Rienzi

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Rienzi


"Villani! ever active in my service!" thought the Senator; "methinks
this morning I spoke to him harshly--it was churlish in me!"

He re-entered the Place of the Capitol--he stood by the staircase of
the Lion; there was a red stain upon the pavement, unobliterated since
Montreal's execution, and the Senator drew himself aside with an inward
shudder. Was it the ghastly and spectral light of the Moon, or did the
face of that old Egyptian Monster wear an aspect that was as of life?
The stony eyeballs seemed bent upon him with a malignant scowl; and as
he passed on, and looked behind, they appeared almost preternaturally
to follow his steps. A chill, he knew not why, sunk into his heart. He
hastened to regain his palace. The sentinels made way for him.

"Senator," said one of them, doubtingly, "Messere Angelo Villani is our
new captain--we are to obey his orders?"

"Assuredly," returned the Senator, passing on. The man lingered
uneasily, as if he would have spoken, but Rienzi observed it not.
Seeking his chamber, he found Nina and Irene waiting for him. His heart
yearned to his wife. Care and toil had of late driven her from his
thoughts, and he felt it remorsefully, as he gazed upon her noble face,
softened by the solicitude of untiring and anxious love.

"Sweetest," said he, winding his arms around her tenderly; "thy lips
never chide me, but thine eyes sometimes do! We have been apart too
long. Brighter days dawn upon us, when I shall have leisure to thank
thee for all thy care. And you, my fair sister, you smile on me!--ah,
you have heard that your lover, ere this, is released by the cession of
Palestrina, and tomorrow's sun will see him at your feet. Despite all
the cares of the day, I remembered thee, my Irene, and sent a messenger
to bring back the blush to that pale cheek. Come, come, we shall be
happy again!" And with that domestic fondness common to him, when
harsher thoughts permitted, he sate himself beside the two persons
dearest to his hearth and heart.

"So happy--if we could have many hours like this!" murmured Nina,
sinking on his breast. "Yet sometimes I wish--"

"And I too," interrupted Rienzi; "for I read thy woman's thought--I too
sometimes wish that fate had placed us in the lowlier valleys of
life! But it may come yet! Irene wedded to Adrian--Rome married to
Liberty--and then, Nina, methinks you and I would find some quiet
hermitage, and talk over old gauds and triumphs, as of a summer's dream.
Beautiful, kiss me! Couldst thou resign these pomps?"

"For a desert with thee, Cola!"

"Let me reflect," resumed Rienzi; "is not today the seventh of October?
Yes! on the seventh, be it noted, my foes yielded to my power! Seven! my
fated number, whether ominous of good or evil! Seven months did I reign
as Tribune--seven (There was the lapse of one year between the release
of Rienzi from Avignon, and his triumphal return to Rome: a year chiefly
spent in the campaign of Albornoz.) years was I absent as an exile;
tomorrow, that sees me without an enemy, completes my seventh week of
return!"

"And seven was the number of the crowns the Roman Convents and the Roman
Council awarded thee, after the ceremony which gave thee the knighthood
of the Santo Spirito!" (This superstition had an excuse in strange
historical coincidences; and the number seven was indeed to Rienzi what
the 3rd of September was to Cromwell. The ceremony of the seven
crowns which he received after his knighthood, on the nature of which
ridiculous ignorance has been shown by many recent writers, was, in
fact, principally a religious and typical donation, (symbolical of the
gifts of the Holy Spirit,) conferred by the heads of convents--and that
part of the ceremony which was political, was republican, not regal.)
said Nina, adding, with woman's tender wit, "the brightest association
of all!"

