Rienzi

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Rienzi


All that night the conspirators remained within that room, the doors
locked and guarded; the banquet unremoved, and its splendour strangely
contrasting the mood of the guests.

The utter prostration and despair of these dastard criminals--so unlike
the knightly nobles of France and England, has been painted by the
historian in odious and withering colours. The old Colonna alone
sustained his impetuous and imperious character. He strode to and fro
the room like a lion in his cage, uttering loud threats of resentment
and defiance; and beating at the door with his clenched hands, demanding
egress, and proclaiming the vengeance of the Pontiff.

The dawn came, slow and grey upon that agonized assembly: and just as
the last star faded from the melancholy horizon, and by the wan and
comfortless heaven, they regarded each other's faces, almost spectral
with anxiety and fear, the great bell of the Capitol sounded the notes
in which they well recognised the chime of death! It was then that the
door opened, and a drear and gloomy procession of cordeliers, one to
each Baron, entered the apartment! At that spectacle, we are told, the
terror of the conspirators was so great, that it froze up the very power
of speech. ("Diventarono si gelati, che non poteno favellare.") The
greater part at length, deeming all hope over, resigned themselves
to their ghostly confessors. But when the friar appointed to Stephen
approached that passionate old man, he waved his hand impatiently, and
said--"Tease me not! Tease me not!"

"Nay, son, prepare for the awful hour."

"Son, indeed!" quoth the Baron. "I am old enough to be thy grandsire;
and for the rest, tell him who sent thee, that I neither am prepared
for death, nor will prepare! I have made up my mind to live these twenty
years, and longer too;--if I catch not my death with the cold of this
accursed night."

Just at that moment a cry that almost seemed to rend the Capitol asunder
was heard, as, with one voice, the multitude below yelled forth--

"Death to the conspirators!--death! death!"

While this the scene in that hall, the Tribune issued from his chamber,
in which he had been closeted with his wife and sister. The noble spirit
of the one, the tears and grief of the other (who saw at one fell stroke
perish the house of her betrothed,) had not worked without effect upon
a temper, stern and just indeed, but naturally averse from blood; and a
heart capable of the loftiest species of revenge.

He entered the Council, still sitting, with a calm brow, and even a
cheerful eye.

"Pandulfo di Guido," he said, turning to that citizen, "you are right;
you spoke as a wise man and a patriot, when you said that to cut off
with one blow, however merited, the noblest heads of Rome would endanger
the State, sully our purple with an indelible stain, and unite the
nobility of Italy against us."

"Such, Tribune, was my argument, though the Council have decided
otherwise."

"Hearken to the shouts of the populace, you cannot appease their honest
warmth," said the demagogue Baroncelli.

Many of the Council murmured applause.

"Friends," said the Tribune, with a solemn and earnest aspect, "let
not Posterity say that Liberty loves blood; let us for once adopt
the example and imitate the mercy of our great Redeemer! We have
triumphed--let us forbear; we are saved--let us forgive!"

The speech of the Tribune was supported by Pandulfo, and others of the
more mild and moderate policy; and for a short but animated discussion,
the influence of Rienzi prevailed, and the sentence of death was
revoked, but by a small majority.

"And now," said Rienzi, "let us be more than just; let us be generous.
Speak--and boldly. Do any of ye think that I have been over-hard,
over-haughty with these stubborn spirits?--I read your answer in your
brows!--I have! Do any of ye think this error of mind may have stirred
them to their dark revenge? Do any of you deem that they partake, as we
do, of human nature,--that they are sensible to kindness, that they are
softened by generosity,--that they can be tamed and disarmed by such
vengeance as is dictated to noble foes by Christian laws?"

"I think," said Pandulfo, after a pause, "that it will not be in human
nature, if the men you pardon, thus offending and thus convicted, again
attempt your life!"

"Methinks," said Rienzi, "we must do even more than pardon. The first
great Caesar, when he did not crush a foe, strove to convert him to a
friend--"

"And perished by the attempt," said Baroncelli, abruptly.

Rienzi started and changed colour.

"If you would save these wretched prisoners, better not wait till the
fury of the mob become ungovernable," whispered Pandulfo.

The Tribune roused himself from his revery.

"Pandulfo," said he, in the same tone, "my heart misgives me--the brood
of serpents are in my hand--I do not strangle them--they may sting me to
death, in return for my mercy--it is their instinct! No matter: it shall
not be said that the Roman Tribune bought with so many lives his own
safety: nor shall it be written upon my grave-stone, 'Here lies the
coward, who did not dare forgive.' What, ho! there, officers, unclose
the doors! My masters, let us acquaint the prisoners with their
sentence."

