Rienzi

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Rienzi


("Il tutto senza derogare all' autorita della Chiesa, del
Papa e del Sacro Collegio." So concludes this extraordinary
citation, this bold and wonderful assertion of the classic
independence of Italy, in the most feudal time of the
fourteenth century. The anonymous biographer of Rienzi
declares that the Tribune cited also the Pope and the
Cardinals to reside in Rome. De Sade powerfully and
incontrovertibly refutes this addition to the daring or the
extravagance of Rienzi. Gibbon, however, who has rendered
the rest of the citation in terms more abrupt and
discourteous than he was warranted by any authority, copies
the biographer's blunder, and sneers at De Sade, as using
arguments "rather of decency than of weight." Without
wearying the reader with all the arguments of the learned
Abbe, it may be sufficient to give the first two.

1st. All the other contemporaneous historians that have
treated of this event, G. Villani, Hocsemius, the Vatican
MSS. and other chroniclers, relating the citation of the
Emperor and Electors, say nothing of that of the Pope and
Cardinals; and the Pope (Clement VI.), in his subsequent
accusations of Rienzi, while very bitter against his
citation of the Emperor, is wholly silent on what would have
been to the Pontiff the much greater offence of citing
himself and the Cardinals.)

2. The literal act of this citation, as published formally
in the Lateran, is extant in Hocsemius, (whence is borrowed,
though not at all its length, the speech in the text of our
present tale;) and in this document the Pope and his
Cardinals are not named in the summons.

Gibbon's whole account of Rienzi is superficial and unfair.
To the cold and sneering scepticism, which so often deforms
the gigantic work of that great writer, allowing nothing for
that sincere and urgent enthusiasm which, whether of liberty
or religion, is the most common parent of daring action, the
great Roman seems but an ambitious and fantastic madman. In
Gibbon's hands what would Cromwell have been? what Vane?
what Hampden? The pedant, Julian, with his dirty person and
pompous affectation, was Gibbon's ideal of a great man.)

As Rienzi concluded this bold proclamation of the liberties of Italy,
the Tuscan ambassadors, and those of some other of the free states,
murmured low approbation. The ambassadors of those States that affected
the party of the Emperor looked at each other in silent amaze and
consternation. The Roman Barons remained with mute lips and downcast
eyes; only over the aged face of Stephen Colonna settled a smile, half
of scorn, half of exultation. But the great mass of the citizens were
caught by words that opened so grand a prospect as the emancipation of
all Italy: and their reverence of the Tribune's power and fortune was
almost that due to a supernatural being; so that they did not pause to
calculate the means which were to correspond with the boast.

While his eye roved over the crowd, the gorgeous assemblage near him,
the devoted throng beyond;--as on his ear boomed the murmur of thousands
and ten thousands, in the space without, from before the Palace of
Constantine (Palace now his own!) sworn to devote life and fortune to
his cause; in the flush of prosperity that yet had known no check; in
the zenith of power, as yet unconscious of reverse, the heart of
the Tribune swelled proudly: visions of mighty fame and limitless
dominion,--fame and dominion, once his beloved Rome's and by him to be
restored, rushed before his intoxicated gaze; and in the delirious and
passionate aspirations of the moment, he turned his sword alternately to
the three quarters of the then known globe, and said, in an abstracted
voice, as a man in a dream, "In the right of the Roman people this too
is mine!" ("Questo e mio.")

Low though the voice, the wild boast was heard by all around as
distinctly as if borne to them in thunder. And vain it were to describe
the various sensations it excited; the extravagance would have moved the
derision of his foes, the grief of his friends, but for the manner of
the speaker, which, solemn and commanding, hushed for the moment even
reason and hatred themselves in awe; afterwards remembered and repeated,
void of the spell they had borrowed from the utterer, the words met the
cold condemnation of the well-judging; but at that moment all
things seemed possible to the hero of the people. He spoke as one
inspired--they trembled and believed; and, as rapt from the spectacle,
he stood a moment silent, his arm still extended--his dark dilating
eye fixed upon space--his lip parted--his proud head towering and erect
above the herd,--his own enthusiasm kindled that of the more humble and
distant spectators; and there was a deep murmur begun by one, echoed by
the rest, "The Lord is with Italy and Rienzi!"

The Tribune turned, he saw the Pope's Vicar astonished, bewildered,
rising to speak. His sense and foresight returned to him at once, and,
resolved to drown the dangerous disavowal of the Papal authority
for this hardihood, which was ready to burst from Raimond's lips, he
motioned quickly to the musicians, and the solemn and ringing chant of
the sacred ceremony prevented the Bishop of Orvietto all occasion of
self-exoneration or reply.