"Follies seem these thoughts to others, and to philosophy, in truth, they
are so," said Rienzi; "but all my life long, omen and type and shadow
have linked themselves to action and event: and the atmosphere of other
men hath not been mine. Life itself a riddle, why should riddles amaze
us? The Future!--what mystery in the very word! Had we lived all through
the Past, since Time was, our profoundest experience of a thousand ages
could not give us a guess of the events that wait the very moment we are
about to enter! Thus deserted by Reason, what wonder that we recur to
the Imagination, on which, by dream and symbol, God sometimes paints
the likeness of things to come? Who can endure to leave the Future all
unguessed, and sit tamely down to groan under the fardel of the Present?
No, no! that which the foolish-wise call Fanaticism, belongs to the same
part of us as Hope. Each but carries us onward--from a barren strand to
a glorious, if unbounded sea. Each is the yearning for the GREAT BEYOND,
which attests our immortality. Each has its visions and chimeras--some
false, but some true! Verily, a man who becomes great is often but made
so by a kind of sorcery in his own soul--a Pythia which prophesies that
he shall be great--and so renders the life one effort to fulfil the
warning! Is this folly?--it were so, if all things stopped at the grave!
But perhaps the very sharpening, and exercising, and elevating the
faculties here--though but for a bootless end on earth--may be designed
to fit the soul, thus quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny
beyond the earth! Who can tell? not I!--Let us pray!"

While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her various quarters
presented less holy and quiet scenes.

In the fortress of the Orsini lights flitted to and fro, through the
gratings of the great court. Angelo Villani might be seen stealing from
the postern-gate. Another hour, and the Moon was high in heaven; toward
the ruins of the Colosseum, men, whose dress bespoke them of the lowest
rank, were seen creeping from lanes and alleys, two by two; from these
ruins glided again the form of the son of Montreal. Later yet--the Moon
is sinking--a grey light breaking in the East--and the gates of Rome, by
St. John of Lateran, are open! Villani is conversing with the sentries!
The Moon has set--the mountains are dim with a mournful and chilling
haze--Villani is before the palace of the Capitol--the only soldier
there! Where are the Roman legions that were to guard alike the freedom
and the deliverer of Rome?



Chapter The Last. The Close of the Chase.

It was the morning of the 8th of October, 1354. Rienzi, who rose
betimes, stirred restlessly in his bed. "It is yet early," he said to
Nina, whose soft arm was round his neck; "none of my people seem to be
astir. Howbeit, my day begins before theirs."

"Rest yet, my Cola; you want sleep."

"No; I feel feverish, and this old pain in the side torments me. I have
letters to write."

"Let me be your secretary, dearest," said Nina.

Rienzi smiled affectionately as he rose; he repaired to his closet
adjoining his sleeping apartment, and used the bath, as was his wont.
Then dressing himself, he returned to Nina, who, already loosely robed,
sate by the writing-table, ready for her office of love.

"How still are all things!" said Rienzi. "What a cool and delicious
prelude, in these early hours, to the toilsome day."

Leaning over his wife, he then dictated different letters, interrupting
the task at times by such observations as crossed his mind.

"So, now to Annibaldi! By the way, young Adrian should join us today;
how I rejoice for Irene's sake!"

"Dear sister--yes! she loves,--if any, Cola, can so love,--as we do."

"Well, but to your task, my fair scribe. Ha! what noise is that? I hear
an armed step--the stairs creak--some one shouts my name."

Rienzi flew to his sword! the door was thrown rudely open, and a figure
in complete armour appeared within the chamber.

"How! what means this?" said Rienzi, standing before Nina, with his
drawn sword.

The intruder lifted his visor--it was Adrian Colonna.

"Fly, Rienzi!--hasten, Signora! Thank Heaven, I can save ye yet! Myself
and train released by the capture of Palestrina, the pain of my wound
detained me last night at Tivoli. The town was filled with armed
men--not thine, Senator. I heard rumours that alarmed me. I resolved to
proceed onward--I reached Rome, the gates of the city were wide open!"

"How!"

