Barbarossa; An Historical Novel of the XII Century.

by Conrad von Bolanden

The Milanese had not doubted that their proposition would be at once accepted. Frederic's refusal consequently was a matter of surprise, and a majority of the most influential citizens felt confident that the people would continue an energetic defence, rather than unconditionally capitulate. They were mistaken. The Milanese refused to hear a word spoken in favor of further resistance.

When this information was communicated to the monarch, his satisfaction was unbounded, for he foresaw at once the results of his victory;--with Milan fell the last support of Alexander III.

Frederic had driven the unfortunate Pontiff from Rome; and although Genoa had offered him an asylum, this city could not hope to be able long to serve as a refuge to the fugitive head of the Church; for with the surrender of Milan, the resistance of the remaining cities of Lombardy became unavailing.

"The chief bulwark of Alexander's faction is levelled, and his defeat prepares a glorious future for you, Sire," said Rinaldo, entering the Imperial chamber. "Your wish of itself will suffice to drive Roland from Genoa. And where can he go then? Spain alone can support his supremacy so long as she is not struggling against the Moors. As to France, she cannot recognize this pretended pope, and England must follow her example. I see nothing for him but to seek the aid of the Saracens,--a strange alliance for His Holiness."

He was dreaming of the future; Frederic, on the other hand, was occupied only with the present. He desired that the formal surrender of Milan should take place in the style best calculated to strike the imagination. He wanted a tragedy to mark the fall of this queen of Lombardy, and he fixed the 6th of March as the date of the performance.

A platform, sufficiently vast to accommodate, at the same time, the Emperor and all his nobles, was erected outside of the camp. It was an amphitheatre, with fourteen tiers of seats for the nobility, whilst the Imperial throne towered above in splendid magnificence, an emblem of the supremacy of the sovereign. The platform was hung with scarlet cloth, and costly carpets were spread in the immediate vicinity of the monarch's stand, which was richly ornamented with garlands of flowers and decked with the pennons of the different princes. Behind was hoisted the Imperial banner.

On the appointed day the troops were drawn up in battle-array upon the plain, and the sunlight danced merrily upon the thousands of helmets and lances of polished steel. Nearer, the knights, in complete armor, sat motionless upon their chargers, like a wall of iron.

The Milanese advanced despondently and slowly in dense masses. At their head walked the consuls, barefooted, with halters around their necks, and clothed in sackcloth. The banners and escutcheons of the several municipalities were borne aloft on long lances. Not a breath of wind moved them, and they hung sadly against their staves, as though mourning their city's ruin. The keys of the town were carried on a cushion of blue velvet, ready to be offered, by the consuls, to the Emperor. The bugles at times rang out a melancholy wail of despair, and when they ceased, there went up a dirge of woe mingled with supplications for mercy, like those uttered by the people in moments of national calamity. It seemed as if Heaven were taking part in the sombre pageant, for dark clouds suddenly veiled the sun, and the air grew heavy and oppressive. The victors themselves were affected by the sight of this humiliation of their valiant enemies, and only among the troops of the Italian auxiliaries could be seen a sneer of irony and exultation.

The consuls halted in front of the platform, and a thrill of anxious expectation ran from rank to rank, until it reached the gates of Milan, whence the people still continued to issue. Insensibly the crowd stood still. The very boldest now were bowed to the earth. On all sides nothing met the eye but ashes and cords and penitential vestments. The trumpets were silent, and the solemn chant, Kyrie Eleison! Kyrie Eleison! was heard, as if the citizens would show that they expected no aid now but from God. From time to time a plaintive groan was answered by a thousand sighs of agony: it seemed the dying breath of a whole nation whose funeral knell was sounding.

There was a flourish of trumpets near the Imperial tent; Barbarossa was about to appear. The sound grew nearer and more distinct; and then the Emperor, surrounded by his nobles, rode up and dismounted about thirty paces from the throne. With haughty bearing and a look of pride upon his face, Frederic moved forward, followed by a splendid array of knights and princes. Far away in the distance stretched the serried ranks of the army, and the whole scene had that character of majestic grandeur so well suited to the sovereign who dictated the laws of the world.