Rienzi
by Edward Bulwer Lytton
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
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"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.))

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! (Rienzi's word of battle was "Spirito Santo
Cavaliere", i.e. Cavalier in the singular number. The plural number has
been employed in the text, as somewhat more animated, and therefore better
adapted to the kind of poetry into the service of which the watchword has
been pressed.)
    Blow, trumpets, blow,
    Blow, trumpets, blow,
      Gaily to glory we come;
    Like a king in his pomp,
    To the blast of the tromp,
      And the roar of the mighty drum!
  Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
  Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!

2.

March, march for your Freedom and Laws!
Earth is your witness - all Earth's is your cause!
Seraph and saint from their glory shall heed ye,
The angel that smote the Assyrian shall lead ye;
To the Christ of the Cross man is never so holy
As in braving the proud in defence of the lowly!
  Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
  Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!
    Blow, trumpets, blow,
    Blow, trumpets, blow,
      Gaily to glory we come;
    Like a king in his pomp,
    To the blast of the tromp,
      And the roar of the mighty drum!
  Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
  Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!

3.

March, march! ye are sons of the Roman,
The sound of whose step was as fate to the foeman!
Whose realm, save the air and the wave, had no wall,
As he strode through the world like a lord in his hall;
Though your fame hath sunk down to the night of the grave,
It shall rise from the field like the sun from the wave.
  Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
  Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!
    Blow, trumpets, blow,
    Blow, trumpets, blow,
      Gaily to glory we come;
    Like a king in his pomp,
    To the blast of the tromp,
      And the roar of the mighty drum!
  Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
  Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!

In this order they reached the wide waste that ruin and devastation left
within the gates, and, marshalled in long lines on either side, extending
far down the vistaed streets, and leaving a broad space in the centre,
awaited the order of their leader.

"Throw open the gates, and admit the foe!" cried Rienzi, with a loud voice;
as the trumpets of the Barons, announced their approach.

Meanwhile the insurgent Patricians, who had marched that morning from a
place called the Monument, four miles distant, came gallantly and boldly
on.

With old Stephen, whose great height, gaunt frame, and lordly air, shewed
well in his gorgeous mail, rode his sons, - the Frangipani and the Savelli,
and Giordano Orsini, brother to Rinaldo.

"Today the tyrant shall perish!" said the proud Baron; "and the flag of the
Colonna shall wave from the Capitol."

"The flag of the Bear," said Giordano Orsini, angrily. - "The victory will
not be yours alone, my Lord!"

"Our house ever took precedence in Rome," replied the Colonna, haughtily.

"Never, while one stone of the palaces of the Orsini stands upon another."

"Hush!" said Luca di Savelli; "are ye dividing the skin while the lion
lives? We shall have fierce work today."

"Not so," said the old Colonna; "John di Vico will turn, with his Romans,
at the first onset, and some of the malcontents within have promised to
open the gates. - How, knave?" as a scout rode up breathless to the Baron.
"What tidings?"

"The gates are opened - not a spear gleams from the walls!"

"Did I not tell ye, Lords?" said the Colonna, turning round triumphantly.
"Methinks we shall win Rome without a single blow. - Grandson, where now
are thy silly forebodings?"  This was said to Pietro, one of his grandsons
- the first-born of Gianni - a comely youth, not two weeks wedded, who made
no reply. "My little Pietro here," continued the Baron, speaking to his
comrades, "is so new a bridegroom, that last night he dreamed of his bride;
and deems it, poor lad, a portent."

"She was in deep mourning, and glided from my arms, uttering, 'Woe, woe, to
the Colonna!" said the young man, solemnly.

"I have lived nearly ninety years," replied the old man, "and I may have
dreamed, therefore, some forty thousand dreams; of which, two came true,
and the rest were false. Judge, then, what chances are in favour of the
science!"

Thus conversing, they approached within bow-shot of the gates, which were
still open. All was silent as death. The army, which was composed chiefly
of foreign mercenaries, halted in deliberation - when, lo! - a torch was
suddenly cast on high over the walls; it gleamed a moment - and then hissed
in the miry pool below.

"It is the signal of our friends within, as agreed on," cried old Colonna.
"Pietro, advance with your company!"  The young nobleman closed his visor,
put himself at the head of the band under his command; and, with his lance
in his rest, rode in a half gallop to the gates. The morning had been
clouded and overcast, and the sun, appearing only at intervals, now broke
out in a bright stream of light - as it glittered on the waving plume and
shining mail of the young horseman, disappearing under the gloomy arch,
several paces in advance of his troop. On swept his followers - forward
went the cavalry headed by Gianni Colonna, Pietro's father. - there was a
minute's silence, broken only by the clatter of the arms, and tramp of
hoofs, - when from within the walls rose the abrupt cry - "Rome, the
Tribune, and the People! Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!"  The main body halted
aghast. Suddenly Gianni Colonna was seen flying backward from the gate at
full speed.

"My son, my son!" he cried, "they have murdered him;" - he halted abrupt
and irresolute, then adding, "But I will avenge!" wheeled round, and
spurred again through the arch, - when a huge machine of iron, shaped as a
portcullis, suddenly descended upon the unhappy father, and crushed man and
horse to the ground - one blent, mangled, bloody mass.

The old Colonna saw, and scarce believed his eyes; and ere his troop
recovered its stupor, the machine rose, and over the corpse dashed the
Popular Armament. Thousands upon thousands, they came on; a wild,
clamorous, roaring stream. They poured on all sides upon their enemies,
who drawn up in steady discipline, and clad in complete mail, received and
broke their charge.

"Revenge, and the Colonna!" - "The Bear and the Orsini!" - "Charity and the
Frangipani!"  (Who had taken their motto from some fabled ancestor who had
broke bread with a beggar in a time of famine.)  "Strike for the Snake (The
Lion was, however, the animal usually arrogated by the heraldic vanity of
the Savelli.) and the Savelli!" were then heard on high, mingled with the
German and hoarse shout, "Full purses, and the Three Kings of Cologne."
The Romans, rather ferocious than disciplined, fell butchered in crowds
round the ranks of the mercenaries: but as one fell, another succeeded;
and still burst with undiminished fervour the countercry of "Rome, the
Tribune, and the People! - Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!"  Exposed to every
shaft and every sword by his emblematic diadem and his imperial robe, the
fierce Rienzi led on each assault, wielding an enormous battle-axe, for the
use of which the Italians were celebrated, and which he regarded as a
national weapon. Inspired by every darker and sterner instinct of his
nature, his blood heated, his passions aroused, fighting as a citizen for
liberty, as a monarch for his crown, his daring seemed to the astonished
foe as that of one frantic; his preservation that of one inspired: now
here, now there; wherever flagged his own, or failed the opposing, force,
glittered his white robe, and rose his bloody battle-axe; but his fury
seemed rather directed against the chiefs than the herd; and still where
his charger wheeled was heard his voice, "Where is a Colonna?" - "Defiance
to the Orsini!" - "Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!"  Three times was the sally
led from the gate; three times were the Romans beaten back; and on the
third, the gonfalon, borne before the Tribune, was cloven to the ground.
Then, for the first time, he seemed amazed and alarmed, and, raising his
eyes to heaven, he exclaimed, "O Lord, hast thou then forsaken me?"  With
that, taking heart, once more he waved his arm, and again led forward his
wild array.

At eve the battle ceased. Of the Barons who had been the main object of
the Tribune's assault, the pride and boast was broken. Of the princely
line of the Colonna, three lay dead. Giordano Orsini was mortally wounded;
the fierce Rinaldo had not shared the conflict. Of the Frangipani, the
haughtiest signors were no more; and Luca, the dastard head of the Savelli,
had long since saved himself by flight. On the other hand, the slaughter
of the citizens had been prodigious; - the ground was swamped with blood -
and over heaps of slain, (steeds and riders,) the twilight star beheld
Rienzi and the Romans returning victors from the pursuit. Shouts of
rejoicing followed the Tribune's panting steed through the arch; and just
as he entered the space within, crowds of those whose infirmities, sex, or
years, had not allowed them to share the conflict, - women, and children,
and drivelling age, mingled with the bare feet and dark robes of monks and
friars, apprised of the victory, were prepared to hail his triumph.

Rienzi reined his steed by the corpse of the boy Colonna, which lay half
immersed in a pool of water, and close by it, removed from the arch where
he had fallen, lay that of Gianni Colonna, - (that Gianni Colonna whose
spear had dismissed his brother's gentle spirit.)  He glanced over the
slain, as the melancholy Hesperus played upon the bloody pool and the gory
corselet, with a breast heaved with many emotions; and turning, he saw the
young Angelo, who, with some of Nina's guard, had repaired to the spot, and
had now approached the Tribune.

"Child," said Rienzi, pointing to the dead, "blessed art thou who hast no
blood of kindred to avenge! - to him who hath, sooner or later comes the
hour; and an awful hour it is!"

The words sank deep into Angelo's heart, and in after life became words of
fate to the speaker and the listener.

Ere Rienzi had well recovered himself, and as were heard around him the
shrieks of the widows and mothers of the slain - the groans of the dying -
the exhortations of the friars - mingled with sounds of joy and triumph - a
cry was raised by the women and stragglers on the battle-field without, of
"The foe! - the foe!"

"To your swords," cried the Tribune; "fall back in order; - yet they cannot
be so bold!"

The tramp of horses, the blast of a trumpet, were heard; and presently, at
full speed, some thirty horsemen dashed through the gate.

"Your bows," exclaimed the Tribune, advancing; - "yet hold - the leader is
unarmed - it is our own banner. By our Lady, it is our ambassador of
Naples, the Lord Adrian di Castello!"

Panting - breathless - covered with dust - Adrian halted at the pool red
with the blood of his kindred - and their pale faces, set in death, glared
upon him.

"Too late - alas! alas! - dread fate! - unhappy Rome!"

"They fell into the pit they themselves had digged," said the Tribune, in a
firm but hollow voice. - "Noble Adrian, would thy counsels had prevented
this!"

"Away, proud man - away!" said Adrian, impatiently waving his hand, - "thou
shouldst protect the lives of Romans, and - oh, Gianni! - Pietro! - could
not birth, renown, and thy green years, poor boy - could not these save
ye?"

"Pardon him, my friends," said the Tribune to the crowd, - "his grief is
natural, and he knows not all their guilt. - Back, I pray ye - leave him to
our ministering."

It might have fared ill for Adrian, but for the Tribune's brief speech.
And as the young Lord, dismounting, now bent over his kinsmen - the Tribune
also surrendering his charger to his squires, approached, and, despite
Adrian's reluctance and aversion, drew him aside, -

"Young friend," said he, mournfully, "my heart bleeds for you; yet bethink
thee, the wrath of the crowd is fresh upon them: be prudent."

"Prudent!"

"Hush - by my honour, these men were not worthy of your name. Twice
perjured - once assassins - twice rebels - listen to me!"

"Tribune, I ask no other construing of what I see - they might have died
justly, or been butchered foully. But there is no peace between the
executioner of my race and me."

"Will you, too, be forsworn? Thine oath! - Come, come, I hear not these
words. Be composed - retire - and if, three days hence, you impute any
other blame to me than that of unwise lenity, I absolve you from your oath,
and you are free to be my foe. The crowd gape and gaze upon us - a minute
more, and I may not avail to save you."

The feelings of the young patrician were such as utterly baffle
description. He had never been much amongst his house, nor ever received
more than common courtesy at their hands. But lineage is lineage still!
And there, in the fatal hazard of war, lay the tree and sapling, the prime
and hope of his race. He felt there was no answer to the Tribune, the very
place of their death proved they had fallen in an assault upon their
countrymen. He sympathised not with their cause, but their fate. And
rage, revenge alike forbidden - his heart was the more softened to the
shock and paralysis of grief. He did not therefore speak, but continued to
gaze upon the dead, while large and unheeded tears flowed down his cheeks,
and his attitude of dejection and sorrow was so moving, that the crowd, at
first indignant, now felt for his affliction. At length his mind seemed
made up. He turned to Rienzi, and said, falteringly, "Tribune, I blame you
not, nor accuse. If you have been rash in this, God will have blood for
blood. I wage no war with you - you say right, my oath prevents me; and if
you govern well, I can still remember that I am Roman. But - but - look to
that bleeding clay - we meet no more! - your sister - God be with her! -
between her and me flows a dark gulf!"  The young noble paused some
moments, choked by his emotions, and then continued, "These papers
discharge me of my mission. Standard-bearers, lay down the banner of the
Republic. Tribune, speak not - I would be calm - calm. And so farewell to
Rome."  With a hurried glance towards the dead, he sprung upon his steed,
and, followed by his train, vanished through the arch.

The Tribune had not attempted to detain him - had not interrupted him. He
felt that the young noble had thought - acted as became him best. He
followed him with his eyes.

"And thus," said he gloomily, "Fate plucks from me my noblest friend and my
justest counsellor - better man Rome never lost!"

Such is the eternal doom of disordered states. The mediator between rank
and rank, - the kindly noble - the dispassionate patriot - the first to act
- the most hailed in action - darkly vanishes from the scene. Fiercer and
more unscrupulous spirits alone stalk the field; and no neutral and
harmonizing link remains between hate and hate, - until exhaustion, sick
with horrors, succeeds to frenzy, and despotism is welcomed as repose!

Chapter 5.IV. The Hollowness of the Base.

The rapid and busy march of state events has led us long away from the
sister of the Tribune and the betrothed of Adrian. And the sweet thoughts
and gentle day-dreams of that fair and enamoured girl, however full to her
of an interest beyond all the storms and perils of ambition, are not so
readily adapted to narration: - their soft monotony a few words can paint.
They knew but one image, they tended to but one prospect. Shrinking from
the glare of her brother's court, and eclipsed, when she forced herself to
appear, by the more matured and dazzling beauty, and all-commanding
presence, of Nina, - to her the pomp and crowd seemed an unreal pageant,
from which she retired to the truth of life, - the hopes and musings of her
own heart. Poor girl! with all the soft and tender nature of her dead
brother, and none of the stern genius and the prodigal ambition, - the eye-
fatiguing ostentation and fervour of the living - she was but ill-fitted
for the unquiet but splendid region to which she was thus suddenly
transferred.

With all her affection for Rienzi, she could not conquer a certain fear
which, conjoined with the difference of sex and age, forbade her to be
communicative with him upon the subject most upon her heart.

As the absence of Adrian at the Neapolitan Court passed the anticipated
date, (for at no Court then, with a throne fiercely disputed, did the
Tribune require a nobler or more intelligent representative, - and
intrigues and counter-intrigues delayed his departure from week to week),
she grew uneasy and alarmed. Like many, themselves unseen, inactive, the
spectators of the scene, she saw involuntarily further into the time than
the deeper intellect either of the Tribune or Nina; and the dangerous
discontent of the nobles was visible and audible to her in looks and
whispers, which reached not acuter or more suspected ears and eyes.
Anxiously, restlessly, did she long for the return of Adrian, not from
selfish motives alone, but from well-founded apprehensions for her brother.
With Adrian di Castello, alike a noble and a patriot, each party had found
a mediator, and his presence grew daily more needed, till at length the
conspiracy of the Barons had broken out. From that hour she scarcely dared
to hope; her calm sense, unblinded by the high-wrought genius which, as too
often happens, made the Tribune see harsh realities through a false and
brilliant light, perceived that the Rubicon was passed; and through all the
events that followed she could behold but two images - danger to her
brother, separation from her betrothed.

With Nina alone could her full heart confer; for Nina, with all the
differences of character, was a woman who loved. And this united them. In
the earlier power of Rienzi, many of their happiest hours had been passed
together, remote from the gaudy crowd, alone and unrestrained, in the
summer nights, on the moonlit balconies, in that interchange of thought,
sympathy, and consolation, which to two impassioned and guileless women
makes the most interesting occupation and the most effectual solace. But
of late, this intercourse had been much marred. From the morning in which
the Barons had received their pardon, to that on which they had marched on
Rome, had been one succession of fierce excitements. Every face Irene saw
was clouded and overcast - all gaiety was suspended - bustling and anxious
councillors, or armed soldiers, had for days been the only visitors of the
palace. Rienzi had been seen but for short moments: his brow wrapt in
care. Nina had been more fond, more caressing than ever, but in those
caresses there seemed a mournful and ominous compassion. The attempts at
comfort and hope were succeeded by a sickly smile and broken words; and
Irene was prepared, by the presentiments of her own heart, for the stroke
that fell - victory was to her brother - his foe was crushed - Rome was
free - but the lofty house of the Colonnas had lost its stateliest props,
and Adrian was gone for ever! - She did not blame him; she could not blame
her brother; each had acted as became his several station. She was the
poor sacrifice of events and fate - the Iphigenia to the Winds which were
to bear the bark of Rome to the haven, or, it might be, to whelm it in the
abyss. She was stunned by the blow; she did not even weep or complain; she
bowed to the storm that swept over her, and it passed. For two days she
neither took food nor rest; she shut herself up; she asked only the boon of
solitude: but on the third morning she recovered as by a miracle, for on
the third morning, the following letter was left at the palace: -

"Irene, - Ere this you have learned my deep cause of grief; you feel that
to a Colonna Rome can no longer be a home, nor Rome's Tribune be a brother.
While I write these words honour but feebly supports me: all the hopes I
had formed, all the prospects I had pictured, all the love I bore and bear
thee, rush upon my heart, and I can only feel that I am wretched. Irene,
Irene, your sweet face rises before me, and in those beloved eyes I read
that I am forgiven, - I am understood; and dearly as I know thou lovest me,
thou wouldst rather I were lost to thee, rather I were in the grave with my
kinsmen, than know I lived the reproach of my order, the recreant of my
name. Ah! why was I a Colonna? why did Fortune make me noble, and nature
and circumstance attach me to the people? I am barred alike from love and
from revenge; all my revenge falls upon thee and me. Adored! we are
perhaps separated for ever; but, by all the happiness I have known by thy
side - by all the rapture of which I dreamed - by that delicious hour which
first gave thee to my gaze, when I watched the soft soul returning to thine
eyes and lip - by thy first blushing confession of love - by our first kiss
- by our last farewell - I swear to be faithful to thee to the last. None
other shall ever chase thine image from my heart. And now, when Hope seems
over, Faith becomes doubly sacred; and thou, my beautiful, wilt thou not
remember me? wilt thou not feel as if we were the betrothed of Heaven? In
the legends of the North we are told of the knight who, returning from the
Holy Land, found his mistress (believing his death) the bride of Heaven,
and he built a hermitage by the convent where she dwelt; and, though they
never saw each other more, their souls were faithful unto death. Even so,
Irene, be we to each other - dead to all else - betrothed in memory - to be
wedded above! And yet, yet ere I close, one hope dawns upon me. Thy
brother's career, bright and lofty, may be but as a falling star; should
darkness swallow it, should his power cease, should his throne be broken,
and Rome know no more her Tribune; shouldst thou no longer have a brother
in the judge and destroyer of my house; shouldst thou be stricken from pomp
and state; shouldst thou be friendless, kindredless, alone - then, without
a stain on mine honour, without the shame and odium of receiving power and
happiness from hands yet red with the blood of my race, I may claim thee as
my own. Honour ceases to command when thou ceasest to be great. I dare
not too fondly indulge this dream, perchance it is a sin in both. But it
must be whispered, that thou mayest know all thy Adrian, all his weakness
and his strength. My own loved, my ever loved, loved more fondly now when
loved despairingly, farewell! May angels heal thy sorrow, and guard me
from sin, that hereafter at least we may meet again!"

"He loves me - he loves me still!" said the maiden, weeping at last; "and I
am blest once more!"

With that letter pressed to her heart she recovered outwardly from the
depth of her affliction; she met her brother with a smile, and Nina with
embraces; and if still she pined and sorrowed, it was in that "concealment"
which is the "worm i' the bud."

Meanwhile, after the first flush of victory, lamentation succeeded to joy
in Rome; so great had been the slaughter that the private grief was large
enough to swallow up all public triumph; and many of the mourners blamed
even their defender for the swords of the assailant, "Roma fu terribilmente
vedovata."  ("Rome was terribly widowed.")  The numerous funerals deeply
affected the Tribune; and, in proportion to his sympathy with his people,
grew his stern indignation against the Barons. Like all men whose religion
is intense, passionate, and zealous, the Tribune had little toleration for
those crimes which went to the root of religion. Perjury was to him the
most base and inexpiable of offences, and the slain Barons had been twice
perjured: in the bitterness of his wrath he forbade their families for
some days to lament over their remains; and it was only in private and in
secret that he permitted them to be interred in their ancestral vaults: an
excess of vengeance which sullied his laurels, but which was scarcely
inconsistent with the stern patriotism of his character. Impatient to
finish what he had begun, anxious to march at once to Marino, where the
insurgents collected their shattered force, he summoned his Council, and
represented the certainty of victory, and its result in the complete
restoration of peace. But pay was due to the soldiery; they already
murmured; the treasury was emptied, it was necessary to fill it by raising
a new tax.

Among the councillors were some whose families had suffered grievously in
the battle - they lent a lukewarm attention to propositions of continued
strife. Others, among whom was Pandulfo, timid but well-meaning, aware
that grief and terror even of their own triumph had produced reaction
amongst the people, declared that they would not venture to propose a new
tax. A third party, headed by Baroncelli - a demagogue whose ambition was
without principle - but who, by pandering to the worst passions of the
populace, by a sturdy coarseness of nature with which they sympathised -
and by that affectation of advancing what we now term the "movement," which
often gives to the fiercest fool an advantage over the most prudent
statesman, had quietly acquired a great influence with the lower ranks -
offered a more bold opposition. They dared even to blame the proud Tribune
for the gorgeous extravagance they had themselves been the first to
recommend - and half insinuated sinister and treacherous motives in his
acquittal of the Barons from the accusation of Rodolf. In the very
Parliament which the Tribune had revived and remodelled for the support of
freedom - freedom was abandoned. His fiery eloquence met with a gloomy
silence, and finally, the votes were against his propositions for the new
tax and the march to Marino. Rienzi broke up the Council in haste and
disorder. As he left the hall, a letter was put into his hands; he read
it, and remained for some moments as one thunderstruck. He then summoned
the Captain of his Guards, and ordered a band of fifty horsemen to be
prepared for his commands; he repaired to Nina's apartment, he found her
alone, and stood for some moments gazing upon her so intently that she was
awed and chilled from all attempt at speech. At length he said, abruptly -

"We must part."

"Part!"

"Yes, Nina - your guard is preparing; you have relations, I have friends,
at Florence. Florence must be your home."

"Cola, - "

"Look not on me thus. - in power, in state, in safety - you were my
ornament and counsellor. Now you but embarrass me. And -"

"Oh, Cola, speak not thus! What hath chanced? Be not so cold - frown not
- turn not away! Am I not something more to thee, than the partner of
joyous hours - the minion of love? Am I not thy wife, Cola - not thy
leman?"

"Too dear - too dear to me," muttered the Tribune; "with thee by my side I
shall be but half a Roman. Nina, the base slaves whom I myself made free
desert me. - Now, in the very hour in which I might sweep away for ever all
obstacles to the regeneration of Rome - now, when one conquest points the
path to complete success - now when the land is visible, my fortune
suddenly leaves me in the midst of the seas! There is greater danger now
than in the rage of the Barons - the Barons are fled; it is the People who
are becoming traitors to Rome and to me."

"And wouldst thou have me traitor also! No, Cola; in death itself Nina
shall be beside thee. Life and honour are reflected but from thee, and the
stroke that slays the substance, shall destroy the humble shadow. I will
not part from thee."

"Nina," said the Tribune, contending with strong and convulsive emotion -
"it may be literally of death that you speak. - Go! leave one who can no
longer protect you or Rome!"

"Never - Never."

"You are resolved?"

"I am."

"Be it so," said the Tribune, with deep sadness in his tone. "Arm thyself
for the worst."

"There is no worst with thee, Cola!"

"Come to my arms, brave woman; thy words rebuke my weakness. But my
sister! - if I fall, you, Nina, will not survive - your beauty a prey to
the most lustful heart and the strongest hand. We will have the same tomb
on the wrecks of Roman liberty. But Irene is of weaker mould; poor child,
I have robbed her of a lover, and now - "

"You are right; let Irene go. And in truth we may well disguise from her
the real cause of her departure. Change of scene were best for her grief;
and under all circumstances would seem decorum to the curious. I will see
and prepare her."

"Do so, sweetheart. I would gladly be a moment alone with thought. But
remember, she must part today - our sands run low."

As the door closed on Nina, the Tribune took out the letter and again read
it deliberately. "So the Pope's Legate left Sienna: - prayed that Republic
to withdraw its auxiliary troops from Rome - proclaimed me a rebel and a
heretic; - thence repaired to Marino; - now in council with the Barons.
Why, have my dreams belied me, then - false as the waking things that
flatter and betray by day? In such peril will the people forsake me and
themselves? Army of saints and martyrs, shades of heroes and patriots,
have ye abandoned for ever your ancient home? No, no, I was not raised to
perish thus; I will defeat them yet - and leave my name a legacy to Rome; a
warning to the oppressor - an example to the free!"

Chapter 5.V. The Rottenness of the Edifice.

The kindly skill of Nina induced Irene to believe that it was but the
tender consideration of her brother to change a scene embittered by her own
thoughts, and in which the notoriety of her engagement with Adrian exposed
her to all that could mortify and embarrass, that led to the proposition of
her visit to Florence. Its suddenness was ascribed to the occasion of an
unexpected mission to Florence, (for a loan of arms and money,) which thus
gave her a safe and honoured escort. - Passively she submitted to what she
herself deemed a relief; and it was agreed that she should for a while be
the guest of a relation of Nina's, who was the abbess of one of the
wealthiest of the Florentine convents: the idea of monastic seclusion was
welcome to the bruised heart and wearied spirit.

But though not apprised of the immediate peril of Rienzi, it was with deep
sadness and gloomy forebodings that she returned his embrace and parting
blessing; and when at length alone in her litter, and beyond the gates of
Rome, she repented a departure to which the chance of danger gave the
appearance of desertion.

Meanwhile, as the declining day closed around the litter and its troop,
more turbulent actors in the drama demand our audience. The traders and
artisans of Rome at that time, and especially during the popular government
of Rienzi, held weekly meetings in each of the thirteen quarters of the
city. And in the most democratic of these, Cecco del Vecchio was an oracle
and leader. It was at that assembly, over which the smith presided, that
the murmurs that preceded the earthquake were heard.

"So," cried one of the company - Luigi, the goodly butcher, - "they say he
wanted to put a new tax on us; and that is the reason he broke up the
Council today, because, good men, they were honest, and had bowels for the
people: it is a shame and a sin that the treasury should be empty."

"I told him," said the smith, "to beware how he taxed the people. Poor men
won't be taxed. But as he does not follow my advice, he must take the
consequence - the horse runs from one hand, the halter remains in the
other."

"Take your advice, Cecco! I warrant me his stomach is too high for that
now. Why he is grown as proud as a pope."

"For all that, he is a great man," said one of the party. "He gave us laws
- he rid the Campagna of robbers - filled the streets with merchants, and
the shops with wares - defeated the boldest lords and fiercest soldiery of
Italy - "

"And now wants to tax the people! - that's all the thanks we get for
helping him," said the grumbling Cecco. "What would he have been without
us? - we that make, can unmake."

"But," continued the advocate, seeing that he had his supporters - "but
then he taxes us for our own liberties."

"Who strikes at them now?" asked the butcher.

"Why the Barons are daily mustering new strength at Marino."