The moment the ceremony was over, Rienzi touched the Bishop, and
whispered, "We will explain this to your liking. You feast with us at
the Lateran.--Your arm." Nor did he leave the good Bishop's arm, nor
trust him to other companionship, until to the stormy sound of horn
and trumpet, drum and cymbal, and amidst such a concourse as might have
hailed, on the same spot, the legendary baptism of Constantine, the
Tribune and his nobles entered the great gates of the Lateran, then the
Palace of the World.

Thus ended that remarkable ceremony and that proud challenge of the
Northern Powers, in behalf of the Italian liberties, which, had it been
afterwards successful, would have been deemed a sublime daring; which,
unsuccessful, has been construed by the vulgar into a frantic insolence;
but which, calmly considering all the circumstances that urged on
the Tribune, and all the power that surrounded him, was not, perhaps,
altogether so imprudent as it seemed. And, even accepting that
imprudence in the extremest sense,--by the more penetrating judge of
the higher order of character, it will probably be considered as the
magnificent folly of a bold nature, excited at once by position and
prosperity, by religious credulities, by patriotic aspirings, by
scholastic visions too suddenly transferred from revery to action,
beyond that wise and earthward policy which sharpens the weapon ere it
casts the gauntlet.



Chapter 4.VII. The Festival.

The Festival of that day was far the most sumptuous hitherto known. The
hint of Cecco del Vecchio, which so well depicted the character of his
fellow-citizens, as yet it exists, though not to such excess, in their
love of holyday pomp and gorgeous show, was not lost upon Rienzi. One
instance of the universal banqueting (intended, indeed, rather for
the people than the higher ranks) may illustrate the more than royal
profusion that prevailed. From morn till eve, streams of wine flowed
like a fountain from the nostrils of the Horse of the great Equestrian
Statue of Constantine. The mighty halls of the Lateran palace, open
to all ranks, were prodigally spread; and the games, sports, and
buffooneries of the time, were in ample requisition. Apart, the
Tribunessa, as Nina was rather unclassically entitled, entertained
the dames of Rome; while the Tribune had so effectually silenced or
conciliated Raimond, that the good Bishop shared his peculiar table--the
only one admitted to that honour. As the eye ranged each saloon
and hall--it beheld the space lined with all the nobility and
knighthood--the wealth and strength--the learning and the beauty--of the
Italian metropolis; mingled with ambassadors and noble strangers, even
from beyond the Alps; (The simple and credulous briographer of
Rienzi declares his fame to have reached the ears of the Soldan of
Babylon.)--envoys not only of the free states that had welcomed the rise
of the Tribune, but of the highborn and haughty tyrants who had first
derided his arrogance, and now cringed to his power. There, were not
only the ambassadors of Florence, of Sienna, of Arezzo (which last
subjected its government to the Tribune,) of Todi, of Spoleto, and of
countless other lesser towns and states, but of the dark and terrible
Visconti, prince of Milan; of Obizzo of Ferrara, and the tyrant rulers
of Verona and Bologna; even the proud and sagacious Malatesta, lord of
Rimini, whose arm afterwards broke for awhile the power of Montreal,
at the head of his Great Company, had deputed his representative in his
most honoured noble. John di Vico, the worst and most malignant despot
of his day, who had sternly defied the arms of the Tribune, now subdued
and humbled, was there in person; and the ambassadors of Hungary and of
Naples mingled with those of Bavaria and Bohemia, whose sovereigns that
day had been cited to the Roman Judgment Court. The nodding of plumes,
the glitter of jewels and cloth of gold, the rustling of silks and
jingle of golden spurs, the waving of banners from the roof, the sounds
of minstrelsy from the galleries above, all presented a picture of such
power and state--a court and chivalry of such show--as the greatest of
the feudal kings might have beheld with a sparkling eye and a swelling
heart. But at that moment the cause and lord of all that splendour,
recovered from his late exhilaration, sat moody and abstracted,
remembering with a thoughtful brow the adventure of the past night,
and sensible that amongst his gaudiest revellers lurked his intended
murtherers. Amidst the swell of the minstrelsy and the pomp of the
crowd, he felt that treason scowled beside him; and the image of the
skeleton obtruding, as of old, its grim thought of death upon the feast,
darkened the ruby of the wine, and chilled the glitter of the scene.

It was while the feast was loudest that Rienzi's page was seen gliding
through the banquet, and whispering several of the nobles; each bowed
low, but changed colour as he received the message.

