"Alexander is at Gaeta, and Rome may yet regret that she deserted the Head 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 the city?"

"Cheer up; mayhap you will be elected to the Senate, and the embroidered 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 from the balcony."

The cavalcade advanced; first came a body of knights occupying the entire width of the street; at their head rode the herald of the Empire, dressed in a splendid tabard. On either side was a standard-bearer, clad in a sumptuous costume, and glancing haughtily upon the crowd. Behind them came the serried ranks of the knights, who had laid aside their coats-of-mail, their lances, and their shields.

They wore only their swords, and were all in plated armor, which shone in the rays of the August sun like a moving sea of silver.

"How formidable those men of iron appear on their chargers!" said Ambrose; "how powerfully built they seem! those Germans are st.u.r.dy soldiers!"

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

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

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

"Yes; they all look ill-natured and wicked; they ought to be called the Emperor's spiritual knights; how they glare at everybody!--By St.

Peter! I would not like to be confirmed by one of those gentlemen; they strike too hard!"

During this conversation, the bishops had approached the Church; they wore brilliant mitres on their heads, and their steeds were covered with gorgeous housings.

Next after the bishops came the Antipope Pascal in full Pontifical robes, surrounded by the prelates of his court. But the costume of this Head of the Church became him as little as it had done his predecessor, Octavian, and his embarra.s.sed manner and undignified carriage formed a painful contrast with the exalted and difficult functions of the ministry which he was called upon to discharge.

"Fancy Alexander by the side of Pascal," said Ambrose. "What a difference! In Alexander everything showed the real pope: his looks, his words, his bearing, even the glance of his eye. But with Pascal there is nothing! Bah! the Emperor has made a singular choice to fill St. 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 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 mult.i.tude.

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 n.o.ble 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 G.o.d'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 Ma.s.s, 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 s.p.a.ce 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 a.s.sembly was composed of bishops who were aliens to the Church, wounded all their preconceived ideas. They feared lest the vengeance of G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed, 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 va.s.sal. 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 G.o.d 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.