"Marino is not Rome," said Luigi, the butcher. "Let's wait till they come
to our gates again - we know how to receive them. Though, for the matter
of that, I think we have had enough fighting - my two poor brothers had
each a stab too much for them. Why won't the Tribune, if he be a great
man, let us have peace? All we want now is quiet."

"Ah!" said a seller of horse-harness. "Let him make it up with the Barons.
They were good customers after all."

"For my part," said a merry-looking fellow, who had been a gravedigger in
bad times, and had now opened a stall of wares for the living, "I could
forgive him all, but bathing in the holy vase of porphyry."

"Ah, that was a bad job," said several, shaking their heads.

"And the knighthood was but a silly show, an' it were not for the wine from
the horse's nostrils - that had some sense in it."

"My masters," said Cecco, "the folly was in not beheading the Barons when
he had them all in the net; and so Messere Baroncelli says. (Ah,
Baroncelli is an honest man, and follows no half measures!")  It was a sort
of treason to the people not to do so. Why, but for that, we should never
have lost so many tall fellows by the gate of San Lorenzo."

"True, true, it was a shame; some say the Barons bought him."

"And then," said another, "those poor Lords Colonna - boy and man - they
were the best of the family, save the Castello. I vow I pitied them."

"But to the point," said one of the crowd, the richest of the set; "the tax
is the thing. - The ingratitude to tax us. - Let him dare to do it!"

"Oh, he will not dare, for I hear that the Pope's bristles are up at last;
so he will only have us to depend upon!"

The door was thrown open - a man rushed in open-mouthed -

"Masters, masters, the Pope's legate has arrived at Rome, and sent for the
Tribune, who has just left his presence."

Ere his auditors had recovered their surprise, the sound of trumpets made
them rush forth; they saw Rienzi sweep by with his usual cavalcade, and in
his proud array. The twilight was advancing, and torch-bearers preceded
his way. Upon his countenance was deep calm but it was not the calm of
contentment. He passed on, and the street was again desolate. Meanwhile
Rienzi reached the Capitol in silence, and mounted to the apartments of the
palace, where Nina, pale and breathless, awaited his return.

"Well, well, thou smilest! No - it is that dread smile, worse than frowns.
Speak, beloved, speak! What said the Cardinal?"

"Little thou wilt love to hear. He spoke at first high and solemnly, about
the crime of declaring the Romans free; next about the treason of asserting
that the election of the King of Rome was in the hands of the Romans."

"Well - thy answer."

"That which became Rome's Tribune: I re-asserted each right, and proved
it. The Cardinal passed to other charges."

"What?"

"The blood of the Barons by San Lorenzo - blood only shed in our own
defence against perjured assailants; this is in reality the main crime.
The Colonna have the Pope's ear. Furthermore, the sacrilege - yes, the
sacrilege (come laugh, Nina, laugh!) of bathing in a vase of porphyry used
by Constantine while yet a heathen."

"Can it be! What saidst thou?"

"I laughed. 'Cardinal,' quoth I, 'what was not too good for a heathen is
not too good for a Christian Catholic!'  And verily the sour Frenchman
looked as if I had smote him on the hip. When he had done, I asked him, in
my turn, 'Is it alleged against me that I have wronged one man in my
judgment-court?" - Silence. 'Is it said that I have broken one law of the
state?' - Silence. 'Is it even whispered that trade does not flourish -
that life is not safe - that abroad or at home the Roman name is not
honoured, to that point which no former rule can parallel?' - Silence.
'Then,' said I, 'Lord Cardinal, I demand thy thanks, not thy censure.'  The
Frenchman looked, and looked, and trembled, and shrunk, and then out he
spake. 'I have but one mission to fulfil, on the part of the Pontiff -
resign at once thy Tribuneship, or the Church inflicts upon thee its solemn
curse.'"

"How - how?" said Nina, turning very pale; "what is it that awaits thee?"

"Excommunication!"

This awful sentence, by which the spiritual arm had so often stricken down
the fiercest foe, came to Nina's ear as a knell. She covered her face with
her hands. Rienzi paced the room with rapid strides. "The curse!" he
muttered; "the Church's curse - for me - for ME!"

"Oh, Cola! didst thou not seek to pacify this stern - "

"Pacify! Death and dishonour! Pacify! 'Cardinal,' I said, and I felt his
soul shrivel at my gaze, 'my power I received from the people - to the
people alone I render it. For my soul, man's word cannot scathe it. Thou,
haughty priest, thou thyself art the accursed, if, puppet and tool of low
cabals and exiled tyrants, thou breathest but a breath in the name of the
Lord of Justice, for the cause of the oppressor, and against the rights of
the oppressed.'  With that I left him, and now - "

"Ay, now - now what will happen? Excommunication! In the metropolis of
the Church, too - the superstition of the people! Oh, Cola!"

"If," muttered Rienzi, "my conscience condemned me of one crime - if I had
stained my hands in one just man's blood - if I had broken one law I myself
had framed - if I had taken bribes, or wronged the poor, or scorned the
orphan, or shut my heart to the widow - then, then - but no! Lord, thou
wilt not desert me!"

"But man may!" thought Nina mournfully, as she perceived that one of
Rienzi's dark fits of fanatical and mystical revery was growing over him -
fits which he suffered no living eye, not even Nina's, to witness when they
gathered to their height. And now, indeed, after a short interval of
muttered soliloquy, in which his face worked so that the veins on his
temples swelled like cords, he abruptly left the room, and sought the
private oratory connected with his closet. Over the emotions there
indulged let us draw the veil. Who shall describe those awful and
mysterious moments, when man, with all his fiery passions, turbulent
thoughts, wild hopes, and despondent fears, demands the solitary audience
of his Maker?

It was long after this conference with Nina, and the midnight bell had long
tolled, when Rienzi stood alone, upon one of the balconies of the palace,
to cool, in the starry air, the fever that yet lingered on his exhausted
frame. The night was exceedingly calm, the air clear, but chill, for it
was now December. He gazed intently upon those solemn orbs to which our
wild credulity has referred the prophecies of our doom.

"Vain science!" thought the Tribune, "and gloomy fantasy, that man's fate
is pre-ordained - irrevocable - unchangeable, from the moment of his birth!
Yet, were the dream not baseless, fain would I know which of yon stately
lights is my natal star, - which images - which reflects - my career in
life, and the memory I shall leave in death."  As this thought crossed him,
and his gaze was still fixed above, he saw, as if made suddenly more
distinct than the stars around it, that rapid and fiery comet which in the
winter of 1347 dismayed the superstitions of those who recognised in the
stranger of the heavens the omen of disaster and of woe. He recoiled as it
met his eye, and muttered to himself, "Is such indeed my type! or, if the
legendary lore speak true, and these strange fires portend nations ruined
and rulers overthrown, does it foretell my fate? I will think no more."
(Alas! if by the Romans associated with the fall of Rienzi, that comet was
by the rest of Europe connected with the more dire calamity of the Great
Plague that so soon afterwards ensued.)  As his eyes fell, they rested upon
the colossal Lion of Basalt in the place below, the starlight investing its
grey and towering form with a more ghostly whiteness; and then it was, that
he perceived two figures in black robes lingering by the pedestal which
supported the statue, and apparently engaged in some occupation which he
could not guess. A fear shot through his veins, for he had never been able
to divest himself of the vague idea that there was some solemn and
appointed connexion between his fate and that old Lion of Basalt. Somewhat
relieved, he heard his sentry challenge the intruders; and as they came
forward to the light, he perceived that they wore the garments of monks.

"Molest us not, son," said one of them to the sentry. "By order of the
Legate of the Holy Father we affix to this public monument of justice and
of wrath, the bull of excommunication against a heretic and rebel. WOE TO
THE ACCURSED OF THE CHURCH!"

Chapter 5.VI. The Fall of the Temple.

It was as a thunderbolt in a serene day - the reverse of the Tribune in the
zenith of his power, in the abasement of his foe; when, with but a handful
of brave Romans, determined to be free, he might have crushed for ever the
antagonist power to the Roman liberties - have secured the rights of his
country, and filled up the measure of his own renown. Such a reverse was
the very mockery of Fate, who bore him through disaster, to abandon him in
the sunniest noon of his prosperity.

The next morning not a soul was to be seen in the streets; the shops were
shut - the churches closed; the city was as under an interdict. The awful
curse of the papal excommunication upon the chief magistrate of the
Pontifical City, seemed to freeze up all the arteries of life. The Legate
himself, affecting fear of his life, had fled to Monte Fiascone, where he
was joined by the Barons immediately after the publication of the edict.
The curse worked best in the absence of the execrator.

Towards evening a few persons might be seen traversing the broad space of
the Capitol, crossing themselves, as the bull, placarded on the Lion, met
their eyes, and disappearing within the doors of the great palace. By and
by, a few anxious groups collected in the streets, but they soon dispersed.
It was a paralysis of all intercourse and commune. That spiritual and
unarmed authority, which, like the invisible hand of God, desolated the
market-place, and humbled the crowned head, no physical force could rally
against or resist. Yet, through the universal awe, one conviction touched
the multitude - it was for them that their Tribune was thus blasted in the
midst of his glories! The words of the Brand recorded against him on wall
and column detailed his offences: - rebellion in asserting the liberties of
Rome - heresy in purifying ecclesiastical abuses; - and, to serve for a
miserable covert to the rest, it was sacrilege for bathing in the porphyry
vase of Constantine! They felt the conviction; they sighed - they
shuddered - and, in his vast palace, save a few attached and devoted
hearts, the Tribune was alone!

The staunchest of his Tuscan soldiery were gone with Irene. The rest of
his force, save a few remaining guards, was the paid Roman militia,
composed of citizens; who, long discontented by the delay of their
stipends, now seized on the excuse of the excommunication to remain
passive, but grumbling, in their homes.

On the third day, a new incident broke upon the death-like lethargy of the
city; a hundred and fifty mercenaries, with Pepin of Minorbino, a
Neapolitan, half noble, half bandit, (a creature of Montreal's) at their
head, entered the city, seized upon the fortresses of the Colonna, and sent
a herald through the city, proclaiming in the name of the Cardinal Legate,
the reward of ten thousand florins for the head of Cola di Rienzi.

Then, swelled on high, shrill but not inspiring as of old, the great bell
of the Capitol - the people, listless, disheartened, awed by the spiritual
fear of the papal authority, (yet greater, in such events, since the
removal of the see,) came unarmed to the Capitol; and there, by the Place
of the Lion, stood the Tribune. His squires, below the step, held his war-
horse, his helm, and the same battle-axe which had blazed in the van of
victorious war.

Beside him were a few of his guard, his attendants, and two or three of the
principal citizens.

He stood bareheaded and erect, gazing upon the abashed and unarmed crowd
with a look of bitter scorn, mingled with deep compassion; and, as the bell
ceased its toll, and the throng remained hushed and listening, he thus
spoke: -

"Ye come, then, once again! Come ye as slaves or freemen? A handful of
armed men are in your walls: will ye who chased from your gates the
haughtiest knights - the most practised battle-men of Rome, succumb now to
one hundred and fifty hirelings and strangers? Will ye arm for your
Tribune? You are silent! - be it so. Will you arm for your own liberties
- your own Rome? Silent still! By the saints that reign on the thrones of
the heathen gods! are ye thus fallen from your birthright? Have you no
arms for your own defence? Romans, hear me! Have I wronged you? - if so,
by your hands let me die: and then, with knives yet reeking with my blood,
go forward against the robber who is but the herald of your slavery; and I
die honoured, grateful, and avenged. You weep! Great God! you weep! Ay,
and I could weep, too - that I should live to speak of liberty in vain to
Romans - Weep! is this an hour for tears? Weep now, and your tears shall
ripen harvests of crime, and licence, and despotism, to come! Romans, arm!
follow me at once to the Place of the Colonna: expel this ruffian - expel
your enemy (no matter what afterwards you do to me):"  he paused; no ardour
was kindled by his words - "or," he continued, "I abandon you to your
fate."  There was a long, low, general murmur; at length it became shaped
into speech, and many voices cried simultaneously: "The Pope's bull! -
Thou art a man accursed!"

"What!" cried the Tribune; "and is it ye who forsake me, ye for whose cause
alone man dares to hurl against me the thunders of his God? Is it not for
you that I am declared heretic and rebel! What are my imputed crimes?
That I have made Rome and asserted Italy to be free; that I have subdued
the proud Magnates, who were the scourge both of Pope and People. And you
- you upbraid me with what I have dared and done for you! Men, with you I
would have fought, for you I would have perished. You forsake yourselves
in forsaking me, and since I no longer rule over brave men, I resign my
power to the tyrant you prefer. Seven months I have ruled over you,
prosperous in commerce, stainless in justice - victorious in the field: - I
have shown you what Rome could be; and, since I abdicate the government ye
gave me, when I am gone, strike for your own freedom! It matters nothing
who is the chief of a brave and great people. Prove that Rome hath many a
Rienzi, but of brighter fortunes."

"I would he had not sought to tax us," said Cecco del Vecchio, who was the
very personification of the vulgar feeling: "and that he had beheaded the
Barons!"

"Ay!" cried the ex-gravedigger; "but that blessed porphyry vase!"

"And why should we get our throats cut," said Luigi, the butcher, "like my
two brothers? - Heaven rest them!"

On the face of the general multitude there was a common expression of
irresolution and shame, many wept and groaned, none (save the aforesaid
grumblers) accused; none upbraided, but none seemed disposed to arm. It
was one of those listless panics, those strange fits of indifference and
lethargy which often seize upon a people who make liberty a matter of
impulse and caprice, to whom it has become a catchword, who have not long
enjoyed all its rational, and sound, and practical, and blessed results;
who have been affrayed by the storms that herald its dawn; - a people such
as is common to the south: such as even the north has known; such as, had
Cromwell lived a year longer, even England might have seen; and, indeed, in
some measure, such a reaction from popular enthusiasm to popular
indifference England did see, when her children madly surrendered the
fruits of a bloody war, without reserve, without foresight, to the lewd
pensioner of Louis, and the royal murderer of Sydney. To such prostration
of soul, such blindness of intellect, even the noblest people will be
subjected, when liberty, which should be the growth of ages, spreading its
roots through the strata of a thousand customs, is raised, the exotic of an
hour, and (like the Tree and Dryad of ancient fable) flourishes and withers
with the single spirit that protects it.

"Oh, Heaven, that I were a man!" exclaimed Angelo, who stood behind Rienzi.

"Hear him, hear the boy," cried the Tribune; "out of the mouths of babes
speaketh wisdom! He wishes that he were a man, as ye are men, that he
might do as ye should do. Mark me, - I ride with these faithful few
through the quarter of the Colonna, before the fortress of your foe. Three
times before that fortress shall my trumpets sound; if at the third blast
ye come not, armed as befits ye - I say not all, but three, but two, but
one hundred of ye - I break up my wand of office, and the world shall say
one hundred and fifty robbers quelled the soul of Rome, and crushed her
magistrate and her laws!"

With those words he descended the stairs, and mounted his charger; the
populace gave way in silence, and their Tribune and his slender train
passed slowly on, and gradually vanished from the view of the increasing
crowd.

The Romans remained on the place, and after a pause, the demagogue
Baroncelli, who saw an opening to his ambition, addressed them. Though not
an eloquent nor gifted man, he had the art of uttering the most popular
commonplaces. And he knew the weak side of his audience, in their vanity,
indolence, and arrogant pride.

"Look you, my masters," said he, leaping up to the Place of the Lion; "the
Tribune talks bravely - he always did - but the monkey used the cat for his
chestnuts; he wants to thrust your paws into the fire; you will not be so
silly as to let him. The saints bless us! but the Tribune, good man, gets
a palace and has banquets, and bathes in a porphyry vase; the more shame on
him! - in which San Sylvester christened the Emperor Constantine: all this
is worth fighting for; but you, my masters, what do you get except hard
blows, and a stare at a holyday spectacle? Why, if you beat these fellows,
you will have another tax on the wine: that will be your reward!"

"Hark!" cried Cecco, "there sounds the trumpet, - a pity he wanted to tax
us!"

"True," cried Baroncelli, "there sounds the trumpet; a silver trumpet, by
the Lord! Next week, if you help him out of the scrape, he'll have a
golden one. But go - why don't you move, my friends? - 'tis but one
hundred and fifty mercenaries. True, they are devils to fight, clad in
armour from top to toe; but what then? - if they do cut some four or five
hundred throats you'll beat them at last, and the Tribune will sup the
merrier."

"There sounds the second blast," said the butcher. "If my old mother had
not lost two of us already, 'tis odds, but I'd strike a blow for the bold
Tribune."

"You had better put more quicksilver in you," continued Baroncelli, "or you
will be too late. And what a pity that will be! - If you believe the
Tribune, he is the only man that can save Rome. What, you, the finest
people in the world - you, not able to save yourselves! - you, bound up
with one man - you, not able to dictate to the Colonna and Orsini! Why,
who beat the Barons at San Lorenzo? Was it not you? Ah! you got the
buffets, and the Tribune the moneta! Tush, my friends, let the man go; I
warrant there are plenty as good as he to be bought a cheaper bargain.
And, hark! there is the third blast; it is too late now!"

As the trumpet from the distance sent forth its long and melancholy note,
it was as the last warning of the parting genius of the place; and when
silence swallowed up the sound, a gloom fell over the whole assembly. They
began to regret, to repent, when regret and repentance availed no more.
The buffoonery of Baroncelli became suddenly displeasing; and the orator
had the mortification of seeing his audience disperse in all directions,
just as he was about to inform them what great things he himself could do
in their behalf.

Meanwhile the Tribune, passing unscathed through the dangerous quarter of
the enemy, who, dismayed at his approach, shrunk within their fortress,
proceeded to the Castle of St. Angelo, whither Nina had already preceded
him; and which he entered to find that proud lady with a smile for his
safety, - without a tear for his reverse.

Chapter 5.VII. The Successors of an Unsuccessful Revolution - Who is to
Blame - the Forsaken one or the Forsakers?

Cheerfully broke the winter sun over the streets of Rome, as the army of
the Barons swept along them. The Cardinal Legate at the head; the old
Colonna (no longer haughty and erect, but bowed, and broken-hearted at the
loss of his sons) at his right hand; - the sleek smile of Luca Savelli -
the black frown of Rinaldo Orsini, were seen close behind. A long but
barbarous array it was; made up chiefly of foreign hirelings; nor did the
procession resemble the return of exiled citizens, but the march of
invading foes.

"My Lord Colonna," said the Cardinal Legate, a small withered man, by birth
a Frenchman, and full of the bitterest prejudices against the Romans, who
had in a former mission very ill received him, as was their wont with
foreign ecclesiastics; "this Pepin, whom Montreal has deputed at your
orders, hath done us indeed good service."

The old Lord bowed, but made no answer. His strong intellect was already
broken, and there was dotage in his glassy eye. The Cardinal muttered, "He
hears me not; sorrow hath brought him to second childhood!" and looking
back, motioned to Luca Savelli to approach.

"Luca," said the Legate, "it was fortunate that the Hungarian's black
banner detained the Provencal at Aversa. Had he entered Rome, we might
have found Rienzi's successor worse than the Tribune himself. Montreal,"
he added, with a slight emphasis and a curled lip, "is a gentleman, and a
Frenchman. This Pepin, who is his delegate, we must bribe, or menace to
our will."

"Assuredly," answered Savelli, "it is not a difficult task: for Montreal
calculated on a more stubborn contest, which he himself would have found
leisure to close - "

"As Podesta, or Prince of Rome! the modest man! We Frenchmen have a due
sense of our own merits; but this sudden victory surprises him as it doth
us, Luca; and we shall wrest the prey from Pepin, ere Montreal can come to
his help! But Rienzi must die. He is still, I hear, shut up in St.
Angelo. The Orsini shall storm him there ere the day be much older. Today
we possess the Capitol - annul all the rebel's laws - break up his
ridiculous parliament, and put all the government of the city under three
senators - Rinaldo Orsini, Colonna, and myself; you, my Lord, I trust, we
shall fitly provide for."

"Oh! I am rewarded enough by returning to my palace; and a descent on the
Jewellers' quarter will soon build up its fortifications. Luca Savelli is
not an ambitious man. He wants but to live in peace."

The Cardinal smiled sourly, and took the turn towards the Capitol.

In the front space the usual gapers were assembled. "Make way! make way!
knaves!" cried the guards, trampling on either side the crowd, who,
accustomed to the sedate and courteous order of Rienzi's guard, fell back
too slowly for many of them to escape severe injury from the pikes of the
soldiers and the hoofs of the horses. Our friend, Luigi, the butcher, was
one of these, and the surliness of the Roman blood was past boiling heat
when he received in his ample stomach the blunt end of a German's pike.
"There, Roman," said the rude mercenary, in his barbarous attempt at
Italian, "make way for your betters; you have had enough crowds and shows
of late, in all conscience."

"Betters!" gulped out the poor butcher; "a Roman has no betters; and if I
had not lost two brothers by San Lorenzo, I would - "

"The dog is mutinous," said one of the followers of the Orsini, succeeding
the German who had passed on, "and talks of San Lorenzo!"

"Oh!" said another Orsinist, who rode abreast, "I remember him of old. He
was one of Rienzi's gang."

"Was he?" said the other, sternly; "then we cannot begin salutary examples
too soon;" and, offended at something swaggering and insolent in the
butcher's look, the Orsinist coolly thrust him through the heart with his
pike, and rode on over his body.

"Shame! Shame!"  "Murder! Murder!" cried the crowd: and they began to
press, in the passion of the moment, round the fierce guards.

The Legate heard the cry, and saw the rush: he turned pale. "The rascals
rebel again!" he faltered.

"No, your Eminence - no," said Luca; "but it may be as well to infuse a
wholesome terror; they are all unarmed; let me bid the guards disperse
them. A word will do it."

The Cardinal assented; the word was given; and, in a few minutes, the
soldiery, who still smarted under the vindictive memory of defeat from an
undisciplined multitude, scattered the crowd down the streets without
scruple or mercy - riding over some, spearing others - filling the air with
shrieks and yells, and strewing the ground with almost as many men as a few
days before would have sufficed to have guarded Rome, and preserved the
constitution! Through this wild, tumultuous scene, and over the bodies of
its victims, rode the Legate and his train, to receive in the Hall of the
Capitol the allegiance of the citizens, and to proclaim the return of the
oppressors.

As they dismounted at the stairs, a placard in large letters struck the eye
of the Legate. It was placed upon the pedestal of the Lion of Basalt,
covering the very place that had been occupied by the bull of
excommunication. The words were few, and ran thus:

"TREMBLE! RIENZI SHALL RETURN!"

"How! what means this mummery!" cried the Legate, trembling already, and
looking round to the nobles.

"Please your Eminence," said one of the councillors, who had come from the
Capitol to meet the Legate, "we saw it at daybreak, the ink yet moist, as
we entered the Hall. We deemed it best to leave it for your Eminence to
deal with."

"You deemed! Who are you, then?"

"One of the members of the Council, your Eminence, and a stanch opponent of
the Tribune, as is well known, when he wanted the new tax - "

"Council - trash! No more councils now! Order is restored at last. The
Orsini and the Colonna will look to you in future. Resist a tax, did you?
Well, that was right when proposed by a tyrant; but I warn you, friend, to
take care how you resist the tax we shall impose. Happy if your city can
buy its peace with the Church on any terms: - and his Holiness is short of
the florins."

The discomfited councillor shrank back.

"Tear off yon insolent placard. Nay, hold! fix over it our proclamation of
ten thousand florins for the heretic's head! Ten thousand? methinks that
is too much now - we will alter the cipher. Meanwhile Rinaldo Orsini, Lord
Senator, march thy soldiers to St. Angelo; let us see if the heretic can
stand a siege."

"It needs not, your Eminence," said the councillor, again officiously
bustling up; "St. Angelo is surrendered. The Tribune, his wife, and one
page, escaped last night, it is said, in disguise."

"Ha!" said the old Colonna, whose dulled sense had at length arrived at the
conclusion that something extraordinary arrested the progress of his
friends. "What is the matter? What is that placard? Will no one tell me
the words? My old eyes are dim."

As he uttered the questions, in the shrill and piercing treble of age, a
voice replied in a loud and deep tone - none knew whence it came; the crowd
was reduced to a few stragglers, chiefly friars in cowl and serge, whose
curiosity nought could daunt, and whose garb ensured them safety - the
soldiers closed the rear: a voice, I say, came, startling the colour from
many a cheek - in answer to the Colonna, saying:

"TREMBLE! RIENZI SHALL RETURN!"

BOOK VI. THE PLAGUE.

"Erano gli anni della fruttifera Incarnazione del Figliuolo di Dio al
numero pervenuti di mille trecento quarant'otto, quando nell' egregia citta
di Fiorenza oltre ad ogni altra Italica bellissima, pervenna la mortifera
pestilenza." - Boccaccio, "Introduzione al Decamerone".

"The years of the fructiferous incarnation of the Son of God had reached
the number of one thousand three hundred and forty-eight, when into the
illustrious city of Florence, beautiful beyond every other in Italy,
entered the death-fraught pestilence." - "Introduction to the Decameron".

Chapter 6.1. The Retreat of the Lover.

By the borders of one of the fairest lakes of Northern Italy stood the
favourite mansion of Adrian di Castello, to which in his softer and less
patriotic moments his imagination had often and fondly turned; and thither
the young nobleman, dismissing his more courtly and distinguished
companions in the Neapolitan embassy, retired after his ill-starred return
to Rome. Most of those thus dismissed joined the Barons; the young
Annibaldi, whose daring and ambitious nature had attached him strongly to
the Tribune, maintained a neutral ground; he betook himself to his castle
in the Campagna, and did not return to Rome till the expulsion of Rienzi.

The retreat of Irene's lover was one well fitted to feed his melancholy
reveries. Without being absolutely a fortress, it was sufficiently strong
to resist any assault of the mountain robbers or petty tyrants in the
vicinity; while, built by some former lord from the materials of the half-
ruined villas of the ancient Romans, its marbled columns and tesselated
pavements relieved with a wild grace the grey stone walls and massive
towers of feudal masonry. Rising from a green eminence gently sloping to
the lake, the stately pile cast its shadow far and dark over the beautiful
waters; by its side, from the high and wooded mountains on the background,
broke a waterfall, in irregular and sinuous course - now hid by the
foliage, now gleaming in the light, and collecting itself at last in a
broad basin - beside which a little fountain, inscribed with half-
obliterated letters, attested the departed elegance of the classic age -
some memento of lord and poet whose very names were lost; thence descending
through mosses and lichen, and odorous herbs, a brief, sheeted stream bore
its surplus into the lake. And there, amidst the sturdier and bolder
foliage of the North, grew, wild and picturesque, many a tree transplanted,
in ages back, from the sunnier East; not blighted nor stunted in that
golden clime, which fosters almost every produce of nature as with a
mother's care. The place was remote and solitary. The roads that
conducted to it from the distant towns were tangled, intricate,
mountainous, and beset by robbers. A few cottages, and a small convent, a
quarter of a league up the verdant margin, were the nearest habitations;
and, save by some occasional pilgrim or some bewildered traveller, the
loneliness of the mansion was rarely invaded. It was precisely the spot
which proffered rest to a man weary of the world, and indulged the memories
which grow in rank luxuriance over the wrecks of passion. And he whose
mind, at once gentle and self-dependent, can endure solitude, might have
ransacked all earth for a more fair and undisturbed retreat.

