  In the mean time, much had still to be negotiated between Frederic and Adrian, before the latter felt satisfied to confer on the former the imperial crown. Adrian was too well acquainted with the character of Barbarossa, not to feel it a paramount duty to require every guarantee, before adding to the power and greatness of a man who, like him, thirsted for universal sway, under which not only the State, but the Church also should bend; and who, in pursuit of his object allowed no barrier, which he could throw down by fair means or by foul, to stand against him. Thus it was that, although in his present transactions with the pope, he made plenty of fair promises, he yet would not pledge his word to them, lest by doing so he should commit his plans of future ambition; plans which, though he felt he should not hesitate to save, if driven to it at the cost of his honor, he yet would prefer to forward, if possible, without so mortifying an alternative. But, when after all his pains he found out that the pope was not to be thrown off his guard, and that the transcendent stake at issue was not to be won, except by confirming his word with an oath, he submitted to take it; and, so, swore on the gospels and on the cross, before his own and the papal ambassadors in his camp near Viterbo, that he would neither injure the pope nor his cardinals; but would protect their persons and rights against all aggression. [1] Hereupon, Adrian felt confidence enough to leave Nepi, and repair to meet Frederic at Sutri; to which spot the latter had, in the mean time, advanced his camp. As Adrian drew near, he was encountered by a splendid deputation of German princes and bishops, who conducted him to the royal tent. As soon as the pope appeared before it, Frederic,—who was waiting to receive him,—courteously advanced to assist his Holiness in dismounting from his horse; but did not offer to render the ancient homage, usual on such an occasion, of holding the pope's stirrup. In vain did Adrian keep his seat in expectation that this homage, would be paid; the king persisted in avoiding what his pride could not brook. Terrified at such a bad omen, the cardinals of the papal suite took to flight, and sought safety in the neighbouring fortress of Castellano; leaving their lord to confront alone the danger which seemed to threaten him. But Adrian retained his courage and coolness intact. Alighting from his horse, he quietly sat down in the episcopal chair, which had been prepared for him, and suffered Frederic to approach and kiss his feet; but, when the king rose up to receive the papal kiss of peace in return, Adrian refused it, and told him that he would not give it, until the homage, due from the temporal to the spiritual power, had been paid in full. As Frederic denied, in vindication of his behaviour, the authenticity of the homage in question, a hot controversy ensued between the parties at issue; in which the king turned a deaf ear to every argument and example that was adduced to prove his error, seeking to evade their force, now by sophistical, now by threatening representations, until the pope, disgusted at his disingenuous conduct, and tired out with a dispute, which had lasted over the next day, to no purpose, cut it short by abruptly quitting the camp. Hereupon the king, perceiving that he must again offer sacrifice to his policy, suffered the prelates, who surrounded him, and till this critical moment had so vainly sought to convince him of the justice of the pope's cause, to overrule him; and then set out for Nepi, whither Adrian had returned. On his arrival, he no sooner beheld Adrian coming forth to meet him, than, advancing reverently on foot, he held the pontiff's stirrup; who, on touching the ground, directly enfolded the king in his arms, amid the cheers of the spectators of both parties. All these proceedings,—and the latter one, in particular,—have been held up, by many writers, as setting in the strongest light the arrogance and tyranny of the church in the middle ages. From our point of view, at this day, for estimating the relative importance of Church and State, no doubt, the result of the dispute between Adrian and Frederic was wrong; because it ought to have proved diametrically the reverse to be right. In the 12th century, however, the profound conviction of Christendom was this: that the pope literally represented on earth, in the character of vicar or vicegerent, our Saviour in heaven; and, as it may be taken for granted, that, were the Redeemer to reappear among men now, as he appeared 1800 years ago, the proudest monarch of Christendom, in the 19th century, persuaded of the fact, would,—whether catholic or protestant,—certainly not hesitate to show this honor to our Divine Lord, on receiving his visit: so the sovereigns of the middle ages did actually deem it right and honorable to pay that homage to Christ, in the person of the pope, in whom they acknowledged, from the bottom of their souls, our Lord's Regent on earth, and as such their immeasurable Superior. In requiring Frederic Barbarossa to pay him the typical homage of holding his stirrup, Adrian did plainly nothing but what was entirely in accordance with the spirit of the age, and, at the same time, with traditional usage, as then received by Christian princes. [2] But Frederic did do what was contrary to both in his refusal; and that, too, while professing to be imbued with the very faith out of which the homage in question sprang. Thus, it is no wonder that Adrian should view such an inconsistency as most inauspicious for the liberties of the church,—with which those of society were then so closely bound up,—and should, therefore, feel it imperative to pursue a line of conduct, which at first glance may appear so arrogantly exacting; but which, found, on closer examination, to have involved the assertion of the most sacred interests against a man, who was known to respect none in promotion of his ends, assumes a character calculated rather to conciliate our approval than to confirm our censure. As soon as the friendly relations between the pope and the king had been thus far restored, they set out, for Rome, to celebrate the coronation. In the mean time, the senate, though deeply offended at not having been consulted on so momentous an affair, sent forward an embassy to congratulate Frederic as he drew near. This it did in fulsome and arrogant terms, informing him, moreover, that the 'Queen of the world'—as the city was styled by the orator,—felt graciously disposed to confer on him, of her own good pleasure, the diadem of empire, if he, on his part, would promise to abolish the papal government, restore the ancient Republic, and make a present of 5000 silver crowns to the officers of the state. But Frederic no sooner perceived this drift of the speech,—whose tone from the beginning had greatly irritated him,—than he cut it short by an outburst of indignant sarcasm on men, who, sunk to the lowest pitch of national degeneracy, yet thought to beard with the shadow of their past, the substance of his present greatness, and to dictate terms to a prince, who came not as their servant but as their master. After