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