But not to such a solitude had the earlier dreams of Adrian dedicated the
place. Here had he thought - should one bright being have presided - here
should love have found its haven: and hither, when love at length admitted
of intrusion, hither might wealth and congenial culture have invited all
the gentler and better spirits which had begun to move over the troubled
face of Italy, promising a second and younger empire of poesy, and lore,
and art. To the graceful and romantic but somewhat pensive and inert,
temperament of the young noble, more adapted to calm and civilized than
stormy and barbarous times, ambition proffered no reward so grateful as
lettered leisure and intellectual repose. His youth coloured by the
influence of Petrarch, his manhood had dreamed of a happier Vaucluse not
untenanted by a Laura. The visions which had connected the scene with the
image of Irene made the place still haunted by her shade; and time and
absence only ministering to his impassioned meditations, deepened his
melancholy and increased his love.

In this lone retreat - which even in describing from memory, for these eyes
have seen, these feet have trodden, this heart yet yearneth for, the spot -
which even, I say, in thus describing, seems to me (and haply also to the
gentle reader) a grateful and welcome transit from the storms of action and
the vicissitudes of ambition, so long engrossing the narrative; - in this
lone retreat Adrian passed the winter, which visits with so mild a change
that intoxicating clime. The roar of the world without was borne but in
faint and indistinct murmurings to his ear. He learned only imperfectly,
and with many contradictions, the news which broke like a thunderbolt over
Italy, that the singular and aspiring man - himself a revolution - who had
excited the interest of all Europe, the brightest hopes of the
enthusiastic, the profusest adulation of the great, the deepest terror of
the despot, the wildest aspirations of all free spirits, had been suddenly
stricken from his state, his name branded and his head proscribed. This
event, which happened at the end of December, reached Adrian, through a
wandering pilgrim, at the commencement of March, somewhat more than two
months after the date; the March of that awful year 1348, which saw Europe,
and Italy especially, desolated by the direst pestilence which history has
recorded, accursed alike by the numbers and the celebrity of its victims,
and yet strangely connected with some not unpleasing images by the grace of
Boccaccio and the eloquence of Petrarch.

The pilgrim who informed Adrian of the revolution at Rome was unable to
give him any clue to the present fate of Rienzi or his family. It was only
known that the Tribune and his wife had escaped, none knew whither; many
guessed that they were already dead, victims to the numerous robbers who
immediately on the fall of the Tribune settled back to their former habits,
sparing neither age nor sex, wealth nor poverty. As all relating to the
ex-Tribune was matter of eager interest, the pilgrim had also learned that,
previous to the fall of Rienzi, his sister had left Rome, but it was not
known to what place she had been conveyed.

The news utterly roused Adrian from his dreaming life. Irene was then in
the condition his letter dared to picture - severed from her brother,
fallen from her rank, desolate and friendless. "Now," said the generous
and high-hearted lover, "she may be mine without a disgrace to my name.
Whatever Rienzi's faults, she is not implicated in them. Her hands are not
red with my kinsman's blood; nor can men say that Adrian di Castello allies
himself with a House whose power is built upon the ruins of the Colonnas.
The Colonna are restored - again triumphant - Rienzi is nothing - distress
and misfortune unite me at once to her on whom they fall!"

But how were these romantic resolutions to be executed - Irene's dwelling-
place unknown? He resolved himself to repair to Rome and make the
necessary inquiries: accordingly he summoned his retainers: - blithe
tidings to them, those of travel! The mail left the armoury - the banner
the hall - and after two days of animated bustle, the fountain by which
Adrian had passed so many hours of revery was haunted only by the birds of
the returning spring; and the nightly lamp no longer cast its solitary ray
from his turret chamber over the bosom of the deserted lake.

Chapter 6.II. The Seeker.

It was a bright, oppressive, sultry morning, when a solitary horseman was
seen winding that unequalled road, from whose height, amidst figtrees,
vines, and olives, the traveller beholds gradually break upon his gaze the
enchanting valley of the Arno, and the spires and domes of Florence. But
not with the traveller's customary eye of admiration and delight passed
that solitary horseman, and not upon the usual activity, and mirth, and
animation of the Tuscan life, broke that noon-day sun. All was silent,
void, and hushed; and even in the light of heaven there seemed a sicklied
and ghastly glare. The cottages by the road-side were some shut up and
closed, some open, but seemingly inmateless. The plough stood still, the
distaff plied not: horse and man had a dreary holiday. There was a darker
curse upon the land than the curse of Cain! Now and then a single figure,
usually clad in the gloomy robe of a friar, crossed the road, lifting
towards the traveller a livid and amazed stare, and then hurried on, and
vanished beneath some roof, whence issued a faint and dying moan, which but
for the exceeding stillness around could scarcely have pierced the
threshold. As the traveller neared the city, the scene became less
solitary, yet more dread. There might be seen carts and litters, thick
awnings wrapped closely round them, containing those who sought safety in
flight, forgetful that the Plague was everywhere! And while these gloomy
vehicles, conducted by horses, gaunt, shadowy skeletons, crawling heavily
along, passed by, like hearses of the dead, sometimes a cry burst the
silence in which they moved, and the traveller's steed started aside, as
some wretch, on whom the disease had broke forth, was dropped from the
vehicle by the selfish inhumanity of his comrades, and left to perish by
the way. Hard by the gate a waggon paused, and a man with a mask threw out
its contents in a green slimy ditch that bordered the road. These were
garments and robes of all kind and value; the broidered mantle of the
gallant, the hood and veil of my lady, and the rags of the peasant. While
glancing at the labour of the masker, the cavalier beheld a herd of swine,
gaunt and half famished, run to the spot in the hopes of food, and the
traveller shuddered to think what food they might have anticipated! But
ere he reached the gate, those of the animals that had been busiest rooting
at the infectious heap, dropped down dead amongst their fellows. (The same
spectacle greeted, and is recorded by, Boccaccio.)

"Ho, ho," said the masker, and his hollow voice sounded yet more hollow
through his vizard, - "comest thou here to die, stranger? See, thy brave
mantle of triple-pile and golden broidery will not save thee from the
gavocciolo. (The tumour that made the fatal symptom.)  Ride on, ride on; -
today fit morsel for thy lady's kiss, tomorrow too foul for the rat and
worm!"

Replying not to this hideous welcome, Adrian, for it was he, pursued his
way. The gates stood wide open: this was the most appalling sign of all,
for, at first, the most jealous precaution had been taken against the
ingress of strangers. Now all care, all foresight, all vigilance, were
vain. And thrice nine warders had died at that single post, and the
officers to appoint their successors were dead too! Law and Police, and
the Tribunals of Health, and the Boards of Safety, Death had stopped them
all! And the Plague killed art itself, social union, the harmony and
mechanism of civilization, as if they had been bone and flesh!

So, mute and solitary, went on the lover, in his quest of love, resolved to
find and to save his betrothed, and guided (that faithful and loyal
knight!) through the Wilderness of Horror by the blessed hope of that
strange passion, noblest of all when noble, basest of all when base! He
came into a broad and spacious square lined with palaces, the usual haunt
of the best and most graceful nobility of Italy. The stranger was alone
now, and the tramp of his gallant steed sounded ghastly and fearful in his
own ears, when just as he turned the corner of one of the streets that led
from it, he saw a woman steal forth with a child in her arms, while
another, yet in infancy clung to her robe. She held a large bunch of
flowers to her nostrils, (the fancied and favourite mode to prevent
infection), and muttered to the children, who were moaning with hunger, -
"Yes, yes, you shall have food! Plenty of food now for the stirring forth.
But oh, that stirring forth!" - and she peered about and round, lest any of
the diseased might be near.

"My friend," said he, "can you direct me to the convent of - "

"Away, man, away!" shrieked the woman.

"Alas!" said Adrian, with a mournful smile, "can you not see that I am not,
as yet, one to spread contagion?"

But the woman, unheeding him, fled on; when, after a few paces, she was
arrested by the child that clung to her.

"Mother, mother!" it cried, "I am sick - I cannot stir."

The woman halted, tore aside the child's robe, saw under the arm the fatal
tumour, and, deserting her own flesh, fled with a shriek along the square.
The shriek rang long in Adrian's ears, though not aware of the unnatural
cause; - the mother feared not for her infant, but herself. The voice of
Nature was no more heeded in that charnel city than it is in the tomb
itself! Adrian rode on at a brisker pace, and came at length before a
stately church; its doors were wide open, and he saw within a company of
monks (the church had no other worshippers, and they were masked) gathered
round the altar, and chanting the Miserere Domine; - the ministers of God,
in a city hitherto boasting the devoutest population in Italy, without a
flock!

The young Cavalier paused before the door, and waited till the service was
done, and the monks descended the steps into the street.

"Holy fathers," said he then, "may I pray your goodness to tell me my
nearest way to the convent Santa Maria de' Pazzi?"

"Son," said one of these featureless spectres, for so they seemed in their
shroud-like robes, and uncouth vizards, - "son, pass on your way, and God
be with you. Robbers or revellers may now fill the holy cloisters you
speak of. The abbess is dead; and many a sister sleeps with her. And the
nuns have fled from the contagion."

Adrian half fell from his horse, and, as he still remained rooted to the
spot, the dark procession swept on, hymning in solemn dirge through the
desolate street the monastic chaunt -

"By the Mother and the Son,
Death endured and mercy won:
Spare us, sinners though we be;
Miserere Domine!"

Recovering from his stupor, Adrian regained the brethren, and, as they
closed the burthen of their song, again accosted them.

"Holy fathers, dismiss me not thus. Perchance the one I seek may yet be
heard of at the convent. Tell me which way to shape my course."

"Disturb us not, son," said the monk who spoke before. "It is an ill omen
for thee to break thus upon the invocations of the ministers of Heaven."

"Pardon, pardon! I will do ample penance, pay many masses; but I seek a
dear friend - the way - the way - "

"To the right, till you gain the first bridge. Beyond the third bridge, on
the riverside, you will find the convent," said another monk, moved by the
earnestness of Adrian.

"Bless you, holy father," faltered forth the Cavalier, and spurred his
steed in the direction given. The friars heeded him not, but again resumed
their dirge. Mingled with the sound of his horse's hoofs on the clattering
pavement, came to the rider's ear the imploring line -

"Miserere Domine!"

Impatient, sick at heart, desperate, Adrian flew through the street at the
full speed of his horse. He passed the marketplace - it was empty as the
desert; - the gloomy and barricadoed streets, in which the countercries of
Guelf and Ghibeline had so often cheered on the Chivalry and Rank of
Florence. Now huddled together in vault and pit, lay Guelf and Ghibeline,
knightly spurs and beggar's crutch. To that silence the roar even of civil
strife would have been a blessing! The first bridge, the riverside, the
second, the third bridge, all were gained, and Adrian at last reined his
steed before the walls of the convent. He fastened his steed to the porch,
in which the door stood ajar, half torn from its hinges, traversed the
court, gained the opposite door that admitted to the main building, came to
the jealous grating, now no more a barrier from the profane world, and as
he there paused a moment to recover breath and nerve, wild laughter and
loud song, interrupted and mixed with oaths, startled his ear. He pushed
aside the grated door, entered, and, led by the sounds, came to the
refectory. In that meeting-place of the severe and mortified maids of
heaven, he now beheld gathered round the upper table, used of yore by the
abbess, a strange, disorderly, ruffian herd, who at first glance seemed
indeed of all ranks, for some wore serge, or even rags, others were tricked
out in all the bravery of satin and velvet, plume and mantle. But a second
glance sufficed to indicate that the companions were much of the same
degree, and that the finery of the more showy was but the spoil rent from
unguarded palaces or tenantless bazaars; for under plumed hats, looped with
jewels, were grim, unwashed, unshaven faces, over which hung the long locks
which the professed brethren of the sharp knife and hireling arm had just
begun to assume, serving them often instead of a mask. Amidst these savage
revellers were many women, young and middle-aged, foul and fair, and Adrian
piously shuddered to see amongst the loose robes and uncovered necks of the
professional harlots the saintly habit and beaded rosary of nuns. Flasks
of wine, ample viands, gold and silver vessels, mostly consecrated to holy
rites, strewed the board. As the young Roman paused spellbound at the
threshold, the man who acted as president of the revel, a huge, swarthy
ruffian, with a deep scar over his face, which, traversing the whole of the
left cheek and upper lip, gave his large features an aspect preternaturally
hideous, called out to him -

"Come in, man - come in! Why stand you there amazed and dumb? We are
hospitable revellers, and give all men welcome. Here are wine and women.
My Lord Bishop's wine and my Lady Abbess's women!

"Sing hey, sing ho, for the royal DEATH,
That scatters a host with a single breath;
That opens the prison to spoil the palace,
And rids honest necks from the hangman's malice.
  Here's a health to the Plague! Let the mighty ones dread,
The poor never lived till the wealthy were dead.
  A health to the Plague! May She ever as now
Loose the rogue from his chain and the nun from her vow:
To the gaoler a sword, to the captive a key,
Hurrah for Earth's Curse - 'tis a Blessing to me!"

Ere this fearful stave was concluded, Adrian, sensible that in such orgies
there was no chance of prosecuting his inquiries, left the desecrated
chamber and fled, scarcely drawing breath, so great was the terror that
seized him, till he stood once more in the court amidst the hot, sickly,
stagnant sunlight, that seemed a fit atmosphere for the scenes on which it
fell. He resolved, however, not to desert the place without making another
effort at inquiry; and while he stood without the court, musing and
doubtful, he saw a small chapel hard by, through whose long casement
gleamed faintly, and dimmed by the noon-day, the light of tapers. He
turned towards its porch, entered, and saw beside the sanctuary a single
nun kneeling in prayer. In the narrow aisle, upon a long table, (at either
end of which burned the tall dismal tapers whose rays had attracted him,)
the drapery of several shrouds showed him the half-distinct outline of
human figures hushed in death. Adrian himself, impressed by the sadness
and sanctity of the place, and the touching sight of that solitary and
unselfish watcher of the dead, knelt down and intensely prayed.

As he rose, somewhat relieved from the burthen at his heart, the nun rose
also, and started to perceive him.

"Unhappy man!" said she, in a voice which, low, faint, and solemn, sounded
as a ghost's - "what fatality brings thee hither? Seest thou not thou art
in the presence of clay which the Plague hath touched - thou breathest the
air which destroys! Hence! and search throughout all the desolation for
one spot where the Dark Visitor hath not come!"

"Holy maiden," answered Adrian, "the danger you hazard does not appal me; -
I seek one whose life is dearer than my own."

"Thou needest say no more to tell me thou art newly come to Florence! Here
son forsakes his father, and mother deserts her child. When life is most
hopeless, these worms of a day cling to it as if it were the salvation of
immortality! But for me alone, death has no horror. Long severed from the
world, I have seen my sisterhood perish - the house of God desecrated - its
altar overthrown, and I care not to survive, - the last whom the Pestilence
leaves at once unperjured and alive."

The nun paused a few moments, and then, looking earnestly at the healthful
countenance and unbroken frame of Adrian, sighed heavily - "Stranger, why
fly you not?" she said. "Thou mightst as well search the crowded vaults
and rotten corruption of the dead, as search the city for one living."

"Sister, and bride of the blessed Redeemer!" returned the Roman, clasping
his hands - "one word I implore thee. Thou art, methinks, of the
sisterhood of yon dismantled convent; tell me, knowest thou if Irene di
Gabrini, (The family name of Rienzi was Gabrini.) - guest of the late
Abbess, sister of the fallen Tribune of Rome, - be yet amongst the living?"

"Art thou her brother, then?" said the nun. "Art thou that fallen Sun of
the Morning?"

"I am her betrothed," replied Adrian, sadly. "Speak."

"Oh, flesh! flesh! how art thou victor to the last, even amidst the
triumphs and in the lazar-house of corruption!" said the nun. "Vain man!
Think not of such carnal ties; make thy peace with heaven, for thy days are
surely numbered!"

"Woman!" cried Adrian, impatiently - "talk not to me of myself, nor rail
against ties whose holiness thou canst not know. I ask thee again, as thou
thyself hopest for mercy and for pardon, is Irene living?"

The nun was awed by the energy of the young lover, and after a moment,
which seemed to him an age of agonized suspense, she replied -

"The maiden thou speakest of died not with the general death. In the
dispersion of the few remaining, she left the convent - I know not whither;
but she had friends in Florence - their names I cannot tell thee."

"Now bless thee, holy sister! bless thee! How long since she left the
convent?"

"Four days have passed since the robber and the harlot have seized the
house of Santa Maria," replied the nun, groaning: "and they were quick
successors to the sisterhood."

"Four days! - and thou canst give me no clue?"

"None - yet stay, young man!" - and the nun, approaching, lowered her voice
to a hissing whisper - "Ask the Becchini."  (According to the usual custom
of Florence, the dead were borne to their resting-place on biers, supported
by citizens of equal rank; but a new trade was created by the plague, and
men of the lowest dregs of the populace, bribed by immense payment,
discharged the office of transporting the remains of the victims. These
were called Becchini.)

Adrian started aside, crossed himself hastily, and quitted the convent
without answer. He returned to his horse, and rode back into the silenced
heart of the city. Tavern and hotel there were no more; but the palaces of
dead princes were free to the living stranger. He entered one - a spacious
and splendid mansion. In the stables he found forage still in the manger;
but the horses, at that time in the Italian cities a proof of rank as well
as wealth, were gone with the hands that fed them. The highborn Knight
assumed the office of groom, took off the heavy harness, fastened his steed
to the rack, and as the wearied animal, unconscious of the surrounding
horrors, fell eagerly upon its meal, its young lord turned away, and
muttered, "Faithful servant, and sole companion! may the pestilence that
spareth neither beast nor man, spare thee! and mayst thou bear me hence
with a lighter heart!"

A spacious hall, hung with arms and banners - a wide flight of marble
stairs, whose walls were painted in the stiff outlines and gorgeous colours
of the day, conducted to vast chambers, hung with velvets and cloth of
gold, but silent as the tomb. He threw himself upon the cushions which
were piled in the centre of the room, for he had ridden far that morning,
and for many days before, and he was wearied and exhausted, body and limb;
but he could not rest. Impatience, anxiety, hope, and fear, gnawed his
heart and fevered his veins, and, after a brief and unsatisfactory attempt
to sober his own thoughts, and devise some plan of search more certain than
that which chance might afford him, he rose, and traversed the apartments,
in the unacknowledged hope which chance alone could suggest.

It was easy to see that he had made his resting-place in the home of one of
the princes of the land; and the splendour of all around him far outshone
the barbarous and rude magnificence of the less civilized and wealthy
Romans. Here, lay the lute as last touched - the gilded and illumined
volume as last conned; there, were seats drawn familiarly together, as when
lady and gallant had interchanged whispers last.

"And such," thought Adrian, - "such desolation may soon swallow up the
vestige of the unwelcomed guest, as of the vanished lord!"

At length he entered a saloon, in which was a table still spread with wine-
flasks, goblets of glass, and one of silver, withered flowers, half-mouldy
fruits, and viands. At one side the arras, folding-doors opened to a broad
flight of stairs, that descended to a little garden at the back of the
house, in which a fountain still played sparkling and livingly - the only
thing, save the stranger, living there! On the steps lay a crimson mantle,
and by it a lady's glove. The relics seemed to speak to the lover's heart
of a lover's last wooing and last farewell. He groaned aloud, and feeling
he should have need of all his strength, filled one of the goblets from a
half-emptied flask of Cyprus wine. He drained the draught - it revived
him. "Now," he said, "once more to my task! - I will sally forth," when
suddenly he heard heavy steps along the rooms he had quitted - they
approached - they entered; and Adrian beheld two huge and ill-omened forms
stalk into the chamber. They were wrapped in black homely draperies, their
arms were bare, and they wore large shapeless masks, which descended to the
breast, leaving only access to sight and breath in three small and circular
apertures. The Colonna half drew his sword, for the forms and aspects of
these visitors were not such as men think to look upon in safety.

"Oh!" said one, "the palace has a new guest today. Fear us not, stranger;
there is room, - ay, and wealth enough for all men now in Florence! Per
Bacco! but there is still one goblet of silver left - how comes that?"  So
saying, the man seized the cup which Adrian had just drained, and thrust it
into his breast. He then turned to Adrian, whose hand was still upon his
hilt, and said, with a laugh which came choked and muffled through his
vizard - "Oh, we cut no throats, Signor; the Invisible spares us that
trouble. We are honest men, state officers, and come but to see if the
cart should halt here tonight."

"Ye are then - "

"Becchini!"

Adrian's blood ran cold. The Becchino continued - "And keep you this house
while you rest at Florence, Signor?"

"Yes, if the rightful lord claim it not."

"Ha! ha! 'Rightful lord!'  The plague is Lord of all now! Why, I have
known three gallant companies tenant this palace the last week, and have
buried them all - all! It is a pleasant house enough, and gives good
custom. Are you alone?"

"At present, yes."

"Shew us where you sleep, that we may know where to come for you. You
won't want us these three days, I see."

"Ye are pleasant welcomers!" said Adrian; - "but listen to me. Can ye find
the living as well as bury the dead? I seek one in this city who, if you
discover her, shall be worth to you a year of burials!"

"No, no! that is out of our line. As well look for a dropped sand on the
beach, as for a living being amongst closed houses and yawning vaults; but
if you will pay the poor gravediggers beforehand, I promise you, you shall
have the first of a new charnel-house; - it will be finished just about
your time."

"There!" said Adrian, flinging the wretches a few pieces of gold - "there!
and if you would do me a kinder service, leave me, at least while living;
or I may save you that trouble."  And he turned from the room.

The Becchino who had been spokesman followed him. "You are generous,
Signor, stay; you will want fresher food than these filthy fragments. I
will supply thee of the best, while - while thou wantest it. And hark, -
whom wishest thou that I should seek?"

This question arrested Adrian's departure. He detailed the name, and all
the particulars he could suggest of Irene; and, with sickened heart,
described the hair, features, and stature of that lovely and hallowed
image, which might furnish a theme to the poet, and now gave a clue to the
gravedigger.

The unhallowed apparition shook his head when Adrian had concluded. "Full
five hundred such descriptions did I hear in the first days of the Plague,
when there were still such things as mistress and lover; but it is a dainty
catalogue, Signor, and it will be a pride to the poor Becchino to discover
or even to bury so many charms! I will do my best; meanwhile, I can
recommend you, if in a hurry, to make the best use of your time, to many a
pretty face and comely shape - "

"Out, fiend!" muttered Adrian: "fool to waste time with such as thou!"

The laugh of the gravedigger followed his steps.

All that day did Adrian wander through the city, but search and question
were alike unavailing; all whom he encountered and interrogated seemed to
regard him as a madman, and these were indeed of no kind likely to advance
his object. Wild troops of disordered, drunken revellers, processions of
monks, or here and there, scattered individuals gliding rapidly along, and
shunning all approach or speech, made the only haunters of the dismal
streets, till the sun sunk, lurid and yellow, behind the hills, and
Darkness closed around the noiseless pathway of the Pestilence.

Chapter 6.III. The Flowers Amidst the Tombs.

Adrian found that the Becchino had taken care that famine should not
forestall the plague; the banquet of the dead was removed, and fresh viands
and wines of all kinds, - for there was plenty then in Florence! - spread
the table. He partook of the refreshment, though but sparingly, and
shrinking from repose in beds beneath whose gorgeous hangings Death had
been so lately busy, carefully closed door and window, wrapped himself in
his mantle, and found his resting-place on the cushions of the chamber in
which he had supped. Fatigue cast him into an unquiet slumber, from which
he was suddenly awakened by the roll of a cart below, and the jingle of
bells. He listened, as the cart proceeded slowly from door to door, and at
length its sound died away in the distance. - He slept no more that night!

The sun had not long risen ere he renewed his labours; and it was yet early
when, just as he passed a church, two ladies richly dressed came from the
porch, and seemed through their vizards to regard the young Cavalier with
earnest attention. The gaze arrested him also, when one of the ladies
said, "Fair sir, you are overbold: you wear no mask; neither do you smell
to flowers."

"Lady, I wear no mask, for I would be seen: I search these miserable
places for one in whose life I live."

"He is young, comely, evidently noble, and the plague hath not touched him:
he will serve our purpose well," whispered one of the ladies to the other.

"You echo my own thoughts," returned her companion; and then turning to
Adrian, she said, "You seek one you are not wedded to, if you seek so
fondly?"

"It is true."

"Young and fair, with dark hair and neck of snow; I will conduct you to
her."

"Signor!"

"Follow us!"

"Know you who I am, and whom I seek?"

"Yes."

"Can you in truth tell me aught of Irene?"

"I can: follow me."

"To her?"

"Yes, yes: follow us!"

The ladies moved on as if impatient of further parley. Amazed, doubtful,
and, as if in a dream, Adrian followed them. Their dress, manner, and the
pure Tuscan of the one who had addressed him, indicated them of birth and
station; but all else was a riddle which he could not solve.

They arrived at one of the bridges, where a litter and a servant on
horseback holding a palfrey by the bridle were in attendance. The ladies
entered the litter, and she who had before spoken bade Adrian follow on the
palfrey.

"But tell me - " he began.

"No questions, Cavalier," said she, impatiently; "follow the living in
silence, or remain with the dead, as you list."

With that the litter proceeded, and Adrian mounted the palfrey wonderingly,
and followed his strange conductors, who moved on at a tolerably brisk
pace. They crossed the bridge, left the river on one side, and, soon
ascending a gentle acclivity, the trees and flowers of the country began to
succeed dull walls and empty streets. After proceeding thus somewhat less
than half an hour, they turned up a green lane remote from the road, and
came suddenly upon the porticoes of a fair and stately palace. Here the
ladies descended from their litter; and Adrian, who had vainly sought to
extract speech from the attendant, also dismounted, and following them
across a spacious court, filled on either side with vases of flowers and
orange-trees, and then through a wide hall in the farther side of the
quadrangle, found himself in one of the loveliest spots eye ever saw or
poet ever sung. It was a garden plot of the most emerald verdure, bosquets
of laurel and of myrtle opened on either side into vistas half overhung
with clematis and rose, through whose arcades the prospect closed with
statues and gushing fountains; in front, the lawn was bounded by rows of
vases on marble pedestals filled with flowers, and broad and gradual
flights of steps of the whitest marble led from terrace to terrace, each
adorned with statues and fountains, half way down a high but softly sloping
and verdant hill. Beyond, spread in wide, various, and luxurious
landscape, the vineyards and olive-groves, the villas and villages, of the
Vale of Arno, intersected by the silver river, while the city, in all its
calm, but without its horror, raised its roofs and spires to the sun.
Birds of every hue and song, some free, some in net-work of golden wire,
warbled round; and upon the centre of the sward reclined four ladies
unmasked and richly dressed, the eldest of whom seemed scarcely more than
twenty; and five cavaliers, young and handsome, whose jewelled vests and
golden chains attested their degree. Wines and fruits were on a low table
beside; and musical instruments, chess-boards, and gammon-tables, lay
scattered all about. So fair a group, and so graceful a scene, Adrian
never beheld but once, and that was in the midst of the ghastly pestilence
of Italy! - such group and such scene our closet indolence may yet revive
in the pages of the bright Boccaccio!

On seeing Adrian and his companions approach, the party rose instantly; and
one of the ladies, who wore upon her head a wreath of laurel-leaves,
stepping before the rest, exclaimed, "well done, my Mariana! welcome back,
my fair subjects. And you, sir, welcome hither."

