible."
"It is most probable that he will not put your precautions to the test."
"Within three days at the latest, my Emperor and Lord will hear in the Church of St. Peter the solemn mass which I myself will celebrate as a thanksgiving," said Dassel, calmly.
Frederic gazed at him in astonishment.
"My captains watch most diligently," resumed the statesman, "and Roland would need wings to get away again! If I had a hundred more gold pieces to spend, perhaps the worthy Romans would open their gates to us to-morrow. My promises, too, have a good deal of weight: abolition of all taxes, re-establishment of the Senate, privilege of electing the Pope!"
"Ah! you have promised all that?" said Frederic.
"Certainly! but when you are in the city, you can only keep as many promises as it suits you; for, personally, you are pledged to nothing. I assure your Majesty that I have never seen a city which can be so easily deceived as Rome: all that is necessary is to promise. Everything is false among the brave Romans."
"I know and appreciate them as they deserve," replied Frederic. "All that remains of their ancient glory is an overweening pride, which I mean to humble."
"Hark!" cried Dassel, "what is that noise?"
An extraordinary clamor was heard in the direction of the square of St. Peter, where an immense mob shouted and howled in such confusion that it was impossible to understand their meaning.
A marble column stood in the centre of the square, but in place of the image of the Holy Virgin, which it usually supported, it now served as a pedestal for the tailor Guerrazzi, while the sacred statue was laid upon the ground beside it, and a dense crowd pressed forward to listen to the excited orator. The tailor laughed and wept alternately, waved his hands, beat his breast, and tore his hair, while his voice assumed, by turns, an expression of menace or of flattery, as the occasion required. Guerrazzi was a paid agent of the Chancellor, and it was his pockets which received the gold pieces of which the latter had spoken, and which were to be distributed among the conspirators. The Romans were sharing the common lot of all those nations who are mad enough to suppose that schemers have any other object in view than self-interest; they were deceived and sold by the very men whom they considered to be their most devoted champions.
The orator pointed proudly towards a circular tower, which stood in front of him, commanding the square, with which it communicated by a bridge and a wide street. This building, whose lofty walls overlooked the whole city, was the mausoleum of Adrian, afterwards called the castle of Saint Angelo, and at present the Pope's last refuge.
"Look there!" cried the tailor, who was trying to flatter the national pride of his audience by recalling the mighty deeds of their ancestors; "look there at Adrian's mausoleum! there stands a memento of Roman grandeur. How magnificent it still is! I see before me the sons of the Gracchi, of the Scipios, of Brutus, the descendants of the masters of the world. But what are we to-day? We are mere pigmies in comparison with our progenitors. Ah!" said he, weeping, "there was a time when Rome dictated laws to the world, and all nations paid tribute to her majesty. Then our Senate, like a council of gods, sat in the Capitol! – And now? – But who has robbed us of this greatness? Who governs the universe after despoiling the Roman people of its power? – The Pope!" – and the angry tailor paused.
"It is true! – It is true!"
"Well said!"
"What wisdom!"
And the crowd burst out in frantic applause.
"Romans!" continued the orator, "fellow-citizens! the Popes are the successors of that Saint Peter who thrice denied his master; but many of them seem to take as their model the thief, the traitor Judas! – Consequently, all the Popes are great men, but" – (here he paused and pointed to the castle) – "all the Popes are not saints!"
Again the mob applauded, but the wily orator, seeing at once that he trod on dangerous ground, made a skilful diversion.
"No one will dispute the fact that our Holy Father Alexander is one of the greatest of the Popes!" and his voice rang out loudly, as though to prevent all denial. "But although Alexander is a great and holy personage, will he restore to the Romans those privileges of which they have been deprived? No, fellow-citizens, he will not, because he cannot! He swore to hand down the spoils intact upon the day that he assumed the triple crown. But be comforted, fellow-citizens; we have a powerful protector, and that protector is the Emperor! Yes, the Emperor will bring back to Rome her pristine splendor; he will give her once more all that was hers, for he glories in being the defender of right and justice! Again you will have a Senate seated in the Capitol, for the power of priestcraft has had its day. Your ancestors had the right to elect the Pope; this right will again be restored to you. And do you know why Barbarossa refuses to acknowledge Alexander? Solely because he was not elected by the Roman people!"
A murmur of approbation and pleasure ran through the crowd.
"Neither Alexander nor Pascal will sit upon the pontifical throne; you can choose for Pope whom you please. Such is the Emperor's will." The orator was fast gaining his point, for if the Romans no longer possessed the energy of their ancestors, at least they had their pride.