"Your guard gone. Presently I came upon a band of the retainers of the
Savelli. My insignia, as a Colonna, misled them. I learned that this
very hour some of your enemies are within the city, the rest are on
their march--the people themselves arm against you. In the obscurer
streets I passed through, the mob were already forming. They took me
for thy foe, and shouted. I came hither--thy sentries have vanished. The
private door below is unbarred and open. Not a soul seems left in thy
palace. Haste--fly--save thyself!--Where is Irene?"

"The Capitol deserted!--impossible!" cried Rienzi. He strode across the
chambers to the ante-room, where his night-guard usually waited--it was
empty! He passed hastily to Villani's room--it was untenanted! He would
have passed farther, but the doors were secured without. It was evident
that all egress had been cut off, save by the private door below,--and
that had been left open to admit his murtherers!

He returned to his room--Nina had already gone to rouse and prepare
Irene, whose chamber was on the other side, within one of their own.

"Quick, Senator!" said Adrian. "Methinks there is yet time. We must make
across to the Tiber. I have stationed my faithful squires and Northmen
there. A boat waits us."

"Hark!" interrupted Rienzi, whose senses had of late been
preternaturally quickened. "I hear a distant shout--a familiar shout,
'Viva 'l Popolo!' Why, so say I! These must be friends."

"Deceive not thyself; thou hast scarce a friend at Rome."

"Hist!" said Rienzi, in a whisper; "save Nina--save Irene. I cannot
accompany thee."

"Art thou mad?"

"No! but fearless. Besides, did I accompany, I might but destroy you
all. Were I found with you, you would be massacred with me. Without me
ye are safe. Yes, even the Senator's wife and sister have provoked no
revenge. Save them, noble Colonna! Cola di Rienzi puts his trust in God
alone!"

By this time Nina had returned; Irene with her. Afar was heard the
tramp--steady--slow--gathering--of the fatal multitude.

"Now, Cola," said Nina, with a bold and cheerful air, and she took her
husband's arm, while Adrian had already found his charge in Irene.

"Yes, now, Nina!" said Rienzi; "at length we part! If this is my last
hour--in my last hour I pray God to bless and shield thee! for verily,
thou hast been my exceeding solace--provident as a parent, tender as a
child, the smile of my hearth, the--the--"

Rienzi was almost unmanned. Emotions, deep, conflicting, unspeakably
fond and grateful, literally choked his speech.

"What!" cried Nina, clinging to his breast, and parting her hair from
her eyes, as she sought his averted face. "Part!--never! This is my
place--all Rome shall not tear me from it!"

Adrian, in despair, seized her hand, and attempted to drag her thence.

"Touch me not, sir!" said Nina, waving her arm with angry majesty, while
her eyes sparkled as a lioness, whom the huntsmen would sever from her
young. "I am the wife of Cola di Rienzi, the Great Senator of Rome, and
by his side will I live and die!"

"Take her hence: quick!--quick! I hear the crowd advancing."

Irene tore herself from Adrian, and fell at the feet of Rienzi--she
clasped his knees.

"Come, my brother, come! Why lose these precious moments? Rome forbids
you to cast away a life in which her very self is bound up."

"Right, Irene; Rome is bound up with me, and we will rise or fall
together!--no more!"

"You destroy us all!" said Adrian, with generous and impatient warmth.
"A few minutes more, and we are lost. Rash man! it is not to fall by an
infuriate mob that you have been preserved from so many dangers."

"I believe it," said the Senator, as his tall form seemed to dilate as
with the greatness of his own soul. "I shall triumph yet! Never shall
mine enemies--never shall posterity say that a second time Rienzi
abandoned Rome! Hark! 'Viva 'l Popolo!' still the cry of 'THE PEOPLE.'
That cry scares none but tyrants! I shall triumph and survive!"

"And I with thee!" said Nina, firmly. Rienzi paused a moment, gazed on
his wife, passionately clasped her to his heart, kissed her again and
again, and then said, "Nina, I command thee,--Go!"

"Never!"

He paused. Irene's face, drowned in tears, met his eyes.