The two guides of the Colonna had by this time removed their masks; and the
one who had accosted him, shaking her long and raven ringlets over a
bright, laughing eye and a cheek to whose native olive now rose a slight
blush, turned to him ere he could reply to the welcome he had received.

"Signor Cavalier," said she, "you now see to what I have decoyed you. Own
that this is pleasanter than the sights and sounds of the city we have
left. You gaze on me in surprise. See, my Queen, how speechless the
marvel of your court has made our new gallant; I assure you he could talk
quickly enough when he had only us to confer with: nay, I was forced to
impose silence on him."

"Oh! then you have not yet informed him of the custom and origin of the
court he enters!" quoth she of the laurel wreath.

"No, my Queen; I thought all description given in such a spot as our poor
Florence now is would fail of its object. My task is done, I resign him to
your Grace!"

So saying the lady tripped lightly away, and began coquettishly sleeking
her locks in the smooth mirror of a marble basin, whose waters trickled
over the margin upon the grass below, ever and anon glancing archly towards
the stranger, and sufficiently at hand to overhear all that was said.

"In the first place, Signor, permit us to inquire," said the lady who bore
the appellation of Queen, "thy name, rank, and birth-place."

"Madam," returned Adrian, "I came hither little dreaming to answer
questions respecting myself; but what it pleases you to ask, it must please
me to reply to. My name is Adrian di Castello, one of the Roman house of
the Colonna."

"A noble column of a noble house!" answered the Queen. "For us, respecting
whom your curiosity may perhaps be aroused, know that we six ladies of
Florence, deserted by or deprived of our kin and protectors, formed the
resolution to retire to this palace, where, if death comes, it comes
stripped of half its horrors; and as the learned tell us that sadness
engenders the awful malady, so you see us sworn foes to sadness. Six
cavaliers of our acquaintance agreed to join us. We pass our days, whether
many or few, in whatever diversions we can find or invent. Music and the
dance, merry tales and lively songs, with such slight change of scene as
from sward to shade, from alley to fountain, fill up our time, and prepare
us for peaceful sleep and happy dreams. Each lady is by turns Queen of our
fairy court, as is my lot this day. One law forms the code of our
constitution - that nothing sad shall be admitted. We would live as if
yonder city were not, and as if (added the fair Queen, with a slight sigh)
youth, grace, and beauty, could endure for ever. One of our knights madly
left us for a day, promising to return; we have seen him no more; we will
not guess what hath chanced to him. It became necessary to fill up his
place; we drew lots who should seek his substitute; it fell upon the ladies
who have - not, I trust, to your displeasure - brought you hither. Fair
sir, my explanation is made."

"Alas, lovely Queen," said Adrian, wrestling strongly, but vainly, with the
bitter disappointment he felt - "I cannot be one of your happy circle; I am
in myself a violation of your law. I am filled with but one sad and
anxious thought, to which all mirth would seem impiety. I am a seeker
amongst the living and the dead for one being of whose fate I am uncertain;
and it was only by the words that fell from my fair conductor, that I have
been decoyed hither from my mournful task. Suffer me, gracious lady, to
return to Florence."

The Queen looked in mute vexation towards the dark-eyed Mariana, who
returned the glance by one equally expressive, and then suddenly stepping
up to Adrian she said, -

"But, Signor, if I should still keep my promise, if I should be able to
satisfy thee of the health and safety of - of Irene."

"Irene!" echoed Adrian in surprise, forgetful at the moment that he had
before revealed the name of her he sought - "Irene - Irene di Gabrini,
sister of the once renowned Rienzi!"

"The same," replied Mariana, quickly; "I know her, as I told you. Nay,
Signor, I do not deceive thee. It is true that I cannot bring thee to her;
but better as it is, - she went away many days ago to one of the towns of
Lombardy, which, they say, the Pestilence has not yet pierced. Now, noble
sir, is not your heart lightened? and will you so soon be a deserter from
the Court of Loveliness; and perhaps," she added, with a soft look from her
large dark eyes, "of Love?"

"Dare I, in truth, believe you, Lady?" said Adrian, all delighted, yet
still half doubting.

"Would I deceive a true lover, as methinks you are? Be assured. Nay,
Queen, receive your subject."

The Queen extended her hand to Adrian, and led him to the group that still
stood on the grass at a little distance. They welcomed him as a brother,
and soon forgave his abstracted courtesies, in compliment to his good mien
and illustrious name.

The Queen clapped her hands, and the party again ranged themselves on the
sward. Each lady beside each gallant. "You, Mariana, if not fatigued,"
said the Queen, "shall take the lute and silence these noisy grasshoppers,
which chirp about us with as much pretension as if they were nightingales.
Sing, sweet subject, sing; and let it be the song our dear friend, Signor
Visdomini, (I know not if this be the same Visdomini who, three years
afterwards, with one of the Medici, conducted so gallant a reinforcement to
Scarperia, then besieged by Visconti d'Oleggio.) made for a kind of
inaugural anthem to such as we admitted to our court."

Mariana, who had reclined herself by the side of Adrian, took up the lute,
and, after a short prelude, sung the words thus imperfectly translated: -

The Song of the Florentine Lady.

Enjoy the more the smiles of noon
  If doubtful be the morrow;
And know the Fort of Life is soon
  Betray'd to Death by Sorrow!

Death claims us all - then, Grief, away!
  We'll own no meaner master;
The clouds that darken round the day
  But bring the night the faster.

Love - feast - be merry while on earth,
  Such, Grave, should be thy moral!
Ev'n Death himself is friends with Mirth,
  And veils the tomb with laurel.
(At that time, in Italy, the laurel was frequently planted over the dead.)

While gazing on the eyes I love,
  New life to mine is given -
If joy the lot of saints above,
  Joy fits us best for Heaven.

To this song, which was much applauded, succeeded those light and witty
tales in which the Italian novelists furnished Voltaire and Marmontel with
a model - each, in his or her turn, taking up the discourse, and with an
equal dexterity avoiding every lugubrious image or mournful reflection that
might remind those graceful idlers of the vicinity of Death. At any other
time the temper and accomplishments of the young Lord di Castello would
have fitted him to enjoy and to shine in that Arcadian court. But now he
in vain sought to dispel the gloom from his brow, and the anxious thought
from his heart. He revolved the intelligence he had received, wondered,
guessed, hoped, and dreaded still; and if for a moment his mind returned to
the scene about him, his nature, too truly poetical for the false sentiment
of the place, asked itself in what, save the polished exterior and the
graceful circumstance, the mirth that he now so reluctantly witnessed
differed from the brutal revels in the convent of Santa Maria - each alike
in its motive, though so differing in the manner - equally callous and
equally selfish, coining horror into enjoyment. The fair Mariana, whose
partner had been reft from her, as the Queen had related, was in no mind to
lose the new one she had gained. She pressed upon him from time to time
the wine-flask and the fruits; and in those unmeaning courtesies her hand
gently lingered upon his. At length, the hour arrived when the companions
retired to the Palace, during the fiercer heats of noon - to come forth
again in the declining sun, to sup by the side of the fountain, to dance,
to sing, and to make merry by torchlight and the stars till the hour of
rest. But Adrian, not willing to continue the entertainment, no sooner
found himself in the apartment to which he was conducted, than he resolved
to effect a silent escape, as under all circumstances the shortest, and not
perhaps the least courteous, farewell left to him. Accordingly, when all
seemed quiet and hushed in the repose common to the inhabitants of the
South during that hour, he left his apartment, descended the stairs, passed
the outer court, and was already at the gate, when he heard himself called
by a voice that spoke vexation and alarm. He turned to behold Mariana.

"Why, how now, Signor di Castello, is our company so unpleasing, is our
music so jarring, or are our brows so wrinkled, that you should fly as the
traveller flies from the witches he surprises at Benevento? Nay, you
cannot mean to leave us yet?"

"Fair dame," returned the cavalier, somewhat disconcerted, "it is in vain
that I seek to rally my mournful spirits, or to fit myself for the court to
which nothing sad should come. Your laws hang about me like a culprit -
better timely flight than harsh expulsion."

As he spoke he moved on, and would have passed the gate, but Mariana caught
his arm.

"Nay," said she, softly; "are there no eyes of dark light, and no neck of
wintry snow, that can compensate to thee for the absent one? Tarry and
forget, as doubtless in absence even thou art forgotten!"

"Lady," answered Adrian, with great gravity, not unmixed with an ill-
suppressed disdain, "I have not sojourned long enough amidst the sights and
sounds of woe, to blunt my heart and spirit into callousness to all around.
Enjoy, if thou canst, and gather the rank roses of the sepulchre; but to
me, haunted still by funeral images, Beauty fails to bring delight, and
Love, - even holy love - seems darkened by the Shadow of Death. Pardon me,
and farewell."

"Go, then," said the Florentine, stung and enraged at his coldness; "go and
find your mistress amidst the associations on which it pleases your
philosophy to dwell. I did but deceive thee, blind fool! as I had hoped
for thine own good, when I told thee Irene - (was that her name?) - was
gone from Florence. Of her I know nought, and heard nought, save from
thee. Go back and search the vault, and see whether thou lovest her
still!"

Chapter 6.IV. We Obtain What We Seek, and Know it Not.

In the fiercest heat of the day, and on foot, Adrian returned to Florence.
As he approached the city, all that festive and gallant scene he had
quitted seemed to him like a dream; a vision of the gardens and bowers of
an enchantress, from which he woke abruptly as a criminal may wake on the
morning of his doom to see the scaffold and the deathsman; - so much did
each silent and lonely step into the funeral city bring back his bewildered
thoughts at once to life and to death. The parting words of Mariana
sounded like a knell at his heart. And now as he passed on - the heat of
the day, the lurid atmosphere, long fatigue, alternate exhaustion and
excitement, combining with the sickness of disappointment, the fretting
consciousness of precious moments irretrievably lost, and his utter despair
of forming any systematic mode of search - fever began rapidly to burn
through his veins. His temples felt oppressed as with the weight of a
mountain; his lips parched with intolerable thirst; his strength seemed
suddenly to desert him; and it was with pain and labour that he dragged one
languid limb after the other.

"I feel it," thought he, with the loathing nausea and shivering dread with
which nature struggles ever against death; "I feel it upon me - the
Devouring and the Viewless - I shall perish, and without saving her; nor
shall even one grave contain us!"

But these thoughts served rapidly to augment the disease which began to
prey upon him; and ere he reached the interior of the city, even thought
itself forsook him. The images of men and houses grew indistinct and
shadowy before his eyes; the burning pavement became unsteady and reeling
beneath his feet; delirium gathered over him, and he went on his way
muttering broken and incoherent words; the few who met fled from him in
dismay. Even the monks, still continuing their solemn and sad processions,
passed with a murmured bene vobis to the other side from that on which his
steps swerved and faltered. And from a booth at the corner of a street,
four Becchini, drinking together, fixed upon him from their black masks the
gaze that vultures fix upon some dying wanderer of the desert. Still he
crept on, stretching out his arms like a man in the dark, and seeking with
the vague sense that yet struggled against the gathering delirium, to find
out the mansion in which he had fixed his home; though many as fair to
live, and as meet to die in, stood with open portals before and beside his
path.

"Irene, Irene!" he cried, sometimes in a muttered and low tone, sometimes
in a wild and piercing shriek, "where art thou? Where? I come to snatch
thee from them; they shall not have thee, the foul and ugly fiends! Pah!
how the air smells of dead flesh! Irene, Irene! we will away to mine own
palace and the heavenly lake - Irene!"

While thus benighted, and thus exclaiming, two females suddenly emerged
from a neighbouring house, masked and mantled.

"Vain wisdom!" said the taller and slighter of the two, whose mantle, it is
here necessary to observe, was of a deep blue, richly broidered with
silver, of a shape and a colour not common in Florence, but usual in Rome,
where the dress of ladies of the higher rank was singularly bright in hue
and ample in fold - thus differing from the simpler and more slender
draperies of the Tuscan fashion - "Vain wisdom, to fly a relentless and
certain doom!"

"Why, thou wouldst not have us hold the same home with three of the dead in
the next chamber - strangers too to us - when Florence has so many empty
halls? Trust me, we shall not walk far ere we suit ourselves with a safer
lodgment."

"Hitherto, indeed, we have been miraculously preserved," sighed the other,
whose voice and shape were those of extreme youth; "yet would that we knew
where to fly - what mount, what wood, what cavern, held my brother and his
faithful Nina! I am sick with horrors!"

"Irene, Irene! Well then, if thou art at Milan or some Lombard town, why
do I linger here? To horse, to horse! Oh, no! no! - not the horse with
the bells! not the death-cart."  With a cry, a shriek, louder than the
loudest of the sick man's, broke that young female away from her companion.
It seemed as if a single step took her to the side of Adrian. She caught
his arm - she looked in his face - she met his unconscious eyes bright with
a fearful fire. "It has seized him!" - (she then said in a deep but calm
tone) - "the Plague!"

"Away, away! are you mad?" cried her companion; "hence, hence, - touch me
not now thou hast touched him - go! - here we part!"

"Help me to bear him somewhere, see, he faints, he droops, he falls! - help
me, dear Signora, for pity, for the love of God!"

But, wholly possessed by the selfish fear which overcame all humanity in
that miserable time, the elder woman, though naturally kind, pitiful, and
benevolent, fled rapidly away, and soon vanished. Thus left alone with
Adrian, who had now, in the fierceness of the fever that preyed within him,
fallen on the ground, the strength and nerve of that young girl did not
forsake her. She tore off the heavy mantle which encumbered her arms, and
cast it from her; and then, lifting up the face of her lover - for who but
Irene was that weak woman, thus shrinking not from the contagion of death?
- she supported him on her breast, and called aloud and again for help. At
length the Becchini, in the booth before noticed, (hardened in their
profession, and who, thus hardened, better than the most cautious, escaped
the pestilence,) lazily approached - "Quicker, quicker, for Christ's love!"
said Irene. "I have much gold; I will reward you well: help me to bear
him under the nearest roof."

"Leave him to us, young lady: we have had our eye upon him," said one of
the gravediggers. "We'll do our duty by him, first and last."

"No - no! touch not his head - that is my care. There, I will help you;
so, - now then, - but be gentle!"

Assisted by these portentous officers, Irene, who would not release her
hold, but seemed to watch over the beloved eyes and lips, (set and closed
as they were,) as if to look back the soul from parting, bore Adrian into a
neighbouring house, and laid him on a bed; from which Irene (preserving as
only women do, in such times, the presence of mind and vigilant providence
which make so sublime a contrast with their keen susceptibilities) caused
them first to cast off the draperies and clothing, which might retain
additional infection. She then despatched them for new furniture, and for
whatsoever leech money might yet bribe to a duty, now chiefly abandoned to
those heroic Brotherhoods who, however vilified in modern judgment by the
crimes of some unworthy members, were yet, in the dark times, the best, the
bravest, and the holiest agents, to whom God ever delegated the power to
resist the oppressor - to feed the hungry - to minister to woe; and who,
alone, amidst that fiery Pestilence, (loosed, as it were, a demon from the
abyss, to shiver into atoms all that binds the world to Virtue and to Law,)
seemed to awaken, as by the sound of an angel's trumpet, to that noblest
Chivalry of the Cross - whose faith is the scorn of self - whose hope is
beyond the Lazar-house - whose feet, already winded for immortality,
trample, with a conqueror's march, upon the graves of Death!

While this the ministry and the office of love, - along that street in
which Adrian and Irene had met at last - came singing, reeling, roaring,
the dissolute and abandoned crew who had fixed their quarters in the
Convent of Santa Maria de' Pazzi, their bravo chief at their head, and a
nun (no longer in nun's garments) upon either arm. "A health to the
Plague!" shouted the ruffian: "A health to the Plague!" echoed his frantic
Bacchanals.

"A health to the Plague, may she ever, as now,
Loose the rogue from his chain, and the nun from her vow;
To the gaoler a sword - to the captive a key,
Hurrah for Earth's Curse! 'tis a blessing to me."

"Holla!" cried the chief, stopping; "here, Margherita; here's a brave cloak
for thee, my girl: silver enow on it to fill thy purse, if it ever grow
empty; which it may, if ever the Plague grow slack."

"Nay," said the girl, who, amidst all the havoc of debauch, retained much
of youth and beauty in her form and face; nay, Guidotto; perhaps it has
infection."

"Pooh, child, silver never infects. Clap it on, clap it on. Besides, fate
is fate, and when it is thine hour there will be other means besides the
gavocciolo."

So saying, he seized the mantle, threw it roughly over her shoulders, and
dragged her on as before, half pleased with the finery, half frightened
with the danger; while gradually died away, along the lurid air and the
mournful streets, the chant of that most miserable mirth.

Chapter 6.V. The Error.

For three days, the fatal three days, did Adrian remain bereft of strength
and sense. But he was not smitten by the scourge which his devoted and
generous nurse had anticipated. It was a fierce and dangerous fever,
brought on by the great fatigue, restlessness, and terrible agitation he
had undergone.

No professional mediciner could be found to attend him; but a good friar,
better perhaps skilled in the healing art than many who claimed its
monopoly, visited him daily. And in the long and frequent absences to
which his other and numerous duties compelled the monk, there was one ever
at hand to smooth the pillow, to wipe the brow, to listen to the moan, to
watch the sleep. And even in that dismal office, when, in the frenzy of
the sufferer, her name, coupled with terms of passionate endearment, broke
from his lips, a thrill of strange pleasure crossed the heart of the
betrothed, which she chid as if it were a crime. But even the most
unearthly love is selfish in the rapture of being loved! Words cannot
tell, heart cannot divine, the mingled emotions that broke over her when,
in some of these incoherent ravings, she dimly understood that for her the
city had been sought, the death dared, the danger incurred. And as then
bending passionately to kiss that burning brow, her tears fell fast over
the idol of her youth, the fountains from which they gushed were those,
fathomless and countless, which a life could not weep away. Not an impulse
of the human and the woman heart that was not stirred; the adoring
gratitude, the meek wonder thus to be loved, while deeming it so simple a
merit thus to love; - as if all sacrifice in her were a thing of course, -
to her, a virtue nature could not paragon, worlds could not repay! And
there he lay, the victim to his own fearless faith, helpless - dependent
upon her - a thing between life and death, to thank, to serve - to be proud
of, yet protect, to compassionate, yet revere - the saver, to be saved!
Never seemed one object to demand at once from a single heart so many and
so profound emotions; the romantic enthusiasm of the girl - the fond
idolatry of the bride - the watchful providence of the mother over her
child.

And strange to say, with all the excitement of that lonely watch, scarcely
stirring from his side, taking food only that her strength might not fail
her, - unable to close her eyes, - though, from the same cause, she would
fain have taken rest, when slumber fell upon her charge - with all such
wear and tear of frame and heart, she seemed wonderfully supported. And
the holy man marvelled, in each visit, to see the cheek of the nurse still
fresh, and her eye still bright. In her own superstition she thought and
felt that Heaven gifted her with a preternatural power to be true to so
sacred a charge; and in this fancy she did not wholly err: - for Heaven did
gift her with that diviner power, when it planted in so soft a heart the
enduring might and energy of Affection! The friar had visited the sick man
late on the third night, and administered to him a strong sedative. "This
night," said he to Irene, "will be the crisis: should he awaken, as I
trust he may, with a returning consciousness, and a calm pulse, he will
live; if not, young daughter, prepare for the worst. But should you note
any turn in the disease, that may excite alarm, or require my attendance,
this scroll will inform you where I am, if God spare me still, at each hour
of the night and morning."

The monk retired, and Irene resumed her watch.

The sleep of Adrian was at first broken and interrupted - his features, his
exclamations, his gestures, all evinced great agony, whether mental or
bodily: it seemed, as perhaps it was, a fierce and doubtful struggle
between life and death for the conquest of the sleeper. Patient, silent,
breathing but by long-drawn gasps, Irene sate at the bed-head. The lamp
was removed to the further end of the chamber, and its ray, shaded by the
draperies, did not suffice to give to her gaze more than the outline of the
countenance she watched. In that awful suspense, all the thoughts that
hitherto had stirred her mind lay hushed and mute. She was only sensible
to that unutterable fear which few of us have been happy enough not to
know. That crushing weight under which we can scarcely breathe or move,
the avalanche over us, freezing and suspended, which we cannot escape from,
beneath which, every moment, we may be buried and overwhelmed. The whole
destiny of life was in the chances of that single night! It was just as
Adrian at last seemed to glide into a deeper and serener slumber, that the
bells of the death-cart broke with their boding knell the palpable silence
of the streets. Now hushed, now revived, as the cart stopped for its
gloomy passengers, and coming nearer and nearer after every pause. At
length she heard the heavy wheels stop under the very casement, and a voice
deep and muffled calling aloud, "Bring out the dead!"  She rose, and with a
noiseless step, passed to secure the door, when the dull lamp gleamed upon
the dark and shrouded forms of the Becchini.

"You have not marked the door, nor set out the body," said one gruffly;
"but this is the third night! He is ready for us."

"Hush, he sleeps - away, quick, it is not the Plague that seized him."

"Not the Plague?" growled the Becchino in a disappointed tone; "I thought
no other illness dared encroach upon the rights of the gavocciolo!"

"Go - here's money; leave us."

And the grisly carrier sullenly withdrew. The cart moved on, the bell
renewed its summons, till slowly and faintly the dreadful larum died in the
distance.

Shading the lamp with her hand, Irene stole to the bed side, fearful that
the sound and the intrusion had disturbed the slumberer. But his face was
still locked, as in a vice, with that iron sleep. He stirred not - the
breath scarcely passed his lips - she felt his pulse, as the wan hand lay
on the coverlid - there was a slight beat - she was contented - removed the
light, and, retiring to a corner of the room, placed the little cross
suspended round her neck upon the table, and prayed, in her intense
suffering, to Him who had known death, and who - Son of Heaven though he
was, and Sovereign of the Seraphim - had also prayed, in his earthly
travail, that the cup might pass away.

The Morning broke, not, as in the North, slowly and through shadow, but
with the sudden glory with which in those climates Day leaps upon earth -
like a giant from his sleep. A sudden smile - a burnished glow - and night
had vanished. Adrian still slept; not a muscle seemed to have stirred; the
sleep was even heavier than before; the silence became a burthen upon the
air. Now, in that exceeding torpor so like unto death, the solitary
watcher became alarmed and terrified. Time passed - morning glided to noon
- still not a sound nor motion. The sun was midway in Heaven - the Friar
came not. And now again touching Adrian's pulse, she felt no flutter - she
gazed on him, appalled and confounded; surely nought living could be so
still and pale. "Was it indeed sleep, might it not be - "  She turned
away, sick and frozen; her tongue clove to her lips. Why did the father
tarry? - she would go to him - she would learn the worst - she could
forbear no longer. She glanced over the scroll the Monk had left her:
"From sunrise," it said, "I shall be at the Convent of the Dominicans.
Death has stricken many of the brethren."  The Convent was at some
distance, but she knew the spot, and fear would wing her steps. She gave
one wistful look at the sleeper and rushed from the house. "I shall see
thee again presently," she murmured. Alas! what hope can calculate beyond
the moment? And who shall claim the tenure of 'The Again?'

It was not many minutes after Irene had left the room, ere, with a long
sigh, Adrian opened his eyes - an altered and another man; the fever was
gone, the reviving pulse beat low indeed, but calm. His mind was once more
master of his body, and, though weak and feeble, the danger was past, and
life and intellect regained.

"I have slept long," he muttered; "and oh, such dreams! And methought I
saw Irene, but could not speak to her, and while I attempted to grasp her,
her face changed, her form dilated, and I was in the clutch of the foul
gravedigger. It is late - the sun is high - I must be up and stirring.
Irene is in Lombardy. No, no; that was a lie, a wicked lie; she is at
Florence, I must renew my search."

As this duty came to his remembrance, he rose from the bed - he was amazed
at his own debility: at first he could not stand without support from the
wall; by degrees, however, he so far regained the mastery of his limbs as
to walk, though with effort and pain. A ravening hunger preyed upon him,
he found some scanty and light food in the chamber, which he devoured
eagerly. And with scarce less eagerness laved his enfeebled form and
haggard face with the water that stood at hand. He now felt refreshed and
invigorated, and began to indue his garments, which he found thrown on a
heap beside the bed. He gazed with surprise and a kind of self-compassion
upon his emaciated hands and shrunken limbs, and began now to comprehend
that he must have had some severe but unconscious illness. "Alone, too,"
thought he; "no one near to tend me! Nature my only nurse! But alas!
alas! how long a time may thus have been wasted, and my adored Irene -
quick, quick, not a moment more will I lose."

He soon found himself in the open street; the air revived him; and that
morning had sprung up the blessed breeze, the first known for weeks. He
wandered on very slowly and feebly till he came to a broad square, from
which, in the vista, might be seen one of the principal gates of Florence,
and the fig-trees and olive-groves beyond, it was then that a Pilgrim of
tall stature approached towards him as from the gate; his hood was thrown
back, and gave to view a countenance of great but sad command; a face, in
whose high features, massive brow, and proud, unshrinking gaze, shaded by
an expression of melancholy more stern than soft, Nature seemed to have
written majesty, and Fate disaster. As in that silent and dreary place,
these two, the only tenants of the street, now encountered, Adrian stopped
abruptly, and said in a startled and doubting voice: "Do I dream still, or
do I behold Rienzi?"

The Pilgrim paused also, as he heard the name, and gazing long on the
attenuated features of the young lord, said: I am he that was Rienzi! and
you, pale shadow, is it in this grave of Italy that I meet with the gay and
high Colonna? Alas, young friend," he added, in a more relaxed and kindly
voice, "hath the Plague not spared the flower of the Roman nobles? Come,
I, the cruel and the harsh Tribune, I will be thy nurse: he who might have
been my brother, shall yet claim from me a brother's care."

With these words he wound his arm tenderly round Adrian; and the young
noble, touched by his compassion, and agitated by the surprise, leaned upon
Rienzi's breast in silence.

"Poor youth," resumed the Tribune, for so, since rather fallen than
deposed, he may yet be called; "I ever loved the young, (my brother died
young;) and you more than most. What fatality brought thee hither?"

"Irene!" replied Adrian, falteringly.

"Is it so, really? Art thou a Colonna, and yet prize the fallen? The same
duty has brought me also to the city of Death. From the furthest south -
over the mountains of the robber - through the fastnesses of my foes -
through towns in which the herald proclaimed in my ear the price of my head
- I have passed hither, on foot and alone, safe under the wings of the
Almighty One. Young man, thou shouldst have left this task to one who
bears a wizard's life, and whom Heaven and Earth yet reserve for an
appointed end!"

The Tribune said this in a deep and inward voice; and in his raised eye and
solemn brow might be seen how much his reverses had deepened his
fanaticism, and added even to the sanguineness of his hopes.

"But," asked Adrian, withdrawing gently from Rienzi's arm, "thou knowest,
then, where Irene is to be found; let us go together. Lose not a moment in
this talk; time is of inestimable value, and a moment in this city is often
but the border to eternity."

"Right," said Rienzi, awakening to his object. "But fear not, I have
dreamt that I shall save her, the gem and darling of my house. Fear not, I
have no fear."

"Know you where to seek?" said Adrian, impatiently; "the Convent holds far
other guests."

"Ha! so said my dream!"

"Talk not now of dreams," said the lover; "but if you have no other guide,
let us part at once in quest of her. I will take yonder street, you take
the opposite, and at sunset let us meet in the same spot."