having delivered himself further in the same caustic style, he asked them what answer they had to give; and, on being informed that they could give none till they had reported their reception to the senate, he haughtily bid them begone and do so. Aware that such conduct would highly incense the Romans, and very likely urge them to revenge it by throwing obstacles in the way of his coronation, Frederic consulted the pope as to what had best be done; who advised him to send without delay a body of picked troops to occupy St. Peter's, and the Leontine quarter of the city, in which that church stood, promising that the papal guards on the spot should support the movement. Frederic accordingly despatched during the night 1000 men on this service, which they successfully performed. The next morning, June 18th, 1155, by sun-rise, he himself set out, preceded by the pope, for the city, and passed into it by the golden gate, before which his whole army in compact and resplendent array, drew up. At St. Peter's he was received by the pope, who, surrounded by his cardinals and prelates, awaited the king's arrival on the steps of the great door. The pontifical high mass was then sung, and, on its termination, Frederic, enthroned amidst the princes and dignitaries of the empire, was solemnly crowned Emperor by the hands of the Pope, the whole congregation bursting out, at so stirring and eventful a spectacle, into acclamations of joy and triumph. [3] In the mean time, a squadron of imperial troops took possession of the bridge near the Castle of Crescentius—now St. Angelo—over which the road into the heart of the town led; and, by so doing, shut out the ill disposed citizens on the right bank of the Tiber, from interrupting the ceremony. When all was over at St. Peter's, Frederic issued out of the church with the crown on his head, and mounting his horse, while his suite continued on foot, rode back through the' golden gate, to celebrate in his tent, erected against the city walls, the coronation banquet. As to Pope Adrian, he retired to his palace near St. Peter's. So far everything had turned out well. But a new scene was now to be acted. For as the emperor and his soldiers, divested of their armour on account of the great heat, were carousing under the cool shade of their tents, in honor of the day, their toasts and songs were suddenly interrupted by the alarm that the Romans had risen, and were advancing over the Tiber to attack the camp. The truth was, that the senate and citizens, exasperated beyond measure at Frederic's treatment of their ambassadors, and at his superior generalship in occupying the city and effecting his coronation in their teeth, had met at the Capitol while he was at St. Peter's; and passed the resolution not to let so mortifying a day pass over without striking a blow in revenge. Wherefore, as soon as the coronation was finished, and the scene clear, the furious populace burst over the Tiber; and, after first butchering what few German soldiers still lingered imprudently at St. Peter's, rushed on to the grand attack. Frederic no sooner heard this unwelcome news, than he started from table, gave the word to arm, and sallied out to encounter the enemy. The battle that ensued was maintained on both sides with unflinching courage and varied fortunes: now the Romans drove the Germans beyond their lines; now the Germans pursued the Romans into the heart of the city. Such was the hatred which each party felt against the other, that not only the men but the women joined in the struggle. When it had thus lasted till sunset, victory declared for the Germans. The Romans fled on all sides with a loss of more than 1000 killed or drowned, and 200 captured. The emperor, as Otto of Frisingen asserts, [4] had the extraordinary good fortune to lose in such an obstinate and bitter combat only two men,—one killed and one made prisoner. "Such!" cried Frederic, as he beheld the defeat of the enemy, and recollected the terms of the senate the day before, "Such, O! Rome, is the price which thy Prince pays for thy crown; such the way in which we Germans buy our empire!" [5] On the morrow he turned over his prisoners to Peter, the prefect of Rome; who executed some, as notorious ringleaders, on the spot; and allowed others to ransom themselves at exorbitant rates. Indeed, that stern functionary would have put the whole of them to death, had not Adrian, in whose breast this unfortunate outbreak had produced the liveliest regret, interfered in their behalf, so that it was reluctantly resolved to set them free. Notwithstanding his victory, as no market for provisions could be opened for his army, by reason of the animosity of the Roman peasantry, Frederic was obliged to raise his camp, and seek a more friendly and fruitful neighbourhood, where the soldiers might enjoy repose after so trying a campaign. The spot he removed to was near Tivoli. Here he halted for several days, and received a visit in his quarters from Pope Adrian, who kept with the emperor the feast of SS. Peter and Paul. Both sovereigns appeared at high mass on this occasion wearing their insignia of state. After the service, Adrian solemnly absolved the emperor's troops from all guilt which the slaughter they had made of the Romans in the late conflict might appear to lay them under; the maxim adopted being that "he who fights out of obedience to his prince against the enemy of the state, must not be deemed a murderer but an avenger." [6] And yet Frederic did not hesitate to seize an opportunity which now offered of breaking his oaths, and of repaying the pope's good offices by invading his rights. For, on the citizens of Tivoli offering him, at his secret instigation, the sovereignty of their city, which belonged to the Holy See, he accepted it; and only on Adrian's determined opposition to such an usurpation, affected to restore it with reservation of his imperial prerogatives over the place;—prerogatives which he could not define, and which meant in fact nothing more than the renewal of his aggression at the next more favourable opportunity. For now the complaints of his army, worn out by fatigue, exposed, moreover, to every vexation, through the ever increasing animosity of the Italians, and hence doubly impatient to return into Germany, from which it had been absent much longer than the terms of feudal service required, obliged Frederic to think of finishing his campaign, and marching home directly, if he did not mean to be left alone in the heart of a hostile country; a predicament into which the desertion of his men was already beginning to betray him. He accordingly took the road back into Germany soon after he had made restitution to the pope as above described; and after running many perils in his progress through regions so justly hostile to him, regained his own states beyond the Alps, not so much gratified by the acquisition of the imperial crown, as embittered by what he had gone through in pursuit of it, and resolved not to delay longer than he could help a second invasion of Italy, which should compensate the mishaps and mortifications of the first.
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