With that, Rienzi seated himself on the chair of state, at the head
of the table, and the sun, now risen, cast its rays over the blood-red
walls, in which the Barons, marshalled in order into the chamber,
thought to read their fate.

"My Lords," said the Tribune, "ye have offended the laws of God and man;
but God teaches man the quality of mercy. Learn at last, that I bear a
charmed life. Nor is he whom, for high purposes, Heaven hath raised from
the cottage to the popular throne, without invisible aid and spiritual
protection. If hereditary monarchs are deemed sacred, how much more one
in whose power the divine hand hath writ its witness! Yes, over him who
lives but for his country, whose greatness is his country's gift, whose
life is his country's liberty, watch the souls of the just, and the
unsleeping eyes of the sworded seraphim! Taught by your late failure and
your present peril, bid your anger against me cease; respect the laws,
revere the freedom of your city, and think that no state presents a
nobler spectacle than men born as ye are--a patrician and illustrious
order--using your power to protect your city, your wealth to nurture its
arts, your chivalry to protect its laws! Take back your swords--and the
first man who strikes against the liberties of Rome, let him be your
victim; even though that victim be the Tribune. Your cause has been
tried--your sentence is pronounced. Renew your oath to forbear all
hostility, private or public, against the government and the magistrates
of Rome, and ye are pardoned--ye are free!"

Amazed, bewildered, the Barons mechanically bent the knee: the friars
who had received their confessions, administered the appointed oath; and
while, with white lips, they muttered the solemn words, they heard below
the roar of the multitude for their blood.

This ceremony ended, the Tribune passed into the banquet-hall, which
conducted to a balcony, whence he was accustomed to address the people;
and never, perhaps, was his wonderful mastery over the passions of an
audience (ad persuadendum efficax dictator, quoque dulcis ac lepidus)
(Petrarch of Rienzi.) more greatly needed or more eminently shown, than
on that day; for the fury of the people was at its height, and it was
long ere he succeeded in turning it aside. Before he concluded, however,
every wave of the wild sea lay hushed.--The orator lived to stand on the
same spot, to plead for a life nobler than those he now saved,--and to
plead unheard and in vain!

As soon as the Tribune saw the favourable moment had arrived, the Barons
were admitted into the balcony:--in the presence of the breathless
thousands, they solemnly pledged themselves to protect the Good Estate.
And thus the morning which seemed to dawn upon their execution witnessed
their reconciliation with the people.

The crowd dispersed, the majority soothed and pleased;--the more
sagacious, vexed and dissatisfied.

"He has but increased the smoke and the flame which he was not able
to extinguish," growled Cecco del Vecchio; and the smith's appropriate
saying passed into a proverb and a prophecy.

Meanwhile, the Tribune, conscious at least that he had taken the more
generous course, broke up the Council, and retired to the chamber
where Nina and his sister waited him. These beautiful young women had
conceived for each other the tenderest affection. And their differing
characters, both of mind and feature, seemed by contrast to heighten the
charms of both; as in a skilful jewellery, the pearl and diamond borrow
beauty from each other.

And as Irene now turned her pale countenance and streaming eyes from
the bosom to which she had clung for support, the timid sister, anxious,
doubtful, wistful;--the proud wife, sanguine and assured, as if never
diffident of the intentions nor of the power of her Rienzi:--the
contrast would have furnished to a painter no unworthy incarnation of
the Love that hopeth, and the Love that feareth, all things.

"Be cheered, my sweet sister," said the Tribune, first caught by Irene's
imploring look; "not a hair on the heads of those who boast the name of
him thou lovest so well is injured.--Thank Heaven," as his sister,
with a low cry, rushed into his arms, "that it was against my life they
conspired! Had it been another Roman's, mercy might have been a crime!
Dearest, may Adrian love thee half as well as I; and yet, my sister and
my child, none can know thy soft soul like he who watched over it since
its first blossom expanded to the sun. My poor brother! had he lived,
your counsel had been his; and methinks his gentle spirit often whispers
away the sternness which, otherwise, would harden over mine. Nina, my
queen, my inspirer, my monitor--ever thus let thy heart, masculine in my
distress, be woman's in my power; and be to me, with Irene, upon earth,
what my brother is in heaven!"