"My Lord Savelli," said Orsini, himself trembling, "bear yourself more
bravely. This must be meant in honour, not revenge. I suppose your
summons corresponds with mine."

"He--he--asks--asks--me to supper at the Capitol; a fri-endly
meeting--(pest on his friendship!)--after the noise of the day."

"The words addressed also to me!" said Orsini, turning to one of the
Frangipani.

Those who received the summons soon broke from the feast, and collected
in a group, eagerly conferring. Some were for flight, but flight was
confession; their number, rank, long and consecrated impunity, reassured
them, and they resolved to obey. The old Colonna, the sole innocent
Baron of the invited guests, was also the only one who refused the
invitation. "Tush!" said he, peevishly; "here is feasting enough for one
day! Tell the Tribune that ere he sups I hope to be asleep. Grey hairs
cannot encounter all this fever of festivity."

As Rienzi rose to depart, which he did early, for the banquet took place
while yet morning, Raimond, eager to escape and confer with some of his
spiritual friends, as to the report he should make to the Pontiff, was
beginning his expressions of farewell, when the merciless Tribune said
to him gravely--

"My Lord, we want you on urgent business at the Capitol. A prisoner--a
trial--perhaps (he added with his portentous and prophetic frown) an
execution waits us! Come."

"Verily, Tribune," stammered the good Bishop, "this is a strange time
for execution!"

"Last night was a time yet more strange.--Come."

There was something in the way in which the final word was pronounced,
that Raimond could not resist. He sighed, muttered, twitched his robes,
and followed the Tribune. As he passed through the halls, the company
rose on all sides. Rienzi repaid their salutations with smiles and
whispers of frank courtesy and winning address. Young as he yet was,
and of a handsome and noble presence, that took every advantage from
splendid attire, and yet more from an appearance of intellectual command
in his brow and eye, which the less cultivated signors of that dark
age necessarily wanted--he glittered through the court as one worthy to
form, and fitted to preside over, it; and his supposed descent from the
Teuton Emperor, which, since his greatness, was universally bruited and
believed abroad, seemed undeniably visible to the foreign lords in the
majesty of his mien and the easy blandness of his address.

"My Lord Prefect," said he to a dark and sullen personage in black
velvet, the powerful and arrogant John di Vico, prefect of Rome, "we are
rejoiced to find so noble a guest at Rome: we must repay the courtesy by
surprising you in your own palace ere long;--nor will you, Signor (as he
turned to the envoy from Tivoli,) refuse us a shelter amidst your groves
and waterfalls ere the vintage be gathered. Methinks Rome, united with
sweet Tivoli, grows reconciled to the Muses. Your suit is carried,
Master Venoni: the council recognises its justice; but I reserved
the news for this holyday--you do not blame me, I trust." This was
whispered, with a half-affectionate frankness, to a worthy citizen, who,
finding himself amidst so many of the great, would have shrunk from
the notice of the Tribune; but it was the policy of Rienzi to pay an
especial and marked attention to those engaged in commercial pursuits.
As, after tarrying a moment or two with the merchant, he passed on, the
tall person of the old Colonna caught his eye--

"Signor," said he, with a profound inclination of his head, but with a
slight emphasis of tone, "you will not fail us this evening."

"Tribune--" began the Colonna.

"We receive no excuse," interrupted the Tribune, hastily, and passed on.

He halted for a few moments before a small group of men plainly attired,
who were watching him with intense interest; for they, too, were
scholars, and in Rienzi's rise they saw another evidence of that
wonderful and sudden power which intellect had begun to assume over
brute force. With these, as if abruptly mingled with congenial spirits,
the Tribune relaxed all the gravity of his brow. Happier, perhaps, his
living career--more unequivocal his posthumous renown--had his objects
as his tastes been theirs!

"Ah, carissime!" said he to one, whose arm he drew within his own,--"and
how proceeds thy interpretation of the old marbles?--half unravelled? I
rejoice to hear it! Confer with me as of old, I pray thee. Tomorrow--no,
nor the day after, but next week--we will have a tranquil evening. Dear
poet, your ode transported me to the days of Horace; yet, methinks, we
do wrong to reject the vernacular for the Latin. You shake your head?
Well, Petrarch thinks with you: his great epic moves with the stride
of a giant--so I hear from his friend and envoy,--and here he is. My
Laeluis, is that not your name with Petrarch? How shall I express my
delight at his comforting, his inspiring letter? Alas! he overrates not
my intentions, but my power. Of this hereafter."