"We will all perish with you," said his sister; "you only, Adrian, you
leave us!"

"Be it so," said the Knight, sadly; "we will all remain," and he
desisted at once from further effort.

There was a dead but short pause, broken but by a convulsive sob from
Irene. The tramp of the raging thousands sounded fearfully distinct.
Rienzi seemed lost in thought--then lifting his head, he said, calmly,
"ye have triumphed--I join ye--I but collect these papers, and follow
you. Quick, Adrian--save them!" and he pointed meaningly to Nina.

Waiting no other hint, the young Colonna seized Nina in his strong
grasp--with his left hand he supported Irene, who with terror and
excitement was almost insensible. Rienzi relieved him of the lighter
load--he took his sister in his arms, and descended the winding stairs.
Nina remained passive--she heard her husband's step behind, it was
enough for her--she but turned once to thank him with her eyes. A tall
Northman clad in armour stood at the open door. Rienzi placed Irene, now
perfectly lifeless, in the soldier's arms, and kissed her pale cheek in
silence.

"Quick, my Lord," said the Northman, "on all sides they come!" So
saying, he bounded down the descent with his burthen. Adrian followed
with Nina; the Senator paused one moment, turned back, and was in his
room ere Adrian was aware that he had vanished.

Hastily he drew the coverlid from his bed, fastened it to the casement
bars, and by its aid dropped (at a distance of several feet) into the
balcony below. "I will not die like a rat," said he, "in the trap they
have set for me! The whole crowd shall, at least, see and hear me."

This was the work of a moment.

Meanwhile, Nina had scarcely proceeded six paces, before she discovered
that she was alone with Adrian.

"Ha! Cola!" she cried, "where is he? he has gone!"

"Take heart, Lady, he has returned but for some secret papers he has
forgotten. He will follow us anon."

"Let us wait, then."

"Lady," said Adrian, grinding his teeth, "hear you not the crowd?--on,
on!" and he flew with a swifter step. Nina struggled in his grasp--Love
gave her the strength of despair. With a wild laugh she broke from him.
She flew back--the door was closed--but unbarred--her trembling hands
lingered a moment round the spring. She opened it, drew the heavy bolt
across the panels, and frustrated all attempt from Adrian to regain her.
She was on the stairs,--she was in the room. Rienzi was gone! She fled,
shrieking his name, through the State Chambers--all was desolate. She
found the doors opening on the various passages that admitted to the
rooms below barred without. Breathless and gasping, she returned to the
chamber. She hurried to the casement--she perceived the method by
which he had descended below--her brave heart told her of his brave
design;--she saw they were separated,--"But the same roof holds us," she
cried, joyously, "and our fate shall be the same!" With that thought she
sank in mute patience on the floor.

Forming the generous resolve not to abandon the faithful and devoted
pair without another effort, Adrian had followed Nina, but too late--the
door was closed against his efforts. The crowd marched on--he heard
their cry change on a sudden--it was no longer "LIVE THE PEOPLE!" but
"DEATH TO THE TRAITOR!" His attendant had already disappeared, and
waking now only to the danger of Irene, the Colonna in bitter grief
turned away, lightly sped down the descent, and hastened to the
riverside, where the boat and his band awaited him.

The balcony on which Rienzi had alighted was that from which he had been
accustomed to address the people--it communicated with a vast hall used
on solemn occasions for State festivals--and on either side were square
projecting towers, whose grated casements looked into the balcony.
One of these towers was devoted to the armory, the other contained the
prison of Brettone, the brother of Montreal. Beyond the latter tower was
the general prison of the Capitol. For then the prison and the palace
were in awful neighbourhood!