The Tribune, exhausted by the trials of the night, retired for a few
hours to rest; and as Nina, encircling him within her arms, watched over
his noble countenance--care hushed, ambition laid at rest, its serenity
had something almost of sublime. And tears of that delicious pride,
which woman sheds for the hero of her dreams, stood heavy in the wife's
eyes, as she rejoiced more, in the deep stillness of her heart, at the
prerogative, alone hers, of sharing his solitary hours, than in all the
rank to which his destiny had raised her, and which her nature fitted
her at once to adorn and to enjoy. In that calm and lonely hour she
beguiled her heart by waking dreams, vainer than the sleeper's; and
pictured to herself the long career of glory, the august decline of
peace, which were to await her lord.

And while she thus watched and thus dreamed, the cloud, as yet no bigger
than a man's hand, darkened the horizon of a fate whose sunshine was
well-nigh past!



Chapter 5.II. The Flight.

Fretting his proud heart, as a steed frets on the bit, old Colonna
regained his palace. To him, innocent of the proposed crime of his kin
and compeers, the whole scene of the night and morning presented but one
feature of insult and degradation. Scarce was he in his palace, ere he
ordered couriers, in whom he knew he could confide, to be in preparation
for his summons. "This to Avignon," said he to himself, as he concluded
an epistle to the Pontiff.--"We will see whether the friendship of the
great house of the Colonna will outweigh the frantic support of the
rabble's puppet.--This to Palestrina,--the rock is inaccessible!--This
to John di Vico, he may be relied upon, traitor though he be!--This to
Naples; the Colonna will disown the Tribune's ambassador, if he throw
not up the trust and hasten hither, not a lover but a soldier!--and may
this find Walter de Montreal! Ah, a precious messenger he sent us, but
I will forgive all--all, for a thousand lances." And as with trembling
hands he twined the silk round his letters, he bade his pages invite to
his board, next day, all the signors who had been implicated with him on
the previous night.

The Barons came--far more enraged at the disgrace of pardon, than
grateful for the boon of mercy. Their fears combined with their pride;
and the shouts of the mob, the whine of the cordeliers, still ringing
in their ears, they deemed united resistance the only course left to
protect their lives, and avenge their affront.

To them the public pardon of the Tribune seemed only a disguise to
private revenge. All they believed was, that Rienzi did not dare to
destroy them in the face of day; forgetfulness and forgiveness appeared
to them as the means designed to lull their vigilance, while abasing
their pride: and the knowledge of crime detected forbade them all hope
of safety. The hand of their own assassin might be armed against
them, or they might be ruined singly, one by one, as was the common
tyrant-craft of that day. Singularly enough, Luca di Savelli was the
most urgent for immediate rebellion. The fear of death made the coward
brave.

Unable even to conceive the romantic generosity of the Tribune, the
Barons were yet more alarmed when, the next day, Rienzi, summoning them
one by one to a private audience, presented them with gifts, and bade
them forget the past: excused himself rather than them, and augmented
their offices and honours.

In the Quixotism of a heart to which royalty was natural, he thought
that there was no medium course; and that the enmity he would not
silence by death, he could crush by confidence and favours. Such conduct
from a born king to hereditary inferiors might have been successful; but
the generosity of one who has abruptly risen over his lords is but the
ostentation of insult. Rienzi in this, and, perhaps, in forgiveness
itself, committed a fatal error of policy, which the dark sagacity of a
Visconti, or, in later times, of a Borgia, would never have perpetrated.
But it was the error of a bright and a great mind.

Nina was seated in the grand saloon of the palace--it was the day of
reception for the Roman ladies.

The attendance was so much less numerous than usual that it startled
her, and she thought there was a coldness and restraint in the manner of
the visitors present, which somewhat stung her vanity.

"I trust we have not offended the Signora Colonna," she said to the Lady
of Gianni, Stephen's son. "She was wont to grace our halls, and we miss
much her stately presence."

"Madam, my Lord's mother is unwell!"

"Is she so? We will send for her more welcome news. Methinks we are
deserted today."

As she spoke, she carelessly dropped her handkerchief--the haughty dame
of the Colonna bent not--not a hand stirred; and the Tribunessa looked
for a moment surprised and disconcerted. Her eye roving over the throng,
she perceived several, whom she knew as the wives of Rienzi's foes,
whispering together with meaning glances, and more than one malicious
sneer at her mortification was apparent. She recovered herself
instantly, and said to the Signora Frangipani, with a smile, "May we be
a partaker of your mirth? You seem to have chanced on some gay thought,
which it were a sin not to share freely."

The lady she addressed coloured slightly, and replied, "We were
thinking, madam, that had the Tribune been present, his vow of
knighthood would have been called into requisition."

"And how, Signora?"