A slight shade darkened the Tribune's brow at these words: but moving
on, a long line of nobles and princes on either side, he regained his
self-possession, and the dignity he had dropped with his former equals.
Thus he passed through the crowd, and gradually disappeared.

"He bears him bravely," said one, as the revellers reseated themselves.
"Noticed you the 'we'--the style royal?"

"But it must be owned that he lords it well," said the ambassador of the
Visconti: "less pride would be cringing to his haughty court."

"Why," said a professor of Bologna, "why is the Tribune called proud? I
see no pride in him."

"Nor I," said a wealthy jeweller.

While these, and yet more contradictory, comments followed the exit of
the Tribune, he passed into the saloon, where Nina presided; and here
his fair person and silver tongue ("Suavis colorataeque sententiae,"
according to the description of Petrarch) won him a more general favour
with the matrons than he experienced with their lords, and not a little
contrasted the formal and nervous compliments of the good Bishop, who
served him on such occasions with an excellent foil.

But as soon as these ceremonies were done, and Rienzi mounted his horse,
his manner changed at once into a stern and ominous severity.

"Vicar," said he, abruptly, to the Bishop, "we might well need your
presence. Learn that at the Capitol now sits the Council in judgment
upon an assassin. Last night, but for Heaven's mercy, I should have
fallen a victim to a hireling's dagger, Knew you aught of this?"

And he turned so sharply on the Bishop, that the poor canonist nearly
dropped from his horse in surprise and terror.

"I,--" said he.

Rienzi smiled--"No, good my Lord Bishop! I see you are of no murtherer's
mould. But to continue:--that I might not appear to act in mine own
cause, I ordered the prisoner to be tried in my absence. In his trial
(you marked the letter brought me at our banquet?)--"

"Ay, and you changed colour."

"Well I might: in his trial, I say, he has confessed that nine of
the loftiest lords of Rome were his instigators. They sup with me
tonight!--Vicar, forwards!"




BOOK V. THE CRISIS.

"Questo ha acceso 'i fuoco e la fiamma laquale non la par
spotegnere."--"Vita di Cola di Rienzi", lib. i. cap. 29.

"He has kindled fire and flames which he will not be able to
extinguish."--"Life of Cola di Rienzi".



Chapter 5.I. The Judgment of the Tribune.

The brief words of the Tribune to Stephen Colonna, though they sharpened
the rage of the proud old noble, were such as he did not on reflection
deem it prudent to disobey. Accordingly, at the appointed hour, he found
himself in one of the halls of the Capitol, with a gallant party of his
peers. Rienzi received them with more than his usual graciousness.

They sate down to the splendid board in secret uneasiness and alarm,
as they saw that, with the exception of Stephen Colonna, none, save the
conspirators, had been invited to the banquet. Rienzi, regardless
of their silence and abstraction, was more than usually gay--the old
Colonna more than usually sullen.

"We fear we have but ill pleased you, my Lord Colonna, by our summons.
Once, methinks, we might more easily provoke you to a smile."

"Situations are changed, Tribune, since you were my guest."

"Why, scarcely so. I have risen, but you have not fallen. Ye walk the
streets day and night in security and peace; your lives are safe from
the robber, and your palaces no longer need bars and battlements to
shield you from your fellow-citizens. I have risen, but we all have
risen--from barbarous disorder into civilized life! My Lord Gianni
Colonna, whom we have made Captain over Campagna, you will not refuse a
cup to the Buono Stato;--nor think we mistrust your valour, when we say,
that we rejoice Rome hath no enemies to attest your generalship."

"Methinks," quoth the old Colonna, bluntly, "we shall have enemies
enough from Bohemia and Bavaria, ere the next harvest be green."

"And, if so," replied the Tribune, calmly, "foreign foes are better than
civil strife."

"Ay, if we have money in the treasury; which is but little likely, if we
have many more such holydays."

"You are ungracious, my Lord," said the Tribune; "and, besides, you are
more uncomplimentary to Rome than to ourselves. What citizen would not
part with gold to buy fame and liberty?"

"I know very few in Rome that would," answered the Baron. "But tell
me, Tribune, you who are a notable casuist, which is the best for a
state--that its governor should be over-thrifty or over-lavish?"

"I refer the question to my friend, Luca di Savelli," replied Rienzi.
"He is a grand philosopher, and I wot well could explain a much knottier
riddle, which we will presently submit to his acumen."

The Barons, who had been much embarrassed by the bold speech of the
old Colonna, all turned their eyes to Savelli, who answered with more
composure than was anticipated.

