by several cardinals on the spot, had the unhappy man led out early on the morning of the 18th of June, 1155, before the popular or people's gate; where he was fastened to a cross projecting from the midst of a pile of faggots, which, being fired, soon enveloped their victim in the flames. His cries and the tumult of the execution roused the citizens, dwelling hard by, from their beds, who presently ran up lamenting and furious to the rescue; but, in vain; as they were thrust back on all sides by the soldiers who kept the ground. Nevertheless, such was the infatuated reverence which the people manifested for their late tribune, that it was found expedient after his execution to throw his ashes into the Tiber, to prevent them being enshrined as holy relics. Arnold of Brescia was about fifty years old, when he thus met his fate.

However shocking such cruel executions as he suffered may be to the more enlightened benevolence, or more sensual refinement of the present day; yet, from the point of view of the middle ages,—that the visible punishment of a crime should be commensurate with, and, as it were, symbolise its moral enormity,—there can be no doubt but that in the present case the criminal received only what he deserved. Few men ever did worse mischief to society in their day, than Arnold of Brescia. Private ambition was his ruling passion, and his hopes of gratifying it were set on the realization of dreams and fancies, engendered of an unbridled imagination, which an admixture of mysticism further distempered. A false scandal which he took at the discrepancy between the lives and doctrines of the clergy, in his time widely corrupted, heightened by his Pharisaical pride,—which a bodily temperament, naturally disinclined to sensual excess, inflated all the more—as, by means of such bodily temperament, he was enabled with so little merit of his own, to keep up an exterior severity of demeanour closely resembling a holy asceticism,—led him at last to confound the abuse of religion with religion itself; and, under the further influence of his insatiable thirst for notoriety, to broach schismatical views, and then a plan of ecclesiastical as well as political reform for the world, of which, he persuaded himself, he was marked out to be the apostle.

That reform, as we have seen, was simply the return of society, politically, under the republican institutions of pagan Rome; and, spiritually under the religious government of the apostolic ages. A fanatic of this description, endowed in an extraordinary manner with eloquence to announce his views, and with boldness and energy to pursue the career of carrying them out,—as was Arnold of Brescia's case,—may well be imagined to have seduced the multitude, at all times giddy,—but in his day oppressed and shocked by many gross abuses,—in the way he did; and so to have elicited the stern hostility of the constituted authorities in church and state, who, naturally perceiving in the progress of such a man only "confusion worse confounded," and ruin to the temporal and eternal interests of society, were in duty bound to eradicate the evil before it was too late, and, in doing so, not to shun harsh means where gentle ones failed; but, if words proved fruitless, to use the sword. The obstinacy, the infatuated obstinacy of Arnold of Brescia in the face of so many warnings, as from time to time were given to him, plainly proved that he was incorrigible; and that, therefore, as it was no more possible for society to prosper, as it should do, while he continued to infect it with his wild theories, than for the bodily health to nourish while eaten into by a cancer, to extirpate him, like it, was the only course left,—a course which thus became morally as much a duty in his case, as it would physically become so in that.

IV.

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