"It would have been his pleasing duty, madam, to succour the
distressed." And the Signora glanced significantly on the kerchief still
on the floor.

"You designed me, then, this slight, Signoras," said Nina, rising with
great majesty. "I know not whether your Lords are equally bold to the
Tribune; but this I know, that the Tribune's wife can in future forgive
your absence. Four centuries ago, a Frangipani might well have stooped
to a Raselli; today, the dame of a Roman Baron might acknowledge a
superior in the wife of the first magistrate of Rome. I compel not your
courtesy, nor seek it."

"We have gone too far," whispered one of the ladies to her neighbour.
"Perhaps the enterprise may not succeed; and then--"

Further remark was cut short by the sudden entrance of the Tribune. He
entered with great haste, and on his brow was that dark frown which none
ever saw unquailing.

"How, fair matrons!" said he, looking round the room with a rapid
glance, "ye have not deserted us yet? By the blessed cross, your Lords
pay a compliment to our honour, to leave us such lovely hostages, or
else, God's truth, they are ungrateful husbands. So, madam," turning
sharp round to the wife of Gianni Colonna, "your husband is fled to
Palestrina; yours, Signora Orsini, to Marino; yours with him, fair
bride of Frangipani,--ye came hither to--. But ye are sacred even from a
word!"

The Tribune paused a moment, evidently striving to suppress his emotion,
as he observed the terror he had excited--his eye fell upon Nina, who,
forgetting her previous vexation, regarded him with anxious amazement.
"Yes," said he to her, "you alone, perhaps, of this fair assemblage,
know not that the nobles whom I lately released from the headsman's
gripe are a second time forsworn. They have left home in the dead of the
night, and already the Heralds proclaim them traitors and rebels. Rienzi
forgives no more!"

"Tribune," exclaimed the Signora Frangipani, who had more bold blood in
her veins than her whole house, "were I of thine own sex, I would
cast the words, Traitor and Rebel, given to my Lord, in thine own
teeth!--Proud man, the Pontiff soon will fulfil that office!"

"Your Lord is blest with a dove, fair one," said the Tribune,
scornfully. "Ladies, fear not, while Rienzi lives, the wife even of his
worst foe is safe and honoured. The crowd will be here anon; our guards
shall attend ye home in safety, or this palace may be your shelter--for,
I warn ye, that your Lords have rushed into a great peril. And ere many
days be past, the streets of Rome may be as rivers of blood."

"We accept your offer, Tribune," said the Signora Frangipani, who was
touched, and, in spite of herself, awed by the Tribune's manner. And
as she spoke, she dropped on one knee, picked up the kerchief, and,
presenting it respectfully to Nina, said, "Madam, forgive me. I alone of
these present respect you more in danger than in pride."

"And I," returned Nina, as she leaned in graceful confidence on Rienzi's
arm, "I reply, that if there be danger, the more need of pride."

All that day and all that night rang the great bell of the Capitol. But
on the following daybreak, the assemblage was thin and scattered; there
was a great fear stricken into the hearts of the people, by the flight
of the Barons, and they bitterly and loudly upbraided Rienzi for sparing
them to this opportunity of mischief. That day the rumours continued;
the murmurers for the most part remained within their houses, or
assembled in listless and discontented troops. The next day dawned; the
same lethargy prevailed. The Tribune summoned his Council, (which was a
Representative assembly.)

"Shall we go forth as we are," said he, "with such few as will follow
the Roman standard!"

"No," replied Pandulfo, who, by nature timid, was yet well acquainted
with the disposition of the people, and therefore a sagacious
counsellor. "Let us hold back; let us wait till the rebels commit
themselves by some odious outrage, and then hatred will unite the
waverers, and resentment lead them."

This counsel prevailed; the event proved its wisdom. To give excuse and
dignity to the delay, messengers were sent to Marino, whither the chief
part of the Barons had fled, and which was strongly fortified, demanding
their immediate return.

On the day on which the haughty refusal of the insurgents was brought
to Rienzi, came fugitives from all parts of the Campagna. Houses
burned--convents and vineyards pillaged--cattle and horses
seized--attested the warfare practised by the Barons, and animated
the drooping Romans, by showing the mercies they might expect for
themselves. That evening, of their own accord, the Romans rushed into
the place of the Capitol:--Rinaldo Orsini had seized a fortress in the
immediate neighbourhood of Rome, and had set fire to a tower, the flames
of which were visible to the city. The tenant of the tower, a noble
lady, old and widowed, was burnt alive. Then rose the wild clamour--the
mighty wrath--the headlong fury. The hour for action had arrived.
("Ardea terre, arse la Castelluzza e case, e uomini. Non si schifo
di ardere una nobile donna Vedova, veterana, in una torre. Per tale
crudeltade li Romani furo piu irati," &c.--"Vita di Cola di Rienzi",
lib. i. cap. 20.)