"Rash man!" said the Tribune, with great solemnity; "scoff not at the
visions which Heaven makes a parable to its Chosen. Thou seekest counsel
of thy human wisdom; I, less presumptuous, follow the hand of the
mysterious Providence, moving even now before my gaze as a pillar of light
through the wilderness of dread. Ay, meet we here at sunset, and prove
whose guide is the most unerring. If my dream tell me true, I shall see my
sister living, ere the sun reach yonder hill, and by a church dedicated to
St. Mark."

The grave earnestness with which Rienzi spoke impressed Adrian with a hope
which his reason would not acknowledge. He saw him depart with that proud
and stately step to which his sweeping garments gave a yet more imposing
dignity, and then passed up the street to the right hand. He had not got
half way when he felt himself pulled by the mantle. He turned, and saw the
shapeless mask of a Becchino.

"I feared you were sped, and that another had cheated me of my office,"
said the gravedigger, "seeing that you returned not to the old Prince's
palace. You don't know me from the rest of us I see, but I am the one you
told to seek - "

"Irene!"

"Yes, Irene di Gabrini; you promised ample reward."

"You shall have it."

"Follow me."

The Becchino strode on, and soon arrived at a mansion. He knocked twice at
the porter's entrance, an old woman cautiously opened the door. "Fear not,
good aunt," said the gravedigger; "this is the young Lord I spoke to thee
of. Thou sayest thou hadst two ladies in the palace, who alone survived of
all the lodgers, and their names were Bianca de Medici, and - what was the
other?"

"Irene di Gabrini, a Roman lady. But I told thee this was the fourth day
they left the house, terrified by the deaths within it."

"Thou didst so: and was there anything remarkable in the dress of the
Signora di Gabrini?"

"Yes, I have told thee: a blue mantle, such as I have rarely seen, wrought
with silver."

"Was the broidery that of stars, silver stars," exclaimed Adrian, "with a
sun in the centre?"

"It was."

"Alas! alas! the arms of the Tribune's family! I remember how I praised
the mantle the first day she wore it - the day on which we were betrothed!"
And the lover at once conjectured the secret sentiment which had induced
Irene to retain thus carefully a robe so endeared by association.

"You know no more of your lodgers?"

"Nothing."

"And is this all you have learned, knave?" cried Adrian.

"Patience. I must bring you from proof to proof, and link to link, in
order to win my reward. Follow, Signor."

The Becchino then passing through the several lanes and streets, arrived at
another house of less magnificent size and architecture. Again he tapped
thrice at the parlour door, and this time came forth a man withered, old,
and palsied, whom death seemed to disdain to strike.

"Signor Astuccio," said the Becchino, "pardon me; but I told thee I might
trouble thee again. This is the gentleman who wants to know, what is often
best unknown - but that's not my affair. Did a lady - young and beautiful
- with dark hair, and of a slender form, enter this house, stricken with
the first symptom of the Plague, three days since?"

"Ay, thou knowest that well enough; and thou knowest still better, that she
has departed these two days: it was quick work with her, quicker than with
most!"

"Did she wear anything remarkable?"

"Yes, troublesome man: a blue cloak, with stars of silver."

"Couldst thou guess aught of her previous circumstances?"

"No, save that she raved much about the nunnery of Santa Maria de' Pazzi,
and bravos, and sacrilege."

"Are you satisfied, Signor?" asked the gravedigger, with an air of triumph,
turning to Adrian. "But no, I will satisfy thee better, if thou hast
courage. Wilt thou follow?"

"I comprehend thee; lead on. Courage! What is there on earth now to
fear?"

Muttering to himself, "Ay, leave me alone. I have a head worth something;
I ask no gentleman to go by my word; I will make his own eyes the judge of
what my trouble is worth," the gravedigger now led the way through one of
the gates a little out of the city. And here, under a shed, sat six of his
ghastly and ill-omened brethren, with spades and pick-axes at their feet.

His guide now turned round to Adrian, whose face was set, and resolute in
despair.

"Fair Signor," said he, with some touch of lingering compassion, "wouldst
thou really convince thine own eyes and heart? - the sight may appal, the
contagion may destroy, thee, - if, indeed, as it seems to me, Death has not
already written 'mine' upon thee."

"Raven of bode and woe!" answered Adrian, "seest thou not that all I shrink
from is thy voice and aspect? Show me her I seek, living or dead."

"I will show her to you, then," said the Becchino, sullenly, "such as two
nights since she was committed to my charge. Line and lineament may
already be swept away, for the Plague hath a rapid besom; but I have left
that upon her by which you will know the Becchino is no liar. Bring hither
the torches, comrades, and lift the door. Never stare; it's the
gentleman's whim, and he'll pay it well."

Turning to the right while Adrian mechanically followed his conductors, a
spectacle whose dire philosophy crushes as with a wheel all the pride of
mortal man - the spectacle of that vault in which earth hides all that on
earth flourished, rejoiced, exulted - awaited his eye!

The Becchini lifted a ponderous grate, lowered their torches (scarcely
needed, for through the aperture rushed, with a hideous glare, the light of
the burning sun,) and motioned to Adrian to advance. He stood upon the
summit of the abyss and gazed below.

It was a large deep and circular space, like the bottom of an exhausted
well. In niches cut into the walls of earth around, lay, duly coffined,
those who had been the earliest victims of the plague, when the Becchino's
market was not yet glutted, and priest followed, and friend mourned the
dead. But on the floor below, there was the loathsome horror! Huddled and
matted together - some naked, some in shrouds already black and rotten -
lay the later guests, the unshriven and unblest! The torches, the sun,
streamed broad and red over Corruption in all its stages, from the pale
blue tint and swollen shape, to the moistened undistinguishable mass, or
the riddled bones, where yet clung, in strips and tatters, the black and
mangled flesh. In many, the face remained almost perfect, while the rest
of the body was but bone; the long hair, the human face, surmounting the
grisly skeleton. There was the infant, still on the mother's breast; there
was the lover, stretched across the dainty limbs of his adored! The rats,
(for they clustered in numbers to that feast,) disturbed, not scared, sate
up from their horrid meal as the light glimmered over them, and thousands
of them lay round, stark, and dead, poisoned by that they fed on! There,
too, the wild satire of the gravediggers had cast, though stripped of their
gold and jewels, the emblems that spoke of departed rank; - the broken wand
of the Councillor; the General's baton; the Priestly Mitre! The foul and
livid exhalations gathered like flesh itself, fungous and putrid, upon the
walls, and the -

But who shall detail the ineffable and unimaginable horrors that reigned
over the Palace where the Great King received the prisoners whom the sword
of the Pestilence had subdued?

But through all that crowded court - crowded with beauty and with birth,
with the strength of the young and the honours of the old, and the valour
of the brave, and the wisdom of the learned, and the wit of the scorner,
and the piety of the faithful - one only figure attracted Adrian's eye.
Apart from the rest, a latecomer - the long locks streaming far and dark
over arm and breast - lay a female, the face turned partially aside, the
little seen not recognisable even by the mother of the dead, - but wrapped
round in that fatal mantle, on which, though blackened and tarnished, was
yet visible the starry heraldry assumed by those who claimed the name of
the proud Tribune of Rome. Adrian saw no more - he fell back in the arms
of the gravediggers: when he recovered, he was still without the gates of
Florence - reclined upon a green mound - his guide stood beside him -
holding his steed by the bridle as it grazed patiently on the neglected
grass. The other brethren of the axe had resumed their seat under the
shed.

"So, you have revived! Ah! I thought it was only the effluvia; few stand
it as we do. And so, as your search is over, deeming you would now be
quitting Florence if you have any sense left to you, I went for your good
horse. I have fed him since your departure from the palace. Indeed I
fancied he would be my perquisite, but there are plenty as good. Come,
young sir, mount. I feel a pity for you, I know not why, except that you
are the only one I have met for weeks who seem to care for another more
than for yourself. I hope you are satisfied now that I showed some brains,
eh! in your service; and as I have kept my promise, you'll keep yours."

"Friend," said Adrian, "here is gold enough to make thee rich; here, too,
is a jewel that merchants will tell thee princes might vie to purchase.
Thou seemest honest, despite thy calling, or thou mightest have robbed and
murdered me long since. Do me one favour more."

"By my poor mother's soul, yes."

"Take yon - yon clay from that fearful place. Inter it in some quiet and
remote spot - apart - alone! You promise me? - you swear it? - it is well!
And now help me on my horse. Farewell Italy, and if I die not with this
stroke, may I die as befits at once honour and despair - with trumpet and
banner round me - in a well-fought field against a worthy foe! - Save a
knightly death, nothing is left to live for!"

BOOK VII. THE PRISON.

"Fu rinchiuso in una torre grossa e larga; avea libri assai, suo Tito
Livio, sue storie di Roma, la Bibbia." &c. - "Vita di Cola di Rienzi", lib.
ii. c. 13.

"He was immured in a high and spacious tower; he had books enough, his
Titus Livius, his histories of Rome, the Bible," &c.

Chapter 7.I. Avignon. - The Two Pages. - The Stranger Beauty.

There is this difference between the Drama of Shakspeare, and that of
almost every other master of the same art; that in the first, the
catastrophe is rarely produced by one single cause - one simple and
continuous chain of events. Various and complicated agencies work out the
final end. Unfettered by the rules of time and place, each time, each
place depicted, presents us with its appropriate change of action, or of
actors. Sometimes the interest seems to halt, to turn aside, to bring us
unawares upon objects hitherto unnoticed, or upon qualities of the
characters hitherto hinted at, not developed. But, in reality, the pause
in the action is but to collect, to gather up, and to grasp, all the
varieties of circumstance that conduce to the Great Result: and the art of
fiction is only deserted for the fidelity of history. Whoever seeks to
place before the world the true representation of a man's life and times,
and, enlarging the Dramatic into the Epic, extends his narrative over the
vicissitudes of years, will find himself unconsciously, in this, the
imitator of Shakspeare. New characters, each conducive to the end - new
scenes, each leading to the last, rise before him as he proceeds, sometimes
seeming to the reader to delay, even while they advance, the dread
catastrophe. The sacrificial procession sweeps along, swelled by new
comers, losing many that first joined it; before, at last, the same as a
whole, but differing in its components, the crowd reach the fated bourn of
the Altar and the Victim!

It is five years after the date of the events I have recorded, and my story
conveys us to the Papal Court at Avignon - that tranquil seat of power, to
which the successors of St. Peter had transplanted the luxury, the pomp,
and the vices, of the Imperial City. Secure from the fraud or violence of
a powerful and barbarous nobility, the courtiers of the See surrendered
themselves to a holyday of delight - their repose was devoted to enjoyment,
and Avignon presented, at that day, perhaps the gayest and most voluptuous
society of Europe. The elegance of Clement VI. had diffused an air of
literary refinement over the grosser pleasures of the place, and the spirit
of Petrarch still continued to work its way through the councils of faction
and the orgies of debauch.

Innocent VI. had lately succeeded Clement, and whatever his own claims to
learning, (Matteo Villani (lib. iii. cap. 44) says, that Innocent VI. had
not much pretension to learning. He is reported, however, by other
authorities, cited by Zefirino Re, to have been "eccellente canonista."  He
had been a professor in the University of Toulouse.) he, at least,
appreciated knowledge and intellect in others; so that the graceful
pedantry of the time continued to mix itself with the pursuit of pleasure.
The corruption which reigned through the whole place was too confirmed to
yield to the example of Innocent, himself a man of simple habits and
exemplary life. Though, like his predecessor, obedient to the policy of
France, Innocent possessed a hard and an extended ambition. Deeply
concerned for the interests of the Church, he formed the project of
confirming and re-establishing her shaken dominion in Italy; and he
regarded the tyrants of the various states as the principal obstacles to
his ecclesiastical ambition. Nor was this the policy of Innocent VI.
alone. With such exceptions as peculiar circumstances necessarily
occasioned, the Papal See was, upon the whole, friendly to the political
liberties of Italy. The Republics of the Middle Ages grew up under the
shadow of the Church; and there, as elsewhere, it was found, contrary to a
vulgar opinion, that Religion, however prostituted and perverted, served
for the general protection of civil freedom, - raised the lowly, and
resisted the oppressor.

At this period there appeared at Avignon a lady of singular and matchless
beauty. She had come with a slender but well appointed retinue from
Florence, but declared herself of Neapolitan birth; the widow of a noble of
the brilliant court of the unfortunate Jane. Her name was Cesarini.
Arrived at a place where, even in the citadel of Christianity, Venus
retained her ancient empire, where Love made the prime business of life,
and to be beautiful was to be of power; the Signora Cesarini had scarcely
appeared in public before she saw at her feet half the rank and gallantry
of Avignon. Her female attendants were beset with bribes and billets; and
nightly, beneath her lattice, was heard the plaintive serenade. She
entered largely into the gay dissipation of the town, and her charms shared
the celebrity of the hour with the verse of Petrarch. But though she
frowned on none, none could claim the monopoly of her smiles. Her fair
fame was as yet unblemished; but if any might presume beyond the rest, she
seemed to have selected rather from ambition than love, and Giles, the
warlike Cardinal d'Albornoz, all powerful at the sacred court, already
foreboded the hour of his triumph.

It was late noon, and in the ante-chamber of the fair Signora waited two of
that fraternity of pages, fair and richly clad, who, at that day, furnished
the favourite attendants to rank of either sex.

"By my troth," cried one of these young servitors, pushing from him the
dice with which himself and his companion had sought to beguile their
leisure, "this is but dull work! and the best part of the day is gone. Our
lady is late."

"And I have donned my new velvet mantle," replied the other,
compassionately eyeing his finery.

"Chut, Giacomo," said his comrade, yawning; "a truce with thy conceit. -
What news abroad, I wonder? Has his Holiness come to his senses yet?"

"His senses! what, is he mad then?" quoth Giacomo, in a serious and
astonished whisper.

"I think he is; if, being Pope, he does not discover that he may at length
lay aside mask and hood. 'Continent Cardinal - lewd Pope,' is the old
motto, you know; something must be the matter with the good man's brain if
he continue to live like a hermit."

"Oh, I have you! but faith, his Holiness has proxies eno'. The bishops
take care to prevent women, Heaven bless them! going out of fashion; and
Albornoz does not maintain your proverb, touching the Cardinals."

"True, but Giles is a warrior, - a cardinal in the church, but a soldier in
the city."

"Will he carry the fort here, think you, Angelo?"

"Why, fort is female, but - "

"But what?"

"The Signora's brow is made for power, rather than love, fair as it is.
She sees in Albornoz the prince, and not the lover. With what a step she
sweeps the floor! it disdains even the cloth of gold!"

"Hark!" cried Giacomo, hastening to the lattice, "hear you the hoofs below?
Ah, a gallant company!"

"Returned from hawking," answered Angelo, regarding wistfully the
cavalcade, as it swept the narrow street. "Plumes waving, steeds
curvetting - see how yon handsome cavalier presses close to that dame!"

"His mantle is the colour of mine," sighed Giacomo.

As the gay procession paced slowly on, till hidden by the winding street,
and as the sound of laughter and the tramp of horses was yet faintly heard,
there frowned right before the straining gaze of the pages, a dark massive
tower of the mighty masonry of the eleventh century: the sun gleamed sadly
on its vast and dismal surface, which was only here and there relieved by
loopholes and narrow slits, rather than casements. It was a striking
contrast to the gaiety around, the glittering shops, and the gaudy train
that had just filled the space below. This contrast the young men seemed
involuntarily to feel; they drew back, and looked at each other.

"I know your thoughts, Giacomo," said Angelo, the handsomer and elder of
the two. "You think yon tower affords but a gloomy lodgment?"

"And I thank my stars that made me not high enough to require so grand a
cage," rejoined Giacomo.

"Yet," observed Angelo, "it holds one, who in birth was not our superior."

"Do tell me something of that strange man," said Giacomo, regaining his
seat; "you are Roman and should know."

"Yes!" answered Angelo, haughtily drawing himself up, "I am Roman! and I
should be unworthy my birth, if I had not already learned what honour is
due to the name of Cola di Rienzi."

"Yet your fellow-Romans merely stoned him, I fancy," muttered Giacomo.
"Honour seems to lie more in kicks than money. Can you tell me," continued
the page in a louder key, "can you tell me if it be true, that Rienzi
appeared at Prague before the Emperor, and prophesied that the late Pope
and all the Cardinals should be murdered, and a new Italian Pope elected,
who should endue the Emperor with a golden crown, as Sovereign of Sicilia,
Calabria, and Apulia, (An absurd fable, adopted by certain historians.) and
himself with a crown of silver, as King of Rome, and all Italy? And - "

"Hush!" interrupted Angelo, impatiently. "Listen to me, and you shall know
the exact story. On last leaving Rome (thou knowest that, after his fall,
he was present at the Jubilee in disguise) the Tribune - " here Angelo,
pausing, looked round, and then with a flushed cheek and raised voice
resumed, "Yes, the Tribune, that was and shall be - travelled in disguise,
as a pilgrim, over mountain and forest, night and day, exposed to rain and
storm, no shelter but the cave, - he who had been, they say, the very
spoilt one of Luxury. Arrived at length in Bohemia, he disclosed himself
to a Florentine in Prague, and through his aid obtained audience of the
Emperor Charles."

"A prudent man, the Emperor!" said Giacomo, "close-fisted as a miser. He
makes conquests by bargain, and goes to market for laurels, - as I have
heard my brother say, who was under him."

"True; but I have also heard that he likes bookmen and scholars - is wise
and temperate, and much is yet hoped from him in Italy! Before the
Emperor, I say, came Rienzi. 'Know, great Prince,' said he, 'that I am
that Rienzi to whom God gave to govern Rome, in peace, with justice, and to
freedom. I curbed the nobles, I purged corruption, I amended law. The
powerful persecuted me - pride and envy have chased me from my dominions.
Great as you are, fallen as I am, I too have wielded the sceptre and might
have worn a crown. Know, too, that I am illegitimately of your lineage; my
father the son of Henry VII.; (Uncle to the Emperor Charles.) the blood of
the Teuton rolls in my veins; mean as were my earlier fortunes and humble
my earlier name! From you, O King, I seek protection, and I demand
justice."  (See, for this speech, "the Anonymous Biographer," lib. ii. cap.
12.)

"A bold speech, and one from equal to equal," said Giacomo; "surely you
swell us out the words."

"Not a whit; they were written down by the Emperor's scribe, and every
Roman who has once heard knows them by heart: once every Roman was the
equal to a king, and Rienzi maintained our dignity in asserting his own."

Giacomo, who discreetly avoided quarrels, knew the weak side of his friend;
and though in his heart he thought the Romans as good-for-nothing a set of
turbulent dastards as all Italy might furnish, he merely picked a straw
from his mantle, and said, in rather an impatient tone, "Humph! proceed!
did the Emperor dismiss him?"

"Not so: Charles was struck with his bearing and his spirit, received him
graciously, and entertained him hospitably. He remained some time at
Prague, and astonished all the learned with his knowledge and eloquence."
(His Italian contemporary delights in representing this remarkable man as
another Crichton. "Disputava," he says of him when at Prague, "disputava
con Mastri di teologia; molto diceva, parlava cose meravigliose...abbair
fea ogni persona." - "He disputed with Masters of theology - he spoke much,
he discoursed things wonderful - he astonished every one.")

"But if so honoured at Prague, how comes he a prisoner at Avignon?"

"Giacomo," said Angelo, thoughtfully, "there are some men whom we, of
another mind and mould, can rarely comprehend, and never fathom. And of
such men I have observed that a supreme confidence in their own fortunes or
their own souls, is the most common feature. Thus impressed, and thus
buoyed, they rush into danger with a seeming madness, and from danger soar
to greatness, or sink to death. So with Rienzi; dissatisfied with empty
courtesies and weary of playing the pedant, since once he had played the
prince; - some say of his own accord, (though others relate that he was
surrendered to the Pope's legate by Charles,) he left the Emperor's court,
and without arms, without money, betook himself at once to Avignon!"

"Madness indeed!"

"Yet, perhaps his only course, under all circumstances," resumed the elder
page. "Once before his fall, and once during his absence from Rome, he had
been excommunicated by the Pope's legate. He was accused of heresy - the
ban was still on him. It was necessary that he should clear himself. How
was the poor exile to do so? No powerful friend stood up for the friend of
the people. No courtier vindicated one who had trampled on the neck of the
nobles. His own genius was his only friend; on that only could he rely.
He sought Avignon, to free himself from the accusations against him; and,
doubtless, he hoped that there was but one step from his acquittal to his
restoration. Besides, it is certain that the Emperor had been applied to,
formally to surrender Rienzi. He had the choice before him; for to that
sooner or later it must come - to go free, or to go in bonds - as a
criminal, or as a Roman. He chose the latter. Wherever he passed along,
the people rose in every town, in every hamlet. The name of the great
Tribune was honoured throughout all Italy. They besought him not to rush
into the very den of peril - they implored him to save himself for that
country which he had sought to raise. 'I go to vindicate myself, and to
triumph,' was the Tribune's answer. Solemn honours were paid him in the
cities through which he passed; ("Per tutto la via li furo fatti solenni
onori," &c. - "Vita di Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. cap. 13.) and I am told
that never ambassador, prince, or baron, entered Avignon with so long a
train as that which followed into these very walls the steps of Cola di
Rienzi."

"And on his arrival?"

"He demanded an audience, that he might refute the charges against him. He
flung down the gage to the proud cardinals who had excommunicated him. He
besought a trial."

"And what said the Pope?"

"Nothing - by word. Yon tower was his answer!"

"A rough one!"

"But there have been longer roads than that from the prison to the palace,
and God made not men like Rienzi for the dungeon and the chain."

As Angelo said this with a loud voice, and with all the enthusiasm with
which the fame of the fallen Tribune had inspired the youth of Rome, he
heard a sigh behind him. He turned in some confusion, and at the door
which admitted to the chamber occupied by the Signora Cesarini, stood a
female of noble presence. Attired in the richest garments, gold and gems
were dull to the lustre of her dark eyes, and as she now stood, erect and
commanding, never seemed brow more made for the regal crown - never did
human beauty more fully consummate the ideal of a heroine and a queen.

"Pardon me, Signora," said Angelo, hesitatingly; "I spoke loud, I disturbed
you; but I am Roman, and my theme was - "

"Rienzi!" said the lady, approaching; "a fit one to stir a Roman heart.
Nay - no excuses: they would sound ill on thy generous lips. Ah, if - "
the Signora paused suddenly, and sighed again; then in an altered and
graver tone she resumed - "If fate restore Rienzi to his proper fortunes,
he shall know what thou deemest of him."

"If you, lady, who are of Naples," said Angelo, with meaning emphasis,
"speak thus of a fallen exile, what must I have felt who acknowledge a
sovereign?"

"Rienzi is not of Rome alone - he is of Italy - of the world," returned the
Signora. "And you, Angelo, who have had the boldness to speak thus of one
fallen, have proved with what loyalty you can serve those who have the
fortune to own you."

As she spoke, the Signora looked at the page's downcast and blushing face
long and wistfully, with the gaze of one accustomed to read the soul in the
countenance.

"Men are often deceived," said she sadly, yet with a half smile; "but women
rarely, - save in love. Would that Rome were filled with such as you!
Enough! Hark! Is that the sound of hoofs in the court below?"

"Madam," said Giacomo, bringing his mantle gallantly over his shoulder, "I
see the servitors of Monsignore the Cardinal d'Albornoz. - It is the
Cardinal himself."

"It is well!" said the Signora, with a brightening eye; "I await him!"
With these words she withdrew by the door through which she had surprised
the Roman page.

Chapter 7.II. The Character of a Warrior Priest - an Interview - the
Intrigue and Counter-intrigue of Courts.

Giles, (or Egidio, (Egidio is the proper Italian equivalent to the French
name Gilles, - but the Cardinal is generally called, by the writers of that
day, Gilio d'Albornoz.)) Cardinal d'Albornoz, was one of the most
remarkable men of that remarkable time, so prodigal of genius. Boasting
his descent from the royal houses of Aragon and Leon, he had early entered
the church, and yet almost a youth, attained the archbishopric of Toledo.
But no peaceful career, however brilliant, sufficed to his ambition. He
could not content himself with the honours of the church, unless they were
the honours of a church militant. In the war against the Moors, no
Spaniard had more highly distinguished himself; and Alphonso XI. king of
Castile, had insisted on receiving from the hand of the martial priest the
badge of knighthood. After the death of Alphonso, who was strongly
attached to him, Albornoz repaired to Avignon, and obtained from Clement
VI. the cardinal's hat. With Innocent he continued in high favour, and
now, constantly in the councils of the Pope, rumours of warlike
preparation, under the banners of Albornoz, for the recovery of the papal
dominions from the various tyrants that usurped them, were already
circulated through the court. (It is a characteristic anecdote of this
bold Churchman, that Urban V. one day demanded an account of the sums spent
in his military expedition against the Italian tyrants. The Cardinal
presented to the Pope a wagon, filled with the keys of the cities and
fortresses he had taken. "This is my account," said he; "you perceive how
I have invested your money."  The Pope embraced him, and gave him no
further trouble about his accounts.)  Bold, sagacious, enterprising, and
cold-hearted, - with the valour of the knight, and the cunning of the
priest, - such was the character of Giles, Cardinal d'Albornoz.

Leaving his attendant gentlemen in the antechamber, Albornoz was ushered
into the apartment of the Signora Cesarini. In person, the Cardinal was
about the middle height; the dark complexion of Spain had faded by thought,
and the wear of ambitious schemes, into a sallow but hardy hue; his brow
was deeply furrowed, and though not yet passed the prime of life, Albornoz
might seem to have entered age, but for the firmness of his step, the
slender elasticity of his frame, and an eye which had acquired calmness and
depth from thought, without losing any of the brilliancy of youth.

"Beautiful Signora," said the Cardinal, bending over the hand of the
Cesarini with a grace which betokened more of the prince than of the
priest; "the commands of his Holiness have detained me, I fear, beyond the
hour in which you vouchsafed to appoint my homage, but my heart has been
with you since we parted."

"The Cardinal d'Albornoz," replied the Signora, gently withdrawing her
hand, and seating herself, "has so many demands on his time, from the
duties of his rank and renown, that methinks to divert his attention for a
few moments to less noble thoughts is a kind of treason to his fame."

"Ah, Lady," replied the Cardinal, "never was my ambition so nobly directed
as it is now. And it were a prouder lot to be at thy feet than on the
throne of St. Peter."

A momentary blush passed over the cheek of the Signora, yet it seemed the
blush of indignation as much as of vanity; it was succeeded by an extreme
paleness. She paused before she replied; and then fixing her large and
haughty eyes on the enamoured Spaniard, she said, in a low voice,

"My Lord Cardinal, I do not affect to misunderstand your words; neither do
I place them to the account of a general gallantry. I am vain enough to
believe you imagine you speak truly when you say you love me."

"Imagine!" echoed the Spaniard.

"Listen to me," continued the Signora. "She whom the Cardinal Albornoz
honours with his love has a right to demand of him its proofs. In the
papal court, whose power like his? - I require you to exercise it for me."

"Speak, dearest Lady; have your estates been seized by the barbarians of
these lawless times? Hath any dared to injure you? Lands and titles, are
these thy wish? - my power is thy slave."

"Cardinal, no! there is one thing dearer to an Italian and a woman than
wealth or station - it is revenge!"

The Cardinal drew back from the flashing eye that was bent upon him, but
the spirit of her speech touched a congenial chord.