The windows of the Hall were yet open--and Rienzi passed into it from
the balcony--the witness of the yesterday's banquet was still there--the
wine, yet undried, crimsoned the floor, and goblets of gold and silver
shone from the recesses. He proceeded at once to the armory, and
selected from the various suits that which he himself had worn when,
nearly eight years ago, he had chased the Barons from the gates of Rome.
He arrayed himself in the mail, leaving only his head uncovered; and
then taking, in his right hand, from the wall, the great Gonfalon of
Rome, returned once more to the hall. Not a man encountered him. In that
vast building, save the prisoners, and the faithful Nina, whose presence
he knew not of--the Senator was alone.

On they came, no longer in measured order, as stream after stream--from
lane, from alley, from palace and from hovel--the raging sea
received new additions. On they came--their passions excited by their
numbers--women and men, children and malignant age--in all the awful
array of aroused, released, unresisted physical strength and brutal
wrath; "Death to the traitor--death to the tyrant--death to him who has
taxed the people!"--"Mora l' traditore che ha fatta la gabella!--Mora!"
Such was the cry of the people--such the crime of the Senator! They
broke over the low palisades of the Capitol--they filled with one sudden
rush the vast space;--a moment before so desolate,--now swarming with
human beings athirst for blood!

Suddenly came a dead silence, and on the balcony above stood Rienzi--his
head was bared and the morning sun shone over that lordly brow, and
the hair grown grey before its time, in the service of that maddening
multitude. Pale and erect he stood--neither fear, nor anger, nor
menace--but deep grief and high resolve--upon his features! A momentary
shame--a momentary awe seized the crowd.

He pointed to the Gonfalon, wrought with the Republican motto and arms
of Rome, and thus he began:--

"I too am a Roman and a Citizen; hear me!"

"Hear him not! hear him not! his false tongue can charm away our
senses!" cried a voice louder than his own; and Rienzi recognised Cecco
del Vecchio.

"Hear him not! down with the tyrant!" cried a more shrill and youthful
tone; and by the side of the artisan stood Angelo Villani.

"Hear him not! death to the death-giver!" cried a voice close at hand,
and from the grating of the neighbouring prison glared near upon him, as
the eye of a tiger, the vengeful gaze of the brother of Montreal.

Then from Earth to Heaven rose the roar--"Down with the tyrant--down
with him who taxed the people!"

A shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Senator,--still he stirred
not. No changing muscle betokened fear. His persuasion of his own
wonderful powers of eloquence, if he could but be heard, inspired him
yet with hope; he stood collected in his own indignant, but determined
thoughts;--but the knowledge of that very eloquence was now his
deadliest foe. The leaders of the multitude trembled lest he should be
heard; "and doubtless," says the contemporaneous biographer, "had he but
spoken he would have changed them all, and the work been marred."

The soldiers of the Barons had already mixed themselves with the
throng--more deadly weapons than stones aided the wrath of the
multitude--darts and arrows darkened the air; and now a voice was heard
shrieking, "Way for the torches!" And red in the sunlight the torches
tossed and waved, and danced to and fro, above the heads of the crowd,
as if the fiends were let loose amongst the mob! And what place in
hell hath fiends like those a mad mob can furnish? Straw, and wood, and
litter, were piled hastily round the great doors of the Capitol, and the
smoke curled suddenly up, beating back the rush of the assailants.

Rienzi was no longer visible, an arrow had pierced his hand--the right
hand that supported the flag of Rome--the right hand that had given
a constitution to the Republic. He retired from the storm into the
desolate hall.

He sat down;--and tears, springing from no weak and woman source, but
tears from the loftiest fountain of emotion--tears that befit a warrior
when his own troops desert him--a patriot when his countrymen rush
to their own doom--a father when his children rebel against his
love,--tears such as these forced themselves from his eyes and
relieved,--but they changed, his heart!

"Enough, enough!" he said, presently rising and dashing the drops
scornfully away; "I have risked, dared, toiled enough for this dastard
and degenerate race. I will yet baffle their malice--I renounce the
thought of which they are so little worthy!--Let Rome perish!--I feel,
at last, that I am nobler than my country!--she deserves not so high a
sacrifice!"