Chapter 5.III. The Battle.

"I have dreamed a dream," cried Rienzi, leaping from his bed. "The
lion-hearted Boniface, foe and victim of the Colonna, hath appeared
to me, and promised victory. ("In questa notte mi e apparito Santo
Bonifacio Papa," &c.--"Vita di Cola di Rienzi" cap. 32.) Nina, prepare
the laurel-wreath: this day victory shall be ours!"

"O, Rienzi! today?"

"Yes! hearken to the bell--hearken to the trumpet. Nay, I hear even now
the impatient hoofs of my white warsteed! One kiss, Nina, ere I arm for
victory,--stay--comfort poor Irene; let me not see her--she weeps that
my foes are akin to her betrothed; I cannot brook her tears; I watched
her in her cradle. Today, I must have no weakness on my soul! Knaves,
twice perjured!--wolves, never to be tamed!--shall I meet ye at last
sword to sword? Away, sweet Nina, to Irene, quick! Adrian is at Naples,
and were he in Rome, her lover is sacred, though fifty times a Colonna."

With that, the Tribune passed into his wardrobe, where his pages and
gentlemen attended with his armour. "I hear, by our spies," said he,
"that they will be at our gates ere noon--four thousand foot, seven
hundred horsemen. We will give them a hearty welcome, my masters. How,
Angelo Villani, my pretty page, what do you out of your lady's service?"

"I would fain see a warrior arm for Rome," said the boy, with a boy's
energy.

"Bless thee, my child; there spoke one of Rome's true sons!"

"And the Signora has promised me that I shall go with her guard to the
gates, to hear the news--"

"And report the victory?--thou shalt. But they must not let thee come
within shaft-shot. What! my Pandulfo, thou in mail?"

"Rome requires every man," said the citizen, whose weak nerves were
strung by the contagion of the general enthusiasm.

"She doth--and once more I am proud to be a Roman. Now, gentles, the
Dalmaticum: (A robe or mantle of white, borne by Rienzi; at one time
belonging to the sacerdotal office, afterwards an emblem of empire.)
I would that every foe should know Rienzi; and, by the Lord of Hosts,
fighting at the head of the imperial people, I have a right to the
imperial robe. Are the friars prepared? Our march to the gates shall be
preceded by a solemn hymn--so fought our sires."

"Tribune, John di Vico is arrived with a hundred horse to support the
Good Estate."

"He hath!--The Lord has delivered us then of a foe, and given our
dungeons a traitor!--Bring hither yon casket, Angelo.--So--Hark thee!
Pandulfo, read this letter."

The citizens read, with surprise and consternation, the answer of the
wily Prefect to the Colonna's epistle.

"He promises the Baron to desert to him in the battle, with the
Prefect's banner," said Pandulfo. "What is to be done?"

"What!--take my signet--here--see him lodged forthwith in the prison
of the Capitol. Bid his train leave Rome, and if found acting with the
Barons, warn them that their Lord dies. Go--see to it without a moment's
delay. Meanwhile, to the chapel--we will hear mass."

Within an hour the Roman army--vast, miscellaneous--old men and boys,
mingled with the vigour of life, were on their march to the Gate of San
Lorenzo; of their number, which amounted to twenty thousand foot,
not one-sixth could be deemed men-at-arms; but the cavalry were well
equipped, and consisted of the lesser Barons and the more opulent
citizens. At the head of these rode the Tribune in complete armour,
and wearing on his casque a wreath of oak and olive leaves, wrought in
silver. Before him waved the great gonfalon of Rome, while in front of
this multitudinous array marched a procession of monks, of the order of
St. Francis, (for the ecclesiastical body of Rome went chiefly with
the popular spirit, and its enthusiastic leader,)--slowly chanting the
following hymn, which was made inexpressibly startling and imposing at
the close of each stanza, by the clash of arms, the blast of trumpets,
and the deep roll of the drum; which formed, as it were, a martial
chorus to the song:--

Roman War-song.

1.

March, march for your hearths and your altars!
Cursed to all time be the dastard that falters,
Never on earth may his sins be forgiven
Death on his soul, shut the portals of heaven!
A curse on his heart, and a curse on his brain!--
Who strikes not for Rome, shall to Rome be her Cain!
Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!