"There," said he, after a little hesitation, "there spake high descent.
Revenge is the luxury of the well-born. Let serfs and churls forgive an
injury. Proceed, Lady."

"Hast thou heard the last news from Rome?" asked the Signora.

"Surely," replied the Cardinal, in some surprise, "we were poor statesmen
to be ignorant of the condition of the capital of the papal dominions; and
my heart mourns for that unfortunate city. But wherefore wouldst thou
question me of Rome? - thou art - "

"Roman! Know, my Lord, that I have a purpose in calling myself of Naples.
To your discretion I intrust my secret - I am of Rome! Tell me of her
state."

"Fairest one," returned the Cardinal, "I should have known that that brow
and presence were not of the light Campania. My reason should have told me
that they bore the stamp of the Empress of the World. The state of Rome,"
continued Albornoz, in a graver tone, "is briefly told. Thou knowest that
after the fall of the able but insolent Rienzi, Pepin, count of Minorbino,
(a creature of Montreal's) who had assisted in expelling him, would have
betrayed Rome to Montreal, - but he was neither strong enough nor wise
enough, and the Barons chased him as he had chased the Tribune. Some time
afterwards a new demagogue, John Cerroni, was installed in the Capitol. He
once more expelled the nobles; new revolutions ensued - the Barons were
recalled. The weak successor of Rienzi summoned the people to arms - in
vain: in terror and despair he abdicated his power, and left the city a
prey to the interminable feuds of the Orsini, the Colonna, and the
Savelli."

"Thus much I know, my Lord; but when his Holiness succeeded to the chair of
Clement VI. - "

"Then," said Albornoz, and a slight frown darkened his sallow brow, "then
came the blacker part of the history. Two senators were elected in concert
by the Pope."

"Their names?"

"Bertoldo Orsini, and one of the Colonna. A few weeks afterwards, the high
price of provisions stung the rascal stomachs of the mob - they rose, they
clamoured, they armed, they besieged the Capitol - "

"Well, well," cried the Signora, clasping her hands, and betokening in
every feature her interest in the narration.

"Colonna only escaped death by a vile disguise; Bertoldo Orsini was
stoned."

"Stoned! - there fell one!"

"Yes, lady, one of a great house; the least drop of whose blood were worth
an ocean of plebeian puddle. At present, all is disorder, misrule,
anarchy, at Rome. The contests of the nobles shake the city to the centre;
and prince and people, wearied of so many experiments to establish a
government, have now no governor but the fear of the sword. Such, fair
madam, is the state of Rome. Sigh not, it occupies now our care. It shall
be remedied; and I, madam, may be the happy instrument of restoring peace
to your native city."

"There is but one way of restoring peace to Rome," answered the Signora,
abruptly, "and that is - The restoration of Rienzi!"

The Cardinal started. "Madam," said he, "do I hear aright? - are you not
nobly born? - can you desire the rise of a plebeian? Did you not speak of
revenge, and now you ask for mercy?"

"Lord Cardinal," said the beautiful Signora, earnestly, "I do not ask for
mercy: such a word is not for the lips of one who demands justice. Nobly
born I am - ay, and from a stock to whose long descent from the patricians
of ancient Rome the high line of Aragon itself would be of yesterday. Nay,
I would not offend you, Monsignore; your greatness is not borrowed from
pedigrees and tombstones - your greatness is your own achieving: would you
speak honestly, my Lord, you would own that you are proud only of your own
laurels, and that, in your heart, you laugh at the stately fools who trick
themselves out in the mouldering finery of the dead!"

"Muse! prophetess! you speak aright," said the high-spirited Cardinal, with
unwonted energy; "and your voice is like that of the Fame I dreamed of in
my youth. Speak on, speak ever!"

"Such," continued the Signora, "such as your pride, is the just pride of
Rienzi. Proud that he is the workman of his own great renown. In such as
the Tribune of Rome we acknowledge the founders of noble lineage. Ancestry
makes not them - they make ancestry. Enough of this. I am of noble race,
it is true; but my house, and those of many, have been crushed and broken
beneath the yoke of the Orsini and Colonna - it is against them I desire
revenge. But I am better than an Italian lady - I am a Roman woman - I
weep tears of blood for the disorders of my unhappy country. I mourn that
even you, my Lord, - yes, that a barbarian, however eminent and however
great, should mourn for Rome. I desire to restore her fortunes."

"But Rienzi would only restore his own."

"Not so, my Lord Cardinal; not so. Ambitious and proud he may be - great
souls are so - but he has never had one wish divorced from the welfare of
Rome. But put aside all thought of his interests - it is not of these I
speak. You desire to re-establish the papal power in Rome. Your senators
have failed to do it. Demagogues fail - Rienzi alone can succeed; he alone
can command the turbulent passions of the Barons - he alone can sway the
capricious and fickle mob. Release, restore Rienzi, and through Rienzi the
Pope regains Rome!"

The Cardinal did not answer for some moments. Buried as in a revery, he
sate motionless, shading his face with his hand. Perhaps he secretly owned
there was a wiser policy in the suggestions of the Signora than he cared
openly to confess. Lifting his head, at length, from his bosom, he fixed
his eyes upon the Signora's watchful countenance, and, with a forced smile,
said,

"Pardon me, madam; but while we play the politicians, forget not that I am
thy adorer. Sagacious may be thy counsels, yet wherefore are they urged?
Why this anxious interest for Rienzi? If by releasing him the Church may
gain an ally, am I sure that Giles d'Albornoz will not raise a rival?"

"My Lord, said the Signora, half rising, "you are my suitor; but your rank
does not tempt me - your gold cannot buy. If you love me, I have a right
to command your services to whatsoever task I would require - it is the law
of chivalry. If ever I yield to the addresses of mortal lover, it will be
to the man who restores to my native land her hero and her saviour."

"Fair patriot," said the Cardinal, "your words encourage my hope, yet they
half damp my ambition; for fain would I desire that love and not service
should alone give me the treasure that I ask. But hear me, sweet lady; you
over-rate my power: I cannot deliver Rienzi - he is accused of rebellion,
he is excommunicated for heresy. His acquittal rests with himself."

"You can procure his trial?"

"Perhaps, Lady."

"That is his acquittal. And a private audience of his Holiness?"

"Doubtless."

"That is his restoration! Behold all I ask!"

"And then, sweet Roman, it will be mine to ask," said the Cardinal,
passionately, dropping on his knee, and taking the Signora's hand. For one
moment, that proud lady felt that she was woman - she blushed, she
trembled; but it was not (could the Cardinal have read that heart) with
passion or with weakness; it was with terror and with shame. Passively she
surrendered her hand to the Cardinal, who covered it with kisses.

"Thus inspired," said Albornoz, rising, "I will not doubt of success.
Tomorrow I wait on thee again."

He pressed her hand to his heart - the lady felt it not. He sighed his
farewell - she did not hear it. Lingeringly he gazed; and slowly he
departed. But it was some moments before, recalled to herself, the Signora
felt that she was alone.

"Alone!" she cried, half aloud, and with wild emphasis - "alone! Oh, what
have I undergone - what have I said! Unfaithful, even in thought, to him!
Oh, never! never! I, that have felt the kiss of his hallowing lips - that
have slept on his kingly heart - I! - holy Mother, befriend and strengthen
me!" she continued, as, weeping bitterly, she sunk upon her knees; and for
some moments she was lost in prayer. Then, rising composed, but deadly
pale, and with the tears rolling heavily down her cheeks, the Signora
passed slowly to the casement; she threw it open, and bent forward; the air
of the declining day came softly on her temples; it cooled, it mitigated,
the fever that preyed within. Dark and huge before her frowned, in its
gloomy shadow, the tower in which Rienzi was confined; she gazed at it long
and wistfully, and then, turning away, drew from the folds of her robe a
small and sharp dagger. "Let me save him for glory!" she murmured; "and
this shall save me from dishonour!"

Chapter 7.III. Holy Men. - Sagacious Deliberations. - Just Resolves. - And
Sordid Motives to All.

Enamoured of the beauty, and almost equally so of the lofty spirit, of the
Signora Cesarini, as was the warlike Cardinal of Spain, love with him was
not so master a passion as that ambition of complete success in all the
active designs of life, which had hitherto animated his character and
signalized his career. Musing, as he left the Signora, on her wish for the
restoration of the Roman Tribune, his experienced and profound intellect
ran swiftly through whatever advantages to his own political designs might
result from that restoration. We have seen that it was the intention of
the new Pontiff to attempt the recovery of the patrimonial territories, now
torn from him by the gripe of able and disaffected tyrants. With this
view, a military force was already in preparation, and the Cardinal was
already secretly nominated the chief. But the force was very inadequate to
the enterprise; and Albornoz depended much upon the moral strength of the
cause in bringing recruits to his standard in his progress through the
Italian states. The wonderful rise of Rienzi had excited an extraordinary
enthusiasm in his favour through all the free populations of Italy. And
this had been yet more kindled and inflamed by the influential eloquence of
Petrarch, who, at that time, possessed of a power greater than ever, before
or since, (not even excepting the Sage of Ferney,) wielded by a single
literary man, had put forth his boldest genius in behalf of the Roman
Tribune. Such a companion as Rienzi in the camp of the Cardinal might be a
magnet of attraction to the youth and enterprise of Italy. On nearing
Rome, he might himself judge how far it would be advisable to reinstate
Rienzi as a delegate of the papal power. And, in the meanwhile, the
Roman's influence might be serviceable, whether to awe the rebellious
nobles or conciliate the stubborn people. On the other hand, the Cardinal
was shrewd enough to perceive that no possible good could arise from
Rienzi's present confinement. With every month it excited deeper and more
universal sympathy. To his lonely dungeon turned half the hearts of
republican Italy. Literature had leagued its new and sudden, and therefore
mighty and even disproportioned, power with his cause; and the Pope,
without daring to be his judge, incurred the odium of being his gaoler. "A
popular prisoner," said the sagacious Cardinal to himself, "is the most
dangerous of guests. Restore him as your servant, or destroy him as your
foe! In this case I see no alternative but acquittal or the knife!"  In
these reflections that able plotter, deep in the Machiavelism of the age,
divorced the lover from the statesman.

Recurring now to the former character, he felt some disagreeable and uneasy
forebodings at the earnest interest of his mistress. Fain would he have
attributed, either to some fantasy of patriotism or some purpose of
revenge, the anxiety of the Cesarini; and there was much in her stern and
haughty character which favoured that belief. But he was forced to
acknowledge to himself some jealous apprehension of a sinister and latent
motive, which touched his vanity and alarmed his love. "Howbeit," he
thought, as he turned from his unwilling fear, "I can play with her at her
own weapons; I can obtain the release of Rienzi, and claim my reward. If
denied, the hand that opened the dungeon can again rivet the chain. In her
anxiety is my power!"

These thoughts the Cardinal was still revolving in his palace, when he was
suddenly summoned to attend the Pontiff.

The pontifical palace no longer exhibited the gorgeous yet graceful luxury
of Clement VI., and the sarcastic Cardinal smiled to himself at the quiet
gloom of the ante-chambers. "He thinks to set an example - this poor
native of Limoges!" thought Albornoz; "and has but the mortification of
finding himself eclipsed by the poorest bishop. He humbles himself, and
fancies that the humility will be contagious."

His Holiness was seated before a small and rude table bestrewed with
papers, his face buried in his hands; the room was simply furnished, and in
a small niche beside the casement was an ivory crucifix; below, the death's
head and cross-bones, which most monks then introduced with a purpose
similar to that of the ancients by the like ornaments, - mementos of the
shortness of life, and therefore admonitions to make the best of it! On
the ground lay a map of the Patrimonial Territory, with the fortresses in
especial, distinctly and prominently marked. The Pope gently lifted up his
head as the Cardinal was announced, and discovered a plain but sensible and
somewhat interesting countenance. "My son!" said he, with a kindly
courtesy to the lowly salutation of the proud Spaniard, "scarcely wouldst
thou imagine, after our long conference this morning, that new cares would
so soon demand the assistance of thy counsels. Verily, the wreath of
thorns stings sharp under the triple crown; and I sometimes long for the
quiet abode of my old professor's chair in Toulouse: my station is of pain
and toil."

"God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," observed the Cardinal, with pious
and compassionate gravity.

Innocent could scarcely refrain a smile as he replied, "The lamb that
carries the cross must have the strength of the lion. Since we parted, my
son, I have had painful intelligence; our couriers have arrived from the
Campagna - the heathen rage furiously - the force of John di Vico has
augmented fearfully, and the most redoubted adventurer of Europe has
enlisted under his banner."

"Does his Holiness," cried the Cardinal, anxiously, "speak of Fra Moreale,
the Knight of St. John?"

"Of no less a warrior," returned the Pontiff. "I dread the vast ambition
of that wild adventurer."

"Your Holiness hath cause," said the Cardinal, drily.

"Some letters of his have fallen into the hands of the servants of the
Church; they are here: read them, my son."

Albornoz received and deliberately scanned the letters; this done, he
replaced them on the table, and remained for a few moments silent and
absorbed.

"What think you, my son?" said the Pope, at length, with an impatient and
even peevish tone.

"I think that, with Montreal's hot genius and John di Vico's frigid
villany, your Holiness may live to envy, if not the quiet, at least the
revenue, of the Professor's chair."

"How, Cardinal!" said the Pope, hastily, and with an angry flush on his
pale brow. The Cardinal quietly proceeded.

"By these letters it seems that Montreal has written to all the commanders
of free lances throughout Italy, offering the highest pay of a soldier to
every man who will join his standard, combined with the richest plunder of
a brigand. He meditates great schemes then! - I know the man!"

"Well, - and our course?"

"Is plain," said the Cardinal, loftily, and with an eye that flashed with a
soldier's fire. "Not a moment is to be lost! Thy son should at once take
the field. Up with the Banner of the Church!"

"But are we strong enough? our numbers are few. Zeal slackens! the piety
of the Baldwins is no more!"

"Your Holiness knows well," said the Cardinal, "that for the multitude of
men there are two watchwords of war - Liberty and Religion. If Religion
begins to fail, we must employ the profaner word. 'Up with the Banner of
the Church - and down with the tyrants!'  We will proclaim equal laws and
free government; (In correcting the pages of this work, in the year
1847...strange coincidences between the present policy of the Roman Church
and that by which in the 14th century it recovered both spiritual and
temporal power cannot fail to suggest themselves.) and, God willing, our
camp shall prosper better with those promises than the tents of Montreal
with the more vulgar shout of 'Pay and Rapine.'"

"Giles d'Albornoz," said the Pope, emphatically; and, warmed by the spirit
of the Cardinal, he dropped the wonted etiquette of phrase, "I trust
implicitly to you. Now the right hand of the Church - hereafter, perhaps,
its head. Too well I feel that the lot has fallen on a lowly place. My
successor must requite my deficiencies."

No changing hue, no brightening glance, betrayed to the searching eye of
the Pope whatever emotion these words had called up in the breast of the
ambitious Cardinal. He bowed his proud head humbly as he answered, "Pray
Heaven that Innocent VI. may long live to guide the Church to glory. For
Giles d'Albornoz, less priest than soldier, the din of the camp, the breath
of the war-steed, suggest the only aspirations which he ever dares indulge.
But has your Holiness imparted to your servant all that - "

"Nay," interrupted Innocent, "I have yet intelligence equally ominous.
This John di Vico, - pest go with him! - who still styles himself (the
excommunicated ruffian!) Prefect of Rome, has so filled that unhappy city
with his emissaries, that we have well-nigh lost the seat of the Apostle.
Rome, long in anarchy, seems now in open rebellion. The nobles - sons of
Belial! - it is true, are once more humbled; but how? - One Baroncelli, a
new demagogue, the fiercest - the most bloody that the fiend ever helped -
has arisen - is invested by the mob with power, and uses it to butcher the
people and insult the Pontiff. Wearied of the crimes of this man, (which
are not even decorated by ability,) the shout of the people day and night
along the streets is for 'Rienzi the Tribune.'"

"Ha!" said the Cardinal, "Rienzi's faults then are forgotten in Rome, and
there is felt for him the same enthusiasm in that city as in the rest of
Italy?"

"Alas! It is so."

"It is well, I have thought of this: Rienzi can accompany my progress - "

"My son! the rebel, the heretic - "

"By your Holiness's absolution will become quiet subject and orthodox
Catholic," said Albornoz. "Men are good or bad as they suit our purpose.
What matters a virtue that is useless, or a crime that is useful, to us?
The army of the Church proceeds against tyrants - it proclaims everywhere
to the Papal towns the restoration of their popular constitutions. Sees
not your Holiness that the acquittal of Rienzi, the popular darling, will
be hailed an earnest of your sincerity? - sees not your Holiness that his
name will fight for us? - sees not your Holiness that the great demagogue
Rienzi must be used to extinguish the little demagogue Baroncelli? We must
regain the Romans, whether of the city or whether in the seven towns of
John di Vico. When they hear Rienzi is in our camp, trust me, we shall
have a multitude of deserters from the tyrants - trust me, we shall hear no
more of Baroncelli."

"Ever sagacious," said the Pope, musingly; "it is true, we can use this
man: but with caution. His genius is formidable - "

"And therefore must be conciliated; if we acquit, we must make him ours.
My experience has taught me this, when you cannot slay a demagogue by law,
crush him with honours. He must be no longer Tribune of the People. Give
him the Patrician title of Senator, and he is then the Lieutenant of the
Pope!"

"I will see to this, my son - your suggestions please, but alarm me: he
shall at least be examined; - but if found a heretic - "

"Should, I humbly advise, be declared a saint."

The Pope bent his brow for a moment, but the effort was too much for him,
and after a moment's struggle, he fairly laughed aloud.

"Go to, my son," said he, affectionately patting the Cardinal's sallow
cheek. "Go to. - If the world heard thee, what would it say?"

"That Giles d'Albornoz had just enough religion to remember that the State
is a Church, but not too much to forget that the Church is a State."

With these words the conference ended. That very evening the Pope decreed
that Rienzi should be permitted the trial he had demanded.

Chapter 7.IV. The Lady and the Page.

It wanted three hours of midnight, when Albornoz, resuming his character of
gallant, despatched to the Signora Cesarini the following billet.

"Your commands are obeyed. Rienzi will receive an examination on his
faith. It is well that he should be prepared. It may suit your purpose,
as to which I am so faintly enlightened, to appear to the prisoner what you
are - the obtainer of this grace. See how implicitly one noble heart can
trust another! I send by the bearer an order that will admit one of your
servitors to the prisoner's cell. Be it, if you will, your task to
announce to him the new crisis of his fate. Ah! madam, may fortune be as
favourable to me, and grant me the same intercessor - from thy lips my
sentence is to come."

As Albornoz finished this epistle, he summoned his confidential attendant,
a Spanish gentleman, who saw nothing in his noble birth that should prevent
his fulfilling the various hests of the Cardinal.

"Alvarez," said he, "these to the Signora Cesarini by another hand; thou
art unknown to her household. Repair to the state tower; this to the
Governor admits thee. Mark who is admitted to the prisoner Cola di Rienzi:
Know his name, examine whence he comes. Be keen, Alvarez. Learn by what
motive the Cesarini interests herself in the prisoner's fate. All too of
herself, birth, fortunes, lineage, would be welcome intelligence. Thou
comprehendest me? It is well. One caution - thou hast no mission from, no
connexion with, me. Thou art an officer of the prison, or of the Pope, -
what thou wilt. Give me the rosary; light the lamp before the crucifix;
place yon hair-shirt beneath those arms. I would have it appear as if
meant to be hidden! Tell Gomez that the Dominican preacher is to be
admitted."

"Those friars have zeal," continued the Cardinal to himself, as, after
executing his orders, Alvarez withdrew. "They would burn a man - but only
on the Bible? They are worth conciliating, if the triple crown be really
worth the winning; were it mine, I would add the eagle's plume to it."

And plunged into the aspiring future, this bold man forgot even the object
of his passion. In real life, after a certain age, ambitious men love
indeed; but it is only as an interlude. And indeed with most men, life has
more absorbing though not more frequent concerns than those of love. Love
is the business of the idle, but the idleness of the busy.

The Cesarini was alone when the Cardinal's messenger arrived, and he was
scarcely dismissed with a few lines, expressive of a gratitude which seemed
to bear down all those guards with which the coldness of the Signora
usually fenced her pride, before the page Angelo was summoned to her
presence.

The room was dark with the shades of the gathering night when the youth
entered, and he discerned but dimly the outline of the Signora's stately
form; but by the tone of her voice, he perceived that she was deeply
agitated.

"Angelo," said she, as he approached, "Angelo - " and her voice failed her.
She paused as for breath and again proceeded. "You alone have served us
faithfully; you alone shared our escape, our wanderings, our exile - you
alone know my secret - you of my train alone are Roman! - Roman! it was
once a great name. Angelo, the name has fallen; but it is only because the
nature of the Roman Race fell first. Haughty they are, but fickle; fierce,
but dastard; vehement in promise, but rotten in their faith. You are a
Roman, and though I have proved your truth, your very birth makes me afraid
of falsehood."

"Madam," said the page; "I was but a child when you admitted me of your
service, and I am yet only on the verge of manhood. But boy though I yet
be, I would brave the stoutest lance of knight, or freebooter, in defence
of the faith of Angelo Villani, to his liege Lady and his native land."

"Alas! alas!" said the Signora, bitterly, "such have been the words of
thousands of thy race. What have been their deeds? But I will trust thee,
as I have trusted ever. I know that thou art covetous of honour, that thou
hast youth's comely and bright ambition."

"I am an orphan and a bastard," said Angelo, bluntly! "And circumstance
stings me sharply on to action; I would win my own name."

"Thou shalt," said the Signora. "We shall live yet to reward thee. And
now be quick. Bring hither one of thy page's suits, - mantle and head-
gear. Quick, I say, and whisper not to a soul what I have asked of thee."

Chapter 7.V. The Inmate of the Tower.

The night slowly advanced, and in the highest chamber of that dark and
rugged tower which fronted the windows of the Cesarini's palace sate a
solitary prisoner. A single lamp burned before him on a table of stone,
and threw its rays over an open Bible; and those stern but fantastic
legends of the prowess of ancient Rome, which the genius of Livy has
dignified into history. ("Avea libri assai, suo Tito Livio, sue storie di
Roma, la Bibbia et altri libri assai, non finava di studiare." - "Vita di
Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. cap. 13. See translation to motto to Book VII.
page 202.)  A chain hung pendent from the vault of the tower, and confined
the captive; but so as to leave his limbs at sufficient liberty to measure
at will the greater part of the cell. Green and damp were the mighty
stones of the walls, and through a narrow aperture, high out of reach, came
the moonlight, and slept in long shadow over the rude floor. A bed at one
corner completed the furniture of the room. Such for months had been the
abode of the conqueror of the haughtiest Barons, and the luxurious dictator
of the stateliest city of the world!

Care, and travel, and time, and adversity, had wrought their change in the
person of Rienzi. The proportions of his frame had enlarged from the
compact strength of earlier manhood, the clear paleness of his cheek was
bespread with a hectic and deceitful glow. Even in his present studies,
intent as they seemed, and genial though the lecture to a mind enthusiastic
even to fanaticism, his eyes could not rivet themselves as of yore steadily
to the page. The charm was gone from the letters. Every now and then he
moved restlessly, started, re-settled himself, and muttered broken
exclamations like a man in an anxious dream. Anon, his gaze impatiently
turned upward, about, around, and there was a strange and wandering fire in
those large deep eyes, which might have thrilled the beholder with a vague
and unaccountable awe.

Angelo had in the main correctly narrated the more recent adventures of
Rienzi after his fall. He had first with Nina and Angelo betaken himself
to Naples, and found a fallacious and brief favour with Louis, king of
Hungary; that harsh but honourable monarch had refused to yield his
illustrious guest to the demands of Clement, but had plainly declared his
inability to shelter him in safety. Maintaining secret intercourse with
his partisans at Rome, the fugitive then sought a refuge with the Eremites,
sequestered in the lone recesses of the Monte Maiella, where in solitude
and thought he had passed a whole year, save the time consumed in his visit
to and return from Florence. Taking advantage of the Jubilee in Rome, he
had then, disguised as a pilgrim, traversed the vales and mountains still
rich in the melancholy ruins of ancient Rome, and entering the city, his
restless and ambitious spirit indulged in new but vain conspiracies!
(Rainald, Ann. 1350, N. 4, E. 5.)  Excommunicated a second time by the
Cardinal di Ceccano, and again a fugitive, he shook the dust from his feet
as he left the city, and raising his hands towards those walls, in which
are yet traced the witness of the Tarquins, cried aloud - "Honoured as thy
prince - persecuted as thy victim - Rome, Rome, thou shalt yet receive me
as thy conqueror!"

Still disguised as a pilgrim, he passed unmolested through Italy into the
Court of the Emperor Charles of Bohemia, where the page, who had probably
witnessed, had rightly narrated, his reception. It is doubtful, however,
whether the conduct of the Emperor had been as chivalrous as appears by
Angelo's relation, or whether he had not delivered Rienzi to the Pontiff's
emissaries. At all events it is certain, that from Prague to Avignon, the
path of the fallen Tribune had been as one triumph. His strange adventures
- his unbroken spirit - the new power that Intellect daily and wonderfully
excited over the minds of the rising generation - the eloquence of
Petrarch, and the common sympathy of the vulgar for fallen greatness, - all
conspired to make Rienzi the hero of the age. Not a town through which he
passed which would not have risked a siege for his protection - not a house
that would not have sheltered him - not a hand that would not have struck
in his defence. Refusing all offers of aid, disdaining all occasion of
escape, inspired by his indomitable hope, and his unalloyed belief in the
brightness of his own destinies, the Tribune sought Avignon - and found a
dungeon!

These, his external adventures, are briefly and easily told; but who shall
tell what passed within? - who narrate the fearful history of the heart? -
who paint the rapid changes of emotion and of thought - the indignant grief
- the stern dejection - the haughty disappointment that saddened while it
never destroyed the resolve of that great soul? Who can say what must have
been endured, what meditated, in the hermitage of Maiella; - on the lonely
hills of the perished empire it had been his dream to restore; - in the
Courts of Barbarian Kings; - and above all, on returning obscure and
disguised, amidst the crowds of the Christian world, to the seat of his
former power? What elements of memory, and in what a wild and fiery brain!
What reflections to be conned in the dungeons of Avignon, by a man who had
pushed into all the fervour of fanaticism - four passions, a single one of
which has, in excess, sufficed to wreck the strongest reason - passions,
which in themselves it is most difficult to combine, - the dreamer - the
aspirant - the very nympholept of Freedom, yet of Power - of Knowledge, yet
of Religion!

"Ay," muttered the prisoner, "ay, these texts are comforting - comforting.
The righteous are not alway oppressed."  With a long sigh he deliberately
put aside the Bible, kissed it with great reverence, remained silent, and
musing for some minutes; and then as a slight noise was heard at one corner
of the cell, said softly, "Ah, my friends, my comrades, the rats! it is
their hour - I am glad I put aside the bread for them!"  His eye brightened
as it now detected those strange and unsocial animals venturing forth
through a hole in the wall, and, darkening the moonshine on the floor,
steal fearlessly towards him. He flung some fragments of bread to them,
and for some moments watched their gambols with a smile. "Manchino, the
white-faced rascal! he beats all the rest - ha, ha! he is a superior wretch
- he commands the tribe, and will venture the first into the trap. How
will he bite against the steel, the fine fellow! while all the ignobler
herd will gaze at him afar off, and quake and fear, and never help. Yet if
united, they might gnaw the trap and release their leader! Ah, ye are base
vermin, ye eat my bread, yet if death came upon me, ye would riot on my
carcass. Away!" and clapping his hands, the chain round him clanked
harshly, and the noisome co-mates of his dungeon vanished in an instant.

