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Updated: May 27, 2025
He founded a monastery in France and within its walls passed the rest of his life. Frederick I was one of the most famous of German emperors. He was a tall, stalwart man of majestic appearance. He had a long red beard and so the people called him Barbarossa, or Red-Beard. He came to the throne in 1152. At that time the province of Lombardy in northern Italy was a part of the German empire.
The ground was sending forth an insufferable odor, for decomposition had already set in in the nearby trenches. The persistence with which his overseers accosted him, and the crafty smile of the sergeant made him see through the deep-laid scheme. The red-beard must be at the bottom of all this. Putting his hand in his pocket he dropped the shovel with a look of interrogation.
She has been three weeks here on a visit to the holy shrine of Hathor." "She must have committed some heavy sin," replied the other. "If she were one of us, she would have been set to sift sand in the diggings, or grind colors, and not be living here in a gilt tent. Where is our red-beard?"
Now, sir, we hold this most honourable achievement by the wappen-brief, or concession of arms, of Frederick Red-beard, Emperor of Germany, to my predecessor, Godmund Bradwardine, it being the crest of a gigantic Dane, whom he slew in the lists in the Holy Land, on a quarrel touching the chastity of the emperor's spouse or daughter, tradition saith not precisely which, and thus, as Virgilius hath it
I have given you my opinion; it is your turn now, my young friends. Peter Kemnater, speak! Tell Father Red-beard whether your heart is trembling and flinching, and whether you think we had better keep quiet, because the enemy is so powerful and superior to us."
'Ay! thanks to your Styrian dungeons, where I passed a year's apprenticeship: "I learnt to watch the rats and mice At play, with never a candle-end. They play'd so well; they sang so nice; They dubb'd me comrade; called me friend!" So says the ballad of our red-beard king's captivity. All evil has a good: "When our toes and chins are up, Poison plants make sweetest cup"
'True is that, said Red-beard of the Knolls, 'but look you, Folk- might, we be but simple husbandmen, and may not often stir from our meadows and acres; even now I bethink me that May is amidst us, and I am beginning to be drawn by the thought of the haysel. Thereat Folk-might laughed; and when the others saw that he laughed, they laughed also, else had they foreborne for courtesy's sake.
And I will write immediately to old Red-beard, Father Haspinger, Joseph Speckbacher, and Anthony Wallner. I will summon them to a conference with me, and we will concert measures for a renewed rising of the Tyrol. Give me pen and ink, Tony; I will write in the first place to old Red-beard, and your Joe shall take the letter this very night to his convent."
Perhaps Red-beard had no throat. The grotesqueness of the idea caused him to want to laugh. It didn't matter much after all. Not when.... There it was. He had found it at last. His fingers stiffened and slid on the slippery flesh. Then they fastened, tightened and hung. Good God, would they never come up?
Indeed, the friar's features brightened more and more, his forehead and face colored, and a smile illuminated his hard features. "Listen, men," he exclaimed triumphantly, waving the paper as though it were a flag; "listen to what Andreas writes to me!" And the friar read in a clarion voice: "Dear brother Red-beard!
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