"The question admits a double reply. He who is born a ruler, and
maintains a foreign army, governing by fear, should be penurious. He who
is made ruler, who courts the people, and would reign by love, must win
their affection by generosity, and dazzle their fancies by pomp. Such, I
believe, is the usual maxim in Italy, which is rife in all experience of
state wisdom."

The Barons unanimously applauded the discreet reply of Savelli,
excepting only the old Colonna.

"Yet pardon me, Tribune," said Stephen, "if I depart from the
courtier-like decision of our friend, and opine, though with all due
respect, that even a friar's coarse serge, ('Vestimenta da Bizoco,'
was the phrase used by Colonna; a phrase borrowed from certain heretics
(bizocchi) who affected extreme austerity; afterwards the word passed
into a proverb.--See the comments of Zerfirino Re, in 'Vita di Cola di
Rienzi'.) the parade of humility, would better become thee, than this
gaudy pomp, the parade of pride!" So saying, he touched the large loose
sleeve fringed with gold, of the Tribune's purple robe.

"Hush, father!" said Gianni, Colonna's son, colouring at the unprovoked
rudeness and dangerous candour of the veteran.

"Nay, it matters not," said the Tribune, with affected indifference,
though his lip quivered, and his eye shot fire; and then, after a pause,
he resumed with an awful smile--"If the Colonna love the serge of the
friar, he may see enough of it ere we part. And now, my Lord Savelli,
for my question, which I pray you listen to; it demands all your wit.
Is it best for a State's Ruler to be over-forgiving, or over-just? Take
breath to answer: you look faint--you grow pale--you tremble--you cover
your face! Traitor and assassin, your conscience betrays you! My Lords,
relieve your accomplice, and take up the answer."

"Nay, if we are discovered," said the Orsini, rising in despair, "we
will not fall unavenged--die, tyrant!"

He rushed to the place where Rienzi stood--for the Tribune also
rose,--and made a thrust at his breast with his dagger; the steel
pierced the purple robe, yet glanced harmlessly away--and the Tribune
regarded the disappointed murtherer with a scornful smile.

"Till yesternight, I never dreamt that under the robe of state I should
need the secret corselet," said he. "My Lords, you have taught me a dark
lesson, and I thank ye."

So saying, he clapped his hands, and suddenly the folding doors at the
end of the hall flew open, and discovered the saloon of the Council
hung with silk of a blood-red, relieved by rays of white,--the emblem of
crime and death. At a long table sate the councillors in their robes; at
the bar stood a ruffian form, which the banqueters too well recognised.

"Bid Rodolf of Saxony approach!" said the Tribune.

And led by two guards, the robber entered the hall.

"Wretch, you then betrayed us!" said one of the Frangipani.

"Rodolph of Saxony goes ever to the highest bidder," returned the
miscreant, with a horrid grin. "You gave me gold, and I would have slain
your foe; your foe defeated me; he gives me life, and life is a greater
boon than gold!"

"Ye confess your crime, my Lords! Silent! dumb! Where is your wit,
Savelli? Where your pride, Rinaldo di Orsini? Gianni Colonna, is your
chivalry come to this?"

"Oh!" continued Rienzi, with deep and passionate bitterness; "oh, my
Lords, will nothing conciliate you--not to me, but to Rome? What hath
been my sin against you and yours? Disbanded ruffians (such as your
accuser)--dismantled fortresses--impartial law--what man, in all the
wild revolutions of Italy, sprung from the people, ever yielded less to
their licence? Not a coin of your coffers touched by wanton power,--not
a hair of your heads harmed by private revenge. You, Gianni Colonna,
loaded with honours, intrusted with command--you, Alphonso di
Frangipani, endowed with new principalities,--did the Tribune remember
one insult he received from you as the Plebeian? You accuse
my pride;--was it my fault that ye cringed and fawned upon my
power,--flattery on your lips, poison at your hearts? No, I have not
offended you; let the world know, that in me you aimed at liberty,
justice, law, order, the restored grandeur, the renovated rights of
Rome! At these, the Abstract and the Immortal--not at this frail form,
ye struck;--by the divinity of these ye are defeated;--for the outraged
majesty of these,--criminals and victims,--ye must die!"

With these words, uttered with the tone and air that would have become
the loftiest spirit of the ancient city, Rienzi, with a majestic step,
swept from the chamber into the Hall of Council. (The guilt of the
Barons in their designed assassination of Rienzi, though hastily
slurred over by Gibbon, and other modern writers, is clearly attested
by Muratori, the Bolognese Chronicle &c.--They even confessed the crime.
(See Cron. Estens: Muratori, tom. xviii. page 442.))