That singular and eccentric humour which marked Rienzi, and which had
seemed a buffoonery to the stolid sullenness of the Roman nobles, still
retained its old expression in his countenance, and he laughed loud as he
saw the vermin hurry back to their hiding-place.

"A little noise and the clank of a chain - fie, how ye imitate mankind!"
Again he sank into silence, and then heavily and listlessly drawing towards
him the animated tales of Livy, said, "An hour to midnight! - waking dreams
are better than sleep. Well, history tells us how men have risen - ay, and
nations too - after sadder falls than that of Rienzi or of Rome!"

In a few minutes, he was apparently absorbed in the lecture; so intent
indeed, was he in the task, that he did not hear the steps which wound the
spiral stairs that conducted to his cell, and it was not till the wards
harshly grated beneath the huge key, and the door creaked on its hinges,
that Rienzi, in amaze at intrusion at so unwonted an hour, lifted his eyes.
The door had reclosed on the dungeon, and by the lonely and pale lamp he
beheld a figure leaning, as for support, against the wall. The figure was
wrapped from head to foot in the long cloak of the day, which, aided by a
broad hat, shaded by plumes, concealed even the features of the visitor.

Rienzi gazed long and wistfully.

"Speak," he said at length, putting his hand to his brow. "Methinks either
long solitude has bewildered me, or, sweet sir, your apparition dazzles. I
know you not - am I sure? - " and Rienzi's hair bristled while he slowly
rose - "Am I sure that it is living man who stands before me? Angels have
entered the prison-house before now. Alas! an angel's comfort never was
more needed."

The stranger answered not, but the captive saw that his heart heaved even
beneath his cloak; loud sobs choked his voice; at length, as by a violent
effort, he sprung forward, and sunk at the Tribune's feet. The disguising
hat, the long mantle fell to the ground - it was the face of a woman that
looked upward through passionate and glazing tears - the arms of a woman
that clasped the prisoner's knees! Rienzi gazed mute and motionless as
stone. "Powers and Saints of Heaven!" he murmured at last, "do ye tempt me
further! - is it? - no, no - yet speak!"

"Beloved - adored! - do you not know me?"

"It is - it is!" shrieked Rienzi wildly, "it is my Nina - my wife - my - "
His voice forsook him. Clasped in each other's arms, the unfortunates for
some moments seemed to have lost even the sense of delight at their
reunion. It was as an unconscious and deep trance, through which something
like a dream only faintly and indistinctively stirs.

At length recovered - at length restored, the first broken exclamations,
the first wild caresses of joy over - Nina lifted her head from her
husband's bosom, and gazed sadly on his countenance - "Oh, what thou hast
known since we parted! - what, since that hour when, borne on by thy bold
heart and wild destiny, thou didst leave me in the Imperial Court, to seek
again the diadem and find the chain! Ah! why did I heed thy commands? -
why suffer thee to depart alone? How often in thy progress hitherward, in
doubt, in danger, might this bosom have been thy resting-place, and this
voice have whispered comfort to thy soul? Thou art well, my Lord - my
Cola! Thy pulse beats quicker than of old - thy brow is furrowed. Ah!
tell me thou art well!"

"Well,' said Rienzi, mechanically. "Methinks so! - the mind diseased
blunts all sense of bodily decay. Well - yes! And thou - thou, at least,
art not changed, save to maturer beauty. The glory of the laurel-wreath
has not faded from thy brow. Thou shalt yet - " then breaking off abruptly
- "Rome - tell me of Rome! And thou - how camest thou hither? Ah! perhaps
my doom is sealed, and in their mercy they have vouchsafed that I should
see thee once more before the deathsman blinds me. I remember, it is the
grace vouchsafed to malefactors. When I was a lord of life and death, I
too permitted the meanest criminal to say farewell to those he loved."

"No - not so, Cola!" exclaimed Nina, putting her hand before his mouth. "I
bring thee more auspicious tidings. Tomorrow thou art to be heard. The
favour of the Court is propitiated. Thou wilt be acquitted."

"Ha! speak again."

"Thou wilt be heard, my Cola - thou must be acquitted!"

"And Rome be free! - Great God, I thank Thee!"

The Tribune sank on his knees, and never had his heart, in his youngest and
purest hour, poured forth thanksgiving more fervent, yet less selfish.
When he rose again, the whole man seemed changed. His eye had resumed its
earlier expressions of deep and serene command. Majesty sate upon his
brow. The sorrows of the exile were forgotten. In his sanguine and rapid
thoughts, he stood once more the guardian of his country, - and its
sovereign!

Nina gazed upon him with that intense and devoted worship, which steeped
her vainer and her harder qualities in all the fondness of the softest
woman. "Such," thought she, "was his look eight years ago, when he left my
maiden chamber, full of the mighty schemes which liberated  Rome - such his
look, when at the dawning sun he towered amidst the crouching Barons, and
the kneeling population of the city he had made his throne!"

"Yes, Nina!" said Rienzi, as he turned and caught her eye. "My soul tells
me that my hour is at hand. If they try me openly, they dare not convict -
if they acquit me, they dare not but restore. Tomorrow, saidst thou,
tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, Rienzi; be prepared!"

"I am - for triumph! But tell me what happy chance brought thee to
Avignon?"

"Chance, Cola!" said Nina, with reproachful tenderness. "Could I know that
thou wert in the dungeons of the Pontiff, and linger in idle security at
Prague? Even at the Emperor's Court thou hadst thy partisans and
favourers. Gold was easily procured. I repaired to Florence - disguised
my name - and came hither to plot, to scheme, to win thy liberty, or to die
with thee. Ah! did not thy heart tell thee that morning and night the eyes
of thy faithful Nina gazed upon this gloomy tower; and that one friend,
humble though she be, never could forsake thee!"

"Sweet Nina! Yet - yet - at Avignon power yields not to beauty without
reward. Remember, there is a worse death than the pause of life."

Nina turned pale. "Fear not," she said, with a low but determined voice;
"fear not, that men's lips should say Rienzi's wife delivered him. None in
this corrupted Court know that I am thy wife."

"Woman," said the Tribune, sternly; "thy lips elude the answer I would
seek. In our degenerate time and land, thy sex and ours forget too basely
what foulness writes a leprosy in the smallest stain upon a matron's
honour. That thy heart would never wrong me, I believe; but if thy
weakness, thy fear of my death should wrong me, thou art a bitterer foe to
Rienzi than the swords of the Colonna. Nina, speak!"

"Oh, that my soul could speak," answered Nina. "Thy words are music to me,
and not a thought of mine but echoes them. Could I touch this hand, could
I meet that eye, and not know that death were dearer to thee than shame?
Rienzi, when last we parted, in sadness, yet in hope, what were thy words
to me?"

"I remember them well," returned the Tribune: "'I leave thee,' I said, 'to
keep alive at the Emperor's Court, by thy genius, the Great Cause. Thou
hast youth and beauty - and courts have lawless and ruffian suitors. I
give thee no caution; it were beneath thee and me. But I leave thee the
power of death.'  And with that, Nina - "

"Thy hands tremblingly placed in mine this dagger. I live - need I say
more?"

"My noble and beloved Nina, it is enough. Keep the dagger yet."

"Yes; till we meet in the Capitol of Rome!"

A slight tap was heard at the door; Nina regained, in an instant, her
disguise.

"It is on the stroke of midnight," said the gaoler, appearing at the
threshold.

"I come," said Nina.

"And thou hast to prepare thy thoughts," she whispered to Rienzi: "arm all
thy glorious intellect. Alas! is it again we part? How my heart sinks!"

The presence of the gaoler at the threshold broke the bitterness of parting
by abridging it. The false page pressed her lips on the prisoner's hand,
and left the cell.

The gaoler, lingering behind for a moment, placed a parchment on the table.
It was the summons from the court appointed for the trial of the Tribune.

Chapter 7.VI. The Scent Does Not Lie. - The Priest and the Soldier.

On descending the stairs, Nina was met by Alvarez.

"Fair page," said the Spaniard, gaily, "thy name, thou tellest me, is
Villani? - Angelo Villani - why I know thy kinsman, methinks. Vouchsafe,
young master, to enter this chamber, and drink a night-cup to thy lady's
health; I would fain learn tidings of my old friends."

"At another time," answered the false Angelo, drawing the cloak closer
round her face; it is late - I am hurried."

"Nay," said the Spaniard, "you escape me not so easily;" and he caught firm
hold of the page's shoulder.

"Unhand me, sir!" said Nina, haughtily, and almost weeping, for her strong
nerves were yet unstrung. "Gaoler, at thy peril - unbar the gates."

"So hot," said Alvarez, surprised at so great a waste of dignity in a page;
"nay, I meant not to offend thee. May I wait on thy pageship tomorrow?"

"Ay, tomorrow," said Nina, eager to escape.

"And meanwhile," said Alvarez, "I will accompany thee home - we can confer
by the way."

So saying, without regarding the protestations of the supposed page, he
passed with Nina into the open air. "Your lady," said he, carelessly, "is
wondrous fair; her lightest will is law to the greatest noble of Avignon.
Methinks she is of Naples - is it so? Art thou dumb, sweet youth?"

The page did not answer, but with a step so rapid that it almost put the
slow Spaniard out of breath, hastened along the narrow space between the
tower and the palace of the Signora Cesarini, nor could all the efforts of
Alvarez draw forth a single syllable from his reluctant companion, till
they reached the gates of the palace, and he found himself discourteously
left without the walls.

"A plague on the boy!" said he, biting his lips; "if the Cardinal thrive as
well as his servant, by're Lady, Monsignore is a happy man!"

By no means pleased with the prospect of an interview with Albornoz, who,
like most able men, valued the talents of those he employed exactly in
proportion to their success, the Spaniard slowly returned home. With the
licence accorded to him, he entered the Cardinal's chamber somewhat
abruptly, and perceived him in earnest conversation with a Cavalier, whose
long moustache, curled upward, and the bright cuirass worn underneath his
mantle, seemed to betoken him of martial profession. Pleased with the
respite, Alvarez hastily withdrew: and, in fact, the Cardinal's thoughts
at that moment, and for that night, were bent upon other subjects than
those of love.

The interruption served, however, to shorten the conversation between
Albornoz and his guest. The latter rose.

"I think," said he, buckling on a short and broad rapier, which he laid
aside during the interview, - "I think, my Lord Cardinal, you encourage me
to consider that our negotiation stands a fair chance of a prosperous
close. Ten thousand florins, and my brother quits Viterbo, and launches
the thunderbolt of the Company on the lands of Rimini. On your part - "

"On my part it is agreed," said the Cardinal, "that the army of the Church
interferes not with the course of your brother's arms - there is peace
between us. One warrior understands another!"

"And the word of Giles d'Albornoz, son of the royal race of Arragon, is a
guarantee for the faith of a Cardinal," replied the Cavalier, with a smile.
"It is, my Lord, in your former quality that we treat."

"There is my right hand," answered Albornoz, too politic to heed the
insinuation. The Cavalier raised it respectfully to his lips, and his
armed tread was soon heard descending the stairs.

"Victory," cried Albornoz, tossing his arms aloof; "Victory, now thou art
mine!"

With that he rose hastily, deposited his papers in an iron chest, and
opening a concealed door behind the arras, entered a chamber that rather
resembled a monk's cell than the apartment of a prince. Over a mean pallet
hung a sword, a dagger, and a rude image of the Virgin. Without summoning
Alvarez, the Cardinal unrobed, and in a few moments was asleep.

Chapter 7.VII. Vaucluse and its Genius Loci. - Old Acquaintance Renewed.

The next day at early noon the Cavalier, whom our last chapter presented to
the reader, was seen mounted on a strong Norman horse, winding his way
slowly along a green and pleasant path some miles from Avignon. At length
he found himself in a wild and romantic valley, through which wandered that
delightful river whose name the verse of Petrarch has given to so beloved a
fame. Sheltered by rocks, and in this part winding through the greenest
banks, enamelled with a thousand wild flowers and water-weeds, went the
crystal Sorgia. Advancing farther, the landscape assumed a more sombre and
sterile aspect. The valley seemed enclosed or shut in by fantastic rocks
of a thousand shapes, down which dashed and glittered a thousand rivulets.
And, in the very wildest of the scene, the ground suddenly opened into a
quaint and cultivated garden, through which, amidst a profusion of foliage,
was seen a small and lonely mansion, - the hermitage of the place. The
horseman was in the valley of the Vaucluse; and before his eye lay the
garden and the house of PETRARCH! Carelessly, however, his eye scanned the
consecrated spot; and unconsciously it rested, for a moment, upon a
solitary figure seated musingly by the margin of the river. A large dog at
the side of the noonday idler barked at the horseman as he rode on. "A
brave animal and a deep bay!" thought the traveller; to him the dog seemed
an object much more interesting than its master. And so, - as the crowd of
little men pass unheeding and unmoved, those in whom Posterity shall
acknowledge the landmarks of their age, - the horseman turned his glance
from the Poet!

Thrice blessed name! Immortal Florentine! (I need scarcely say that it is
his origin, not his actual birth, which entitles us to term Petrarch a
Florentine.) not as the lover, nor even as the poet, do I bow before thy
consecrated memory - venerating thee as one it were sacrilege to introduce
in this unworthy page - save by name and as a shadow; but as the first who
ever asserted to people and to prince the august majesty of Letters; who
claimed to Genius the prerogative to influence states, to control opinion,
to hold an empire over the hearts of men, and prepare events by animating
passion, and guiding thought! What, (though but feebly felt and dimly
seen) - what do we yet owe to Thee if Knowledge be now a Power; if MIND be
a Prophet and a Fate, foretelling and foredooming the things to come! From
the greatest to the least of us, to whom the pen is at once a sceptre and a
sword, the low-born Florentine has been the arch-messenger to smooth the
way and prepare the welcome. Yes! even the meanest of the aftercomers -
even he who now vents his gratitude, - is thine everlasting debtor! Thine,
how largely is the honour, if his labours, humble though they be, find an
audience wherever literature is known; preaching in remotest lands the
moral of forgotten revolutions, and scattering in the palace and the
marketplace the seeds that shall ripen into fruit when the hand of the
sower shall be dust, and his very name, perhaps, be lost! For few, alas!
are they, whose names may outlive the grave; but the thoughts of every man
who writes, are made undying; - others appropriate, advance, exalt them;
and millions of minds unknown, undreamt of, are required to produce the
immortality of one!

Indulging meditations very different from those which the idea of Petrarch
awakens in a later time, the Cavalier pursued his path.

The valley was long left behind, and the way grew more and more faintly
traced, until it terminated in a wood, through whose tangled boughs the
sunlight broke playfully. At length, the wood opened into a wide glade,
from which rose a precipitous ascent, crowned with the ruins of an old
castle. The traveller dismounted, led his horse up the ascent, and,
gaining the ruins, left his steed within one of the roofless chambers,
overgrown with the longest grass and a profusion of wild shrubs; thence
ascending, with some toil, a narrow and broken staircase, he found himself
in a small room, less decayed than the rest, of which the roof and floor
were yet whole.

Stretched on the ground in his cloak, and leaning his head thoughtfully on
his hand, was a man of tall stature, and middle age. He lifted himself on
his arm with great alacrity as the Cavalier entered.

"Well, Brettone, I have counted the hours - what tidings?"

"Albornoz consents."

"Glad news! Thou givest me new life. Pardieu, I shall breakfast all the
better for this, my brother. Hast thou remembered that I am famishing?"

Brettone drew from beneath his cloak a sufficiently huge flask of wine, and
a small panier, tolerably well filled; the inmate of the tower threw
himself upon the provant with great devotion. And both the soldiers, for
such they were, stretched at length on the ground, regaled themselves with
considerable zest, talking hastily and familiarly between every mouthful.

"I say, Brettone, thou playest unfairly; thou hast already devoured more
than half the pasty: push it hitherward. And so the Cardinal consents!
What manner of man is he? Able as they say?"

"Quick, sharp, and earnest, with an eye of fire, few words, and comes to
the point."

"Unlike a priest then; - a good brigand spoilt. What hast thou heard of
the force he heads? Ho, not so fast with the wine."

"Scanty at present. - He relies on recruits throughout Italy."

"What his designs for Rome? There, my brother, there tends my secret soul!
As for these petty towns and petty tyrants, I care not how they fall, or by
whom. But the Pope must not return to Rome. Rome must be mine. The city
of a new empire, the conquest of a new Attila! There, every circumstance
combines in my favour! - the absence of the Pope, the weakness of the
middle class, the poverty of the populace, the imbecile though ferocious
barbarism of the Barons, have long concurred to render Rome the most
facile, while the most glorious conquest!"

"My brother, pray Heaven your ambition do not wreck you at last; you are
ever losing sight of the land. Surely with the immense wealth we are
acquiring, we may - "

"Aspire to be something greater than Free Companions, generals today, and
adventurers tomorrow. Rememberest thou, how the Norman sword won Sicily,
and how the bastard William converted on the field of Hastings his baton
into a sceptre. I tell thee, Brettone, that this loose Italy has crowns on
the hedge that a dexterous hand may carry off at the point of the lance.
My course is taken, I will form the fairest army in Italy, and with it I
will win a throne in the Capitol. Fool that I was six years ago! - Instead
of deputing that mad dolt Pepin of Minorbino, had I myself deserted the
Hungarian, and repaired with my soldiery to Rome, the fall of Rienzi would
have been followed by the rise of Montreal. Pepin was outwitted, and threw
away the prey after he had hunted it down. The lion shall not again trust
the chase to the jackal!"

"Walter, thou speakest of the fate of Rienzi, let it warn thee!"

"Rienzi!" replied Montreal; "I know the man! In peaceful times or with an
honest people, he would have founded a great dynasty. But he dreamt of
laws and liberty for men who despise the first and will not protect the
last. We, of a harder race, know that a new throne must be built by the
feudal and not the civil system; and into the city we must transport the
camp. It is by the multitude that the proud Tribune gained power, - by the
multitude he lost it; it is by the sword that I will win it, and by the
sword will I keep it!"

"Rienzi was too cruel, he should not have incensed the Barons," said
Brettone, about to finish the flask, when the strong hand of his brother
plucked it from him, and anticipated the design.

"Pooh," said Montreal, finishing the draught with a long sigh, "he was not
cruel enough. He sought only to be just, and not to distinguish between
noble and peasant. He should have distinguished! He should have
exterminated the nobles root and branch. But this no Italian can do. This
is reserved for me."

"Thou wouldst not butcher all the best blood of Rome?"

"Butcher! No, but I would seize their lands, and endow with them a new
nobility, the hardy and fierce nobility of the North, who well know how to
guard their prince, and will guard him, as the fountain of their own power.
Enough of this now. And talking of Rienzi - rots he still in his dungeon?"

"Why, this morning, ere I left, I heard strange news. The town was astir,
groups in every corner. They said that Rienzi's trial was to be today, and
from the names of the judges chosen, it is suspected that acquittal is
already determined on."

"Ha! thou shouldst have told me of this before."

"Should he be restored to Rome, would it militate against thy plans?"

"Humph! I know not - deep thought and dexterous management would be
needed. I would fain not leave this spot till I hear what is decided on."

"Surely, Walter, it would have been wiser and safer to have stayed with thy
soldiery, and intrusted me with the absolute conduct of this affair."

"Not so," answered Montreal; "thou art a bold fellow enough, and a cunning
- but my head in these matters is better than thine. Besides," continued
the Knight, lowering his voice, and shading his face, "I had vowed a
pilgrimage to the beloved river, and the old trysting-place. Ah me! - But
all this, Brettone, thou understandest not - let it pass. As for my
safety, since we have come to this amnesty with Albornoz, I fear but little
danger even if discovered: besides, I want the florins. There are those
in this country, Germans, who could eat an Italian army at a meal, whom I
would fain engage, and their leaders want earnest-money - the griping
knaves! - How are the Cardinal's florins to be paid?"

"Half now - half when thy troops are before Rimini!"

"Rimini! the thought whets my sword. Rememberest thou how that accursed
Malatesta drove me from Aversa, (This Malatesta, a signior of illustrious
family, was one of the most skilful warriors in Italy. He and his brother
Galeotto had been raised to the joint-tyranny of Rimini by the voice of its
citizens. After being long the foes of the Church, they were ultimately
named as its captains by the Cardinal Albornoz.) broke up my camp, and made
me render to him all my booty? There fell the work of years! But for
that, my banner now would be floating over St. Angelo. I will pay back the
debt with fire and sword, ere the summer has shed its leaves."

The fair countenance of Montreal grew terrible as he uttered these words;
his hands griped the handle of his sword, and his strong frame heaved
visibly; tokens of the fierce and unsparing passions, by the aid of which a
life of rapine and revenge had corrupted a nature originally full no less
of the mercy than the courage of Provencal chivalry.

Such was the fearful man who now (the wildness of his youth sobered, and
his ambition hardened and concentered) was the rival with Rienzi for the
mastery of Rome.

Chapter 7.VIII. The Crowd. - The Trial. - The Verdict. - The Soldier and
the Page.

It was on the following evening that a considerable crowd had gathered in
the streets of Avignon. It was the second day of the examination of
Rienzi, and with every moment was expected the announcement of the verdict.
Amongst the foreigners of all countries assembled in that seat of the Papal
splendour, the interest was intense. The Italians, even of the highest
rank, were in favour of the Tribune, the French against him. As for the
good townspeople of Avignon themselves, they felt but little excitement in
any thing that did not bring money into their pockets; and if it had been
put to the secret vote, no doubt there would have been a vast majority for
burning the prisoner, as a marketable speculation!

Amongst the crowd was a tall man in a plain and rusty suit of armour, but
with an air of knightly bearing, which somewhat belied the coarseness of
his mail; he wore no helmet, but a small morion of black leather, with a
long projecting shade, much used by wayfarers in the hot climates of the
south. A black patch covered nearly the whole of one cheek, and altogether
he bore the appearance of a grim soldier, with whom war had dealt harshly,
both in purse and person.

Many were the jests at the shabby swordsman's expense, with which that
lively population amused their impatience; and though the shade of the
morion concealed his eyes, an arch and merry smile about the corners of his
mouth shewed that he could take a jest at himself.

"Well," said one of the crowd, (a rich Milanese,) "I am of a state that was
free, and I trust the People's man will have justice shewn him."

"Amen," said a grave Florentine.

"They say," whispered a young student from Paris, to a learned doctor of
laws, with whom he abode, "that his defence has been a masterpiece."

"He hath taken no degrees," replied the doctor, doubtingly. "Ho, friend,
why dost thou push me so? thou hast rent my robe."

This was said to a minstrel, or jongleur, who, with a small lute slung
round him, was making his way, with great earnestness, through the throng.

"I beg pardon, worthy sir," said the minstrel; "but this is a scene to be
sung of! Centuries hence; ay, and in lands remote, legend and song will
tell the fortunes of Cola di Rienzi, the friend of Petrarch and the Tribune
of Rome!"

The young French student turned quickly round to the minstrel, with a glow
on his pale face; not sharing the general sentiments of his countrymen
against Rienzi, he felt that it was an era in the world when a minstrel
spoke thus of the heroes of intellect - not of war.

At this time the tall soldier was tapped impatiently on the back.

"I pray thee, great sir," said a sharp and imperious voice, "to withdraw
that tall bulk of thine a little on one side - I cannot see through thee;
and I would fain my eyes were among the first to catch a glimpse of Rienzi
as he passes from the court."

"Fair sir page," replied the soldier, good-humouredly, as he made way for
Angelo Villani, "thou wilt not always find that way in the world is won by
commanding the strong. When thou art older thou wilt beard the weak, and
the strong thou wilt wheedle."

"I must change my nature, then," answered Angelo, (who was of somewhat
small stature, and not yet come to his full growth,) trying still to raise
himself above the heads of the crowd.

The soldier looked at him approvingly; and as he looked he sighed, and his
lips worked with some strange emotion.

"Thou speakest well," said he, after a pause. "Pardon me the rudeness of
the question; but art thou of Italy? - thy tongue savours of the Roman
dialect; yet I have seen lineaments like thine on this side the Alps."

"It may be, good fellow," said the page, haughtily; "but I thank Heaven
that I am of Rome."

At this moment a loud shout burst from that part of the crowd nearest the
court. The sound of trumpets again hushed the throng into deep and
breathless silence, while the Pope's guards, ranged along the space
conducting from the court, drew themselves up more erect, and fell a step
or two back upon the crowd.

As the trumpet ceased, the voice of a herald was heard, but it did not
penetrate within several yards of the spot where Angelo and the soldier
stood; and it was only by a mighty shout that in a moment circled through,
and was echoed back by, the wide multitude - by the waving of kerchiefs
from the windows - by broken ejaculations, which were caught up from lip to
lip, that the page knew that Rienzi was acquitted.

"I would I could see his face!" sighed the page, querulously.

"And thou shalt," said the soldier; and he caught up the boy in his arms,
and pressed on with the strength of a giant, parting the living stream from
right to left, as he took his way to a place near the guards, and by which
Rienzi was sure to pass.

The page, half-pleased, half-indignant, struggled a little, but finding it
in vain, consented tacitly to what he felt an outrage on his dignity.

"Never mind," said the soldier, "thou art the first I ever willingly raised
above myself; and I do it now for the sake of thy fair face, which reminds
me of one I loved."

But these last words were spoken low, and the boy, in his anxiety to see
the hero of Rome, did not hear or heed them. Presently Rienzi came by; two
gentlemen, of the Pope's own following, walked by his side. He moved
slowly, amidst the greetings and clamour of the crowd, looking neither to
the right nor left. His bearing was firm and collected, and, save by the
flush of his cheek, there was no external sign of joy or excitement.
Flowers dropped from every balcony on his path; and just when he came to a
broader space, where the ground was somewhat higher, and where he was in
fuller view of the houses around, he paused - and, uncovering, acknowledged
the homage he had received, with a look - a gesture - which each who beheld
never forgot. It haunted even that gay and thoughtless court, when the
last tale of Rienzi's life reached their ears. And Angelo, clinging then
round that soldier's neck, recalled - but we must not anticipate.

It was not, however, to the dark tower that Rienzi returned. His home was
prepared at the palace of the Cardinal d'Albornoz. The next day he was
admitted to the Pope's presence, and on the evening of that day he was
proclaimed Senator of Rome.

Meanwhile the soldier had placed Angelo on the ground; and as the page
faltered out no courteous thanks, he interrupted him in a sad and kind
voice, the tone of which struck the page forcibly, so little did it suit
the rough and homely appearance of the man.

"We part," he said, "as strangers, fair boy; and since thou sayest thou art
of Rome, there is no reason why my heart should have warmed to thee as it
has done; yet if ever thou wantest a friend, - seek him" - and the
soldier's voice sunk into a whisper - "in Walter de Montreal."

Ere the page recovered his surprise at that redoubted name, which his
earliest childhood had been taught to dread, the Knight of St. John had
vanished amongst the crowd.

Chapter 7.IX. Albornoz and Nina.