With that feeling, Death lost all the nobleness of aspect it had before
presented to him; and he resolved, in very scorn of his ungrateful foes,
in very defeat of their inhuman wrath, to make one effort for his life!
He divested himself of his glittering arms; his address, his dexterity,
his craft, returned to him. His active mind ran over the chances of
disguise--of escape;--he left the hall--passed through the humbler
rooms, devoted to the servitors and menials--found in one of them a
coarse working garb--indued himself with it--placed upon his head some
of the draperies and furniture of the palace, as if escaping with
them; and said, with his old "fantastico riso" ("Fantastic smile or
laugh.")--"When all other friends desert me, I may well forsake myself!"
With that he awaited his occasion.

Meanwhile the flames burnt fierce and fast; the outer door below was
already consumed; from the apartment he had deserted the fire burst out
in volleys of smoke--the wood crackled--the lead melted--with a crash
fell the severed gates--the dreadful entrance was opened to all the
multitude--the proud Capitol of the Caesars was already tottering to its
fall!--Now was the time!--he passed the flaming door--the smouldering
threshold;--he passed the outer gate unscathed--he was in the middle of
the crowd. "Plenty of pillage within," he said to the bystanders, in
the Roman patois, his face concealed by his load--"Suso, suso a gliu
traditore!" (Down, down with the traitor.) The mob rushed past him--he
went on--he gained the last stair descending into the open streets--he
was at the last gate--liberty and life were before him.

A soldier (one of his own) seized him. "Pass not--whither goest thou?"

"Beware, lest the Senator escape disguised!" cried a voice behind--it
was Villani's. The concealing load was torn from his head--Rienzi stood
revealed!

"I am the Senator!" he said in a loud voice. "Who dare touch the
Representative of the People?"

The multitude were round him in an instant. Not led, but rather hurried
and whirled along, the Senator was borne to the Place of the Lion. With
the intense glare of the bursting flames, the grey image reflected a
lurid light, and glowed--(that grim and solemn monument!)--as if itself
of fire!

There arrived, the crowd gave way, terrified by the greatness of their
victim. Silent he stood, and turned his face around; nor could the
squalor of his garb, nor the terror of the hour, nor the proud grief of
detection, abate the majesty of his mien, or reassure the courage of the
thousands who gathered, gazing, round him. The whole Capitol wrapped
in fire, lighted with ghastly pomp the immense multitude. Down the long
vista of the streets extended the fiery light and the serried throng,
till the crowd closed with the gleaming standards of the Colonna--the
Orsini--the Savelli! Her true tyrants were marching into Rome! As the
sound of their approaching horns and trumpets broke upon the burning
air, the mob seemed to regain their courage. Rienzi prepared to speak;
his first word was as the signal of his own death.

"Die, tyrant!" cried Cecco del Vecchio: and he plunged his dagger in the
Senator's breast.

"Die, executioner of Montreal!" muttered Villani: "thus the trust is
fulfilled!" and his was the second stroke. Then as he drew back, and saw
the artisan in all the drunken fury of his brute passion, tossing up his
cap, shouting aloud, and spurning the fallen lion,--the young man gazed
upon him with a look of withering and bitter scorn, and said, while he
sheathed his blade, and slowly turned to quit the crowd,

"Fool, miserable fool! thou and these at least had no blood of kindred
to avenge!"

They heeded not his words--they saw him not depart; for as Rienzi,
without a word, without a groan, fell to the earth,--as the roaring
waves of the multitude closed over him,--a voice, shrill, sharp, and
wild, was heard above all the clamour. At the casement of the Palace,
(the casement of her bridal chamber,) Nina stood!--through the flames
that burst below and around, her face and outstretched arms alone
visible! Ere yet the sound of that thrilling cry passed from the air,
down with a mighty crash thundered that whole wing of the Capitol,--a
blackened and smouldering mass.