"Rome will again reign supreme; all her liberties, all her privileges will be restored, and she will once more rule the world as before the usurpation of the Popes. The Emperor has promised it, and Barbarossa keeps his word. But, you will ask, what does he require in exchange? Nothing, nothing except to receive from your hands the dignity of Roman patrician, nothing but the privilege of nominating the Pope of your own choice! Will you accept the hand stretched out to you by the noble Emperor, or will you close your gates against the defender of your liberties?"
"Long live the Emperor! Long live Barbarossa!" was shouted on all sides.
"Long live Frederic and the Rome of Augustus!" And the cries of the populace rent the air.
"Rejoice, O Rome! mistress of the world," cried the excited tailor, "thou wilt once more see thy Senate, thy Capitol, the tribunes of thy people!
"Romans," he added, with increasing energy, "to your work without delay, every moment is of value: Elect your tribunes, send them immediately to the Emperor; tell him that you confer on him the title of Roman patrician, and that you wish to choose a Pope who will defend your rights and liberties!"
Guerrazzi descended from the rostrum, and the election of the tribunes began.
CHAPTER LII.
SEDITION
The Pontiff was watching the people from the summit of the castle. He was overwhelmed with sadness; for he had long known the fickleness of the Romans, and the ease with which they could be misled caused grave fears of an early defection from his cause. Still he gave no evidences of discontent or ill humor; his sorrow was only that of a tender father mourning over the errors of a loved, though wayward child.
Near him stood Conrad of Wittelsbach, the deposed Archbishop of Mayence, a prelate of grave and dignified demeanor, whose features indicated firmness and energy. His efforts to bring about a reconciliation between Alexander and Frederic had been fruitless; the angry Emperor looked upon the Pope as the only obstacle to peace, and his renunciation of the pontifical throne was the essential condition on which he insisted.
"Poor misguided people; what a tumult!" said Alexander. "Hark how they cheer for the Emperor! What terrible ingratitude!"
"The Romans in this respect differ in no way from the rest of mankind, most Holy Father. To-day they cry Hosanna! to-morrow, Death! But it seems as though they were coming to see us," added Conrad; "the crowd is pressing in this direction."
In fact the mob, under the leadership of Guerrazzi and other demagogues, was moving towards the castle, and already the shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" were heard uttered with such violence that they even reached the Imperial camp. On the bridge the people stopped and glared at the portcullis with an air of hatred and defiance. Frangipani the governor of Saint Angelo, at once repaired to the presence of the Holy Father, to inquire if he would receive the tribunes of the Roman people.
"The tribunes of the Roman people?" repeated Alexander, with surprise.
"The designation appeared to me as extraordinary as it does to your Holiness," replied the soldier; "but, however it may be, the so-called tribunes of the Roman people desire an audience of your Holiness."
"Alas!" exclaimed the Pope, "their blindness is even greater than I supposed. However, let them come, I will receive them in the council-chamber."
A dense crowd entered the castle and were led by Frangipani to the room which had been designated. The pontifical court had adjourned but a few minutes before, and the cardinals' chairs were still around a long table, at the upper end of which stood the throne of St. Peter. Along the walls were shelves covered with books and parchments, for the archives of the Church had accompanied the Pope in his flight.
As soon as the last tribune had entered, the doors were closed and guarded by the soldiers, whose measured steps along the corridors, joined to the clank of their armor, produced a marked impression upon their excited minds. They looked anxiously around as if in dread, but Guerrazzi, who perceived the general impression, hastened to reassure them.
"Do not be in the least alarmed," he said, "we have nothing to fear. The people surround the Castle, and would not leave one stone upon another, if any violence were offered to us. We possess their confidence, we must show ourselves worthy of our trust. Believe me, since the time of Romulus and Remus, no tribunes have ever been chosen with so much promptness and discrimination as ourselves. Since, in spite of my unworthiness, the people have seen fit to elevate me to the dignity of the tribuneship, I intend, as certain as I can trace my origin directly back to Romulus, to show myself worthy of the honor, and to defend the people's rights with all my energy."
At this moment the Pope, accompanied by Conrad of Mayence, entered the hall by a side-door.
Guerrazzi's colleagues, generally, belonged to the dregs of the people, and modelled their conduct upon his. Still, although the crafty tailor felt persuaded of their devotion to his cause and their own ambitious schemes, he felt that they were overawed by the calm majesty of the Pontiff, before whom they preserved a silence which induced Alexander to suppose, at first, that they had come to solicit his forgiveness for the insurgents.
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.