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 a.s.semblages; 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 G.o.d 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.

"G.o.d 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 G.o.d."

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 G.o.d.

Already the plague had struck down some of Frederic's own retinue.

Count Ludolf of Da.s.sel, 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 n.o.ble sentiments of their calling; they had the vices and the pa.s.sions 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d_.

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.

"G.o.d 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 Da.s.sel.

"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 G.o.dfather, 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 Da.s.sel; "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, Da.s.sel walked towards the corpse and then called for his servants. His fear had pa.s.sed 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 carca.s.s!"

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 chastis.e.m.e.nt from G.o.d?" said Barbarossa.

Rinaldo sneered viciously: he looked steadily at the Emperor for a moment, and then answered,--

"We must then suppose that G.o.d 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.