But the eyes which, above all others, thirsted for a glimpse of the
released captive were forbidden that delight. Alone in her chamber, Nina
awaited the result of the trial. She heard the shouts, the exclamations,
the tramp of thousands along the street; she felt that the victory was won;
and, her heart long overcharged, she burst into passionate tears. The
return of Angelo soon acquainted her with all that had passed; but it
somewhat chilled her joy to find Rienzi was the guest of the dreaded
Cardinal. That shock, in which certainty, however happy, replaces
suspense, had so powerful an effect on her frame, joined to her loathing
fear of a visit from the Cardinal, that she became for three days
alarmingly ill; and it was only on the fifth day from that which saw Rienzi
endowed with the rank of Senator of Rome, that she was recovered
sufficiently to admit Albornoz to her presence.

The Cardinal had sent daily to inquire after her health, and his inquiries,
to her alarmed mind, had appeared to insinuate a pretension to the right to
make them. Meanwhile Albornoz had had enough to divert and occupy his
thoughts. Having bought off the formidable Montreal from the service of
John de Vico, one of the ablest and fiercest enemies of the Church, he
resolved to march to the territories of that tyrant as expeditiously as
possible, and so not to allow him time to obtain the assistance of any
other band of the mercenary adventurers, who found Italy the market for
their valour. Occupied with raising troops, procuring money, corresponding
with the various free states, and establishing alliances in aid of his
ulterior and more ambitious projects at the court of Avignon, the Cardinal
waited with tolerable resignation the time when he might claim from the
Signora Cesarini the reward to which he deemed himself entitled. Meanwhile
he had held his first conversations with Rienzi, and, under the semblance
of courtesy to the acquitted Tribune, Albornoz had received him as his
guest, in order to make himself master of the character and disposition of
one in whom he sought a minister and a tool. That miraculous and magic
art, attested by the historians of the time, which Rienzi possessed over
every one with whom he came into contact, however various in temper,
station, or opinions, had not deserted him in his interview with the
Pontiff. So faithfully had he described the true condition of Rome, so
logically had he traced the causes and the remedies of the evils she
endured, so sanguinely had he spoken of his own capacities for
administering her affairs, and so brilliantly had he painted the prospects
which that administration opened to the weal of the Church, and the
interests of the Pope, that Innocent, though a keen and shrewd, and
somewhat sceptical calculator of human chances, was entirely fascinated by
the eloquence of the Roman.

"Is this the man," he is reported to have said, "whom for twelve months we
have treated as a prisoner and a criminal? Would that it were on his
shoulders only that the Christian empire reposed!"

At the close of the interview he had, with every mark of favour and
distinction, conferred upon Rienzi the rank of Senator, which, in fact, was
that of Viceroy of Rome, and had willingly acceded to all the projects
which the enterprising Rienzi had once more formed - not only for
recovering the territories of the Church, but for extending the dictatorial
sway of the Seven-hilled City, over the old dependencies of Italy.

Albornoz, to whom the Pope retailed this conversation, was somewhat jealous
of the favour the new Senator had so suddenly acquired, and immediately on
his return home sought an interview with his guest. In his heart, the Lord
Cardinal, emphatically a man of action and business, regarded Rienzi as one
rather cunning than wise - rather fortunate than great - a mixture of the
pedant and the demagogue. But after a long and scrutinizing conversation
with the new Senator, even he yielded to the spell of his enchanting and
master intellect. Reluctantly Albornoz confessed to himself that Rienzi's
rise was not the thing of chance; yet more reluctantly he perceived that
the Senator was one whom he might treat with as an equal, but could not
rule as a minion. And he entertained serious doubts whether it would be
wise to reinstate him in a power which he evinced the capacity to wield and
the genius to extend. Still, however, he did not repent the share he had
taken in Rienzi's acquittal. His presence in a camp so thinly peopled was
a matter greatly to be desired. And through his influence, the Cardinal
more than ever trusted to enlist the Romans in favour of his enterprise for
the recovery of the territory of St. Peter!

Rienzi, who panted once more to behold his Nina, endeared to him by trial
and absence, as by fresh bridals, was not however able to discover the name
she had assumed at Avignon; and his residence with the Cardinal closely but
respectfully watched as he was, forbade Nina all opportunity of
corresponding with him. Some half bantering hints which Albornoz had
dropped upon the interest taken in his welfare by the most celebrated
beauty of Avignon, had filled him with a vague alarm which he trembled to
acknowledge even to himself. But the volto sciolto (Volto sciolto,
pensieri stretti - the countenance open, the thoughts restrained.) which,
in common with all Italian politicians, concealed whatever were his
pensieri stretti - enabled him to baffle completely the jealous and
lynxlike observation of the Cardinal. Nor had Alvarez been better enabled
to satisfy the curiosity of his master. He had indeed sought the page
Villani, but the imperious manner of that wayward and haughty boy had cut
short all attempts at cross-examination. And all he could ascertain was,
that the real Angelo Villani was not the Angelo Villani who had visited
Rienzi.

Trusting at last that he should learn all, and inflamed by such passion and
such hope as he was capable of feeling, Albornoz now took his way to the
Cesarini's palace.

He was ushered with due state into the apartment of the Signora. He found
her pale, and with the traces of illness upon her noble and statuelike
features. She rose as he entered; and when he approached, she half bent
her knee, and raised his hand to her lips. Surprised and delighted at a
reception so new, the Cardinal hastened to prevent the condescension;
retaining both her hands, he attempted gently to draw them to his heart.

"Fairest!" he whispered, "couldst thou know hear I have mourned thy illness
- and yet it has but left thee more lovely, as the rain only brightens the
flower. Ah! happy if I have promoted thy lightest wish, and if in thine
eyes I may henceforth seek at once an angel to guide me and a paradise to
reward."

Nina, releasing her hand, waved it gently, and motioned the Cardinal to a
seat. Seating herself at a little distance, she then spoke with great
gravity and downcast eyes.

"My Lord, it is your intercession, joined to his own innocence, that has
released from yonder tower the elected governor of the people of Rome. But
freedom is the least of the generous gifts you have conferred; there is a
greater in a fair name vindicated, and rightful honours re-bestowed. For
this, I rest ever your debtor; for this, if I bear children, they shall be
taught to bless your name; for this the historian who recalls the deeds of
this age, and the fortunes of Cola di Rienzi, shall add a new chaplet to
the wreaths you have already won. Lord Cardinal, I may have erred. I may
have offended you - you may accuse me of woman's artifice. Speak not,
wonder not, hear me out. I have but one excuse, when I say that I held
justified any means short of dishonour, to save the life and restore the
fortunes of Cola di Rienzi. Know, my Lord, that she who now addresses you
is his wife."

The Cardinal remained motionless and silent. But his sallow countenance
grew flushed from the brow to the neck, and his thin lips quivered for a
moment, and then broke into a withering and bitter smile. At length he
rose from his seat, very slowly, and said, in a voice trembling with
passion,

"It is well, madam. Giles d'Albornoz has been, then, a puppet in the
hands, a stepping-stone in the rise, of the plebeian demagogue of Rome.
You but played upon me for your own purposes; and nothing short of a
Cardinal of Spain, and a Prince of the royal blood of Aragon, was meet to
be the instrument of a mountebank's juggle! Madam, yourself and your
husband might justly be accused of ambition - "

"Cease, my Lord," said Nina, with unspeakable dignity; "whatever offence
has been committed against you was mine alone. Till after our last
interview, Rienzi knew not even of my presence at Avignon."

"At our last interview, Lady, (you do well to recall it!) methinks there
was a hinted and implied contract. I have fulfilled my part - I claim
yours. Mark me! I do not forego that claim. As easily as I rend this
glove can I rend the parchment which proclaims thy husband 'the Senator of
Rome.'  The dungeon is not death, and its door will open twice."

"My Lord - my Lord!" cried Nina, sick with terror, "wrong not so your noble
nature, your great name, your sacred rank, your chivalric blood. You are
of the knightly race of Spain, yours not the sullen, low, and inexorable
vices that stain the petty tyrants of this unhappy land. You are no
Visconti - no Castracani - you cannot stain your laurels with revenge upon
a woman. Hear me," she continued, and she fell abruptly at his feet; "men
dupe, deceive our sex - and for selfish purposes; they are pardoned - even
by their victims. Did I deceive you with a false hope? Well - what my
object? - what my excuse? My husband's liberty - my land's salvation!
Woman, - my Lord, alas, your sex too rarely understand her weakness or her
greatness! Erring - all human as she is to others - God gifts her with a
thousand virtues to the one she loves! It is from that love that she alone
drinks her nobler nature. For the hero of her worship she has the meekness
of the dove - the devotion of the saint; for his safety in peril, for his
rescue in misfortune, her vain sense imbibes the sagacity of the serpent -
her weak heart, the courage of the lioness! It is this which, in absence,
made me mask my face in smiles, that the friends of the houseless exile
might not despair of his fate - it is this which brought me through forests
beset with robbers, to watch the stars upon yon solitary tower - it was
this which led my steps to the revels of your hated court - this which made
me seek a deliverer in the noblest of its chiefs - it is this which has at
last opened the dungeon door to the prisoner now within your halls; and
this, Lord Cardinal," added Nina, rising, and folding her arms upon her
heart - "this, if your anger seeks a victim, will inspire me to die without
a groan, - but without dishonour!"

Albornoz remained rooted to the ground. Amazement - emotion - admiration -
all busy at his heart. He gazed at Nina's flashing eyes and heaving bosom
as a warrior of old upon a prophetess inspired. His eyes were riveted to
hers as by a spell. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. Nina
continued:

"Yes, my Lord; these are no idle words! If you seek revenge, it is in your
power. Undo what you have done. Give Rienzi back to the dungeon, or to
disgrace, and you are avenged; but not on him. All the hearts of Italy
shall become to him a second Nina! I am the guilty one, and I the
sufferer. Hear me swear - in that instant which sees new wrong to Rienzi,
this hand is my executioner. - My Lord, I supplicate you no longer!"

Albornoz continued deeply moved. Nina but rightly judged him, when she
distinguished the aspiring Spaniard from the barbarous and unrelenting
voluptuaries of Italy. Despite the profligacy that stained his sacred robe
- despite all the acquired and increasing callousness of a hard, scheming,
and sceptical man, cast amidst the worst natures of the worst of times -
there lingered yet in his soul much of the knightly honour of his race and
country. High thoughts and daring spirits touched a congenial string in
his heart, and not the less, in that he had but rarely met them in his
experience of camps and courts. For the first time in his life, he felt
that he had seen the woman who could have contented him even with wedlock,
and taught him the proud and faithful love of which the minstrels of Spain
had sung. He sighed, and still gazing on Nina, approached her, almost
reverentially; he knelt and kissed the hem of her robe. "Lady," he said,
"I would I could believe that you have altogether read my nature aright,
but I were indeed lost to all honour, and unworthy of gentle birth, if I
still harboured a single thought against the peace and virtue of one like
thee. Sweet heroine," - he continued - "so lovely, yet so pure - so
haughty, and yet so soft - thou hast opened to me the brightest page these
eyes have ever scanned in the blotted volume of mankind. Mayest thou have
such happiness as life can give; but souls such as thine make their nest
like the eagle, upon rocks and amidst the storms. Fear me no more - think
of me no more - unless hereafter, when thou hearest men speak of Giles
d'Albornoz, thou mayest say in thine own heart," - and here the Cardinal's
lip curled with scorn - "he did not renounce every feeling worthy of a man,
when Ambition and Fate endued him with the surplice of the priest."

The Spaniard was gone before Nina could reply.

BOOK VIII. THE GRAND COMPANY.

"Montreal nourrissoit de plus vastes projets...il donnoit a sa campagnie un
gouvernement regulier...Par cette discipline il faisoit regner l'abondance
dans son camp; les gens de guerre ne parloient, en Italie, que des
richesses qu'on acqueroit a son service." - Sismondi, "Histoire des
Republiques Italiennes", tom. vi. c. 42.

"Montreal cherished more vast designs...he subjected his company to a
regular system of government...By means of this discipline he kept his camp
abundantly supplied, and military adventurers in Italy talked of nothing
but the wealth won in his service." - Sismondi's "History of Italian
Republics".

Chapter 8.I. The Encampment.

It was a most lovely day, in the very glow and meridian of an Italian
summer, when a small band of horsemen were seen winding a hill which
commanded one of the fairest landscapes of Tuscany. At their head was a
cavalier in a complete suit of chain armour, the links of which were so
fine, that they resembled a delicate and curious network, but so strongly
compacted, that they would have resisted spear or sword no less effectually
than the heaviest corselet, while adapting themselves exactly and with ease
to every movement of the light and graceful shape of the rider. He wore a
hat of dark green velvet shaded by long plumes, while of two squires
behind, the one bore his helmet and lance, the other led a strong warhorse,
completely cased in plates of mail, which seemed, however, scarcely to
encumber its proud and agile paces. The countenance of the cavalier was
comely, but strongly marked, and darkened, by long exposure to the suns of
many climes, to a deep bronze hue: a few raven ringlets escaped from
beneath his hat down a cheek closely shaven. The expression of his
features was grave and composed even to sadness; nor could all the
loveliness of the unrivalled scene before him dispel the quiet and settled
melancholy of his eyes. Besides the squires, ten horsemen, armed cap-a-
pie, attended the knight; and the low and murmured conversation they
carried on at intervals, as well as their long fair hair, large stature,
thick short beards, and the studied and accurate equipment of their arms
and steeds, bespoke them of a hardier and more warlike race than the
children of the south. The cavalcade was closed with a man almost of
gigantic height, bearing a banner richly decorated, wherein was wrought a
column, with the inscription, "ALONE AMIDST RUINS."  Fair indeed was the
prospect which with every step expanded yet more widely its various beauty.
Right before stretched a long vale, now covered with green woodlands
glittering in the yellow sunlight, now opening into narrow plains bordered
by hillocks, from whose mosses of all hues grew fantastic and odorous
shrubs; while, winding amidst them, a broad and silver stream broke into
light at frequent intervals, snatched by wood and hillock from the eye,
only to steal upon it again, in sudden and bright surprise. The opposite
slope of gentle mountains, as well as that which the horsemen now
descended, was covered with vineyards, trained in alleys and arcades: and
the clustering grape laughed from every leafy and glossy covert, as gaily
as when the Fauns held a holiday in the shade. The eye of the Cavalier
roved listlessly over this enchanting prospect, sleeping in the rosiest
light of a Tuscan heaven, and then became fixed with a more earnest
attention on the grey and frowning walls of a distant castle, which, high
upon the steepest of the opposite mountains, overlooked the valley.

"Behold," he muttered to himself, "how every Eden in Italy hath its curse!
Wherever the land smiles fairest, be sure to find the brigand's tent and
the tyrant's castle!"

Scarce had these thoughts passed his mind, ere the shrill and sudden blast
of a bugle that sounded close amongst the vineyards by the side of the path
startled the whole group. The cavalcade halted abruptly. The leader made
a gesture to the squire who led his war-horse. The noble and practised
animal remained perfectly still, save by champing its bit restlessly, and
moving its quick ear to and fro, as aware of a coming danger, - while the
squire, unencumbered by the heavy armour of the Germans, plunged into the
thicket and disappeared. He returned in a few minutes, already heated and
breathless.

"We must be on our guard," he whispered; "I see the glimmer of steel
through the vine leaves."

"Our ground is unhappily chosen," said the Knight, hastily bracing on his
helmet and leaping on his charger; and waving his hand towards a broader
space in the road, which would permit the horsemen more room to act in
union, with his small band he made hastily to the spot - the armour of the
soldiers rattling heavily as two by two they proceeded on.

The space to which the Cavalier had pointed was a green semicircle of
several yards in extent, backed by tangled copses of brushwood sloping down
to the vale below. They reached it in safety; they drew up breast to
breast in the form of a crescent: every visor closed save that of the
Knight, who looked anxiously and keenly round the landscape.

"Hast thou heard, Giulio," he said, to his favourite squire, (the only
Italian of the band,) "whether any brigands have been seen lately in these
parts?"

"No, my Lord; on the contrary, I am told that every lance hath left the
country to join the Grand Company of Fra Moreale. The love of his pay and
plunder has drawn away the mercenaries of every Tuscan Signor."

As he ceased speaking, the bugle sounded again from nearly the same spot as
before; it was answered by a brief and martial note from the very rear of
the horsemen. At the same moment, from the thickets behind, broke the
gleam of mail and spears. One after another, rank after rank, from the
copse behind them, emerged men-at-arms, while suddenly, from the vines in
front, still greater numbers poured forth with loud and fierce shouts.

"For God, for the Emperor, and for the Colonna!" cried the Knight, closing
his visor; and the little band, closely serried, the lance in every rest,
broke upon the rush of the enemy in front. A score or so, borne to the
ground by the charge, cleared a path for the horsemen, and, without waiting
the assault of the rest, the Knight wheeled his charger and led the way
down the hill, almost at full gallop, despite the roughness of the descent:
a flight of arrows despatched after them fell idly on their iron mail.

"If they have no horse," cried the Knight, "we are saved!"

And, indeed, the enemy seemed scarcely to think of pursuing them; but
(gathered on the brow of a hill) appeared contented to watch their flight.

Suddenly a curve in the road brought them before a broad and wide patch of
waste land, which formed almost a level surface, interrupting the descent
of the mountain. On the commencement of this waste, drawn up in still
array, the sunlight broke on the breastplates of a long line of horsemen,
whom the sinuosities of the road had hitherto concealed from the Knight and
his party.

The little troop halted abruptly - retreat - advance alike cut off; gazing
first at the foe before them, that remained still as a cloud, every eye was
then turned towards the Knight.

"An thou wouldst, my Lord," said the leader of the Northmen, perceiving the
irresolution of their chief, "we will fight to the last. You are the only
Italian I ever knew whom I would willingly die for!"

This rude profession was received with a sympathetic murmur from the rest,
and the soldiers drew closer around the Knight. "Nay, my brave fellows,"
said the Colonna, lifting his visor, "it is not in so inglorious a field,
after such various fortunes, that we are doomed to perish. If these be
brigands, as we must suppose, we can yet purchase our way. If the troops
of some Signor, we are strangers to the feud in which he is engaged. Give
me yon banner - I will ride on to them."

"Nay, my Lord," said Giulio; "such marauders do not always spare a flag of
truce. There is danger - "

"For that reason your leader braves it. Quick!"

The Knight took the banner, and rode deliberately up to the horsemen. On
approaching, his warlike eye could not but admire the perfect caparison of
their arms, the strength and beauty of their steeds, and the steady
discipline of their long and glittering line.

As he rode up, and his gorgeous banner gleamed in the noonlight, the
soldiers saluted him. It was a good omen, and he hailed it as such. "Fair
sirs," said the Knight, "I come, at once herald and leader of the little
band who have just escaped the unlooked-for assault of armed men on yonder
hill - and, claiming aid, as knight from knight, and soldier from soldier,
I place my troop under the protection of your leader. Suffer me to see
him."

"Sir Knight," answered one, who seemed the captain of the band, "sorry am I
to detain one of your gallant bearing, and still more so, on recognising
the device of one of the most potent houses of Italy. But our orders are
strict, and we must bring all armed men to the camp of our General."

"Long absent from my native land, I knew not," replied the Knight, "that
there was war in Tuscany. Permit me to crave the name of the general whom
you speak of, and that of the foe against whom ye march."

The Captain smiled slightly.

"Walter de Montreal is the General of the Great Company, and Florence his
present foe."

"We have fallen, then, into friendly, if fierce, hands," replied the
Knight, after a moment's pause. "To Sir Walter de Montreal I am known of
old. Permit me to return to my companions, and acquaint them that if
accident has made us prisoners, it is, at least, only to the most skilful
warrior of his day that we are condemned to yield."

The Italian then turned his horse to join his comrades.

"A fair Knight and a bold presence," said the Captain of the Companions to
his neighbour, "though I scarce think it is the party we are ordered to
intercept. Praised be the Virgin, however, his men seem from the North.
Them, perhaps, we may hope to enlist."

The Knight now, with his comrades, rejoined the troop. And, on receiving
their parole not to attempt escape, a detachment of thirty horsemen were
despatched to conduct the prisoners to the encampment of the Great Company.

Turning from the main road, the Knight found himself conducted into a
narrow defile between the hills, which, succeeded by a gloomy track of wild
forest-land, brought the party at length into a full and abrupt view of a
wide plain, covered with the tents of what, for Italian warfare, was
considered a mighty army. A stream, over which rude and hasty bridges had
been formed from the neighbouring timber, alone separated the horsemen from
the encampment.

"A noble sight!" said the captive Cavalier, with enthusiasm, as he reined
in his steed, and gazed upon the wild and warlike streets of canvass,
traversing each other in vistas broad and regular.

One of the captains of the Great Company who rode beside him, smiled
complacently.

"There are few masters of the martial art who equal Fra Moreale," said he;
"and savage, reckless, and gathered from all parts and all countries - from
cavern and from marketplace, from prison and from palace, as are his
troops, he has reduced them already into a discipline which might shame
even the soldiery of the Empire."

The Knight made no reply; but, spurring his horse over one of the rugged
bridges, soon found himself amidst the encampment. But that part at which
he entered little merited the praises bestowed upon the discipline of the
army. A more unruly and disorderly array, the Cavalier, accustomed to the
stern regularity of English, French, and German discipline, thought he had
never beheld: here and there, fierce, unshaven, half-naked brigands might
be seen, driving before them the cattle which they had just collected by
predatory excursions. Sometimes a knot of dissolute women stood -
chattering, scolding, gesticulating - collected round groups of wild
shagged Northmen, who, despite the bright purity of the summer-noon, were
already engaged in deep potations. Oaths, and laughter, and drunken
merriment, and fierce brawl, rang from side to side; and ever and anon some
hasty conflict with drawn knives was begun and finished by the fiery and
savage bravoes of Calabria or the Apennines, before the very eyes and
almost in the very path of the troop. Tumblers, and mountebanks, and
jugglers, and Jew pedlers, were exhibiting their tricks or their wares at
every interval, apparently well inured to the lawless and turbulent market
in which they exercised their several callings. Despite the protection of
the horsemen who accompanied them, the prisoners were not allowed to pass
without molestation. Groups of urchins, squalid, fierce, and ragged,
seemed to start from the ground, and surrounded their horses like swarms of
bees, uttering the most discordant cries; and, with the gestures of
savages, rather demanding than beseeching money, which, when granted,
seemed only to render them more insatiable. While, sometimes mingled with
the rest, were seen the bright eyes and olive cheek, and half-pleading,
half-laughing smile of girls, whose extreme youth, scarce emerged from
childhood, rendered doubly striking their utter and unredeemed abandonment.

"You did not exaggerate the decorum of the Grand Company!" cried the
Knight, gravely, to his new acquaintance.

"Signor," replied the other, "you must not judge of the kernel by the
shell. We are scarcely yet arrived at the camp. These are the outskirts,
occupied rather by the rabble than the soldiers. Twenty thousand men from
the sink, it must be owned, of every town in Italy, follow the camp, to
fight if necessary, but rather for plunder, and for forage: - such you now
behold. Presently you will see those of another stamp."

The Knight's heart swelled high. "And to such men is Italy given up!"
thought he. His revery was broken by a loud burst of applause from some
convivialists hard by. He turned, and under a long tent, and round a board
covered with wine and viands, sate some thirty or forty bravoes. A ragged
minstrel, or jongleur, with an immense beard and mustachios, was tuning,
with no inconsiderable skill, a lute which had accompanied him in all his
wanderings - and suddenly changing its notes into a wild and warlike
melody, he commenced in a loud and deep voice the following song: -

The Praise of the Grand Company.

1.

Ho, dark one from the golden South, -
  Ho, fair one from the North;
Ho, coat of mail and spear of sheen -
  Ho, wherefore ride ye forth?
"We come from mount, we come from cave,
  We come across the sea,
In long array, in bright array,
  To Montreal's Companie."
    Oh, the merry, merry band.
    Light heart, and heavy hand -
      Oh, the Lances of the Free!

2.

Ho, Princes of the castled height -
  Ho, Burghers of the town;
Apulia's strength, Romagna's pride,
  And Tusca's old renown!
Why quail ye thus? why pale ye thus?
  What spectre do ye see?
"The blood-red flag, and trampling march,
  Of Montreal's Companie."
    Oh, the sunshine of your life -
    Oh, the thunders of your strife!
      Wild Lances of the Free!

3.

Ho, scutcheons o'er the vaulted tomb
  Where Norman valour sleeps,
Why shake ye so? why quake ye so!
  What wind the trophy sweeps?
"We shake without a breath - below,
  The dead are stirred to see,
The Norman's fame revived again
  In Montreal's Companie."
    Since Roger won his crown,
    Who hath equalled your renown,
      Brave Lances of the Free?

4.

Ho, ye who seek to win a name,
  Where deeds are bravest done -
Ho, ye who wish to pile a heap,
  Where gold is lightest won;
Ho, ye who loathe the stagnant life,
  Or shun the law's decree,
Belt on the brand, and spur the steed,
  To Montreal's Companie.
    And the maid shall share her rest,
    And the miser share his chest,
      With the Lances of the Free!
        The Free!
        The Free!
    Oh! the Lances of the Free!

Then suddenly, as if inspired to a wilder flight by his own minstrelsy, the
jongleur, sweeping his hand over the chords, broke forth into an air
admirably expressive of the picture which his words, running into a rude,
but lively and stirring doggerel, attempted to paint.

The March of the Grand Company.

Tira, tirala - trumpet and drum -
Rising bright o'er the height of the mountain they come!
German, and Hun, and the Islandrie,
Who routed the Frenchman at famed Cressie,
When the rose changed its hue with the fleur-de-lis;
With the Roman, and Lombard, and Piedmontese,
And the dark-haired son of the southern seas.
Tira, tirala - more near and near
Down the steep - see them sweep; - rank by rank they appear!
With the Cloud of the Crowd hanging dark at their rear -
Serried, and steadied, and orderlie,
Like the course - like the force - of a marching sea!
Open your gates, and out with your gold,
For the blood must be spilt, or the ransom be told!
Woe, Burghers, woe! Behold them led
By the stoutest arm and the wisest head,
With the snow-white cross on the cloth of red; -
With the eagle eye, and the lion port,
His barb for a throne, and his camp for a court:
Sovereign and scourge of the land is he -
The kingly Knight of the Companie!
  Hurrah - hurrah - hurrah!
Hurrah for the army - hurrah for its lord -
Hurrah for the gold that is got by the sword -
  Hurrah - hurrah - hurrah!
    For the Lances of the Free!

Shouted by the full chorus of those desperate boon-companions, and caught
up and re-echoed from side to side, near and far, as the familiar and well-
known words of the burthen reached the ears of more distant groups or
stragglers, the effect of this fierce and licentious minstrelsy was
indescribable. It was impossible not to feel the zest which that daring
life imparted to its daring followers, and even the gallant and stately
Knight who listened to it, reproved himself for an involuntary thrill of
sympathy and pleasure.

He turned with some impatience and irritation to his companion, who had
taken a part in the chorus, and said, "Sir, to the ears of an Italian
noble, conscious of the miseries of his country, this ditty is not welcome.
I pray you, let us proceed."

"I humbly crave your pardon, Signor," said the Free Companion; "but really
so attractive is the life led by Free Lances, under Fra Moreale, that
sometimes we forget the - ; but pardon me - we will on."

A few moments more, and bounding over a narrow circumvallation, the party
found themselves in a quarter, animated indeed, but of a wholly different
character of animation. Long lines of armed men were drawn up on either
side of a path, conducting to a large marquee, placed upon a little
hillock, surmounted by a blue flag, and up this path armed soldiers were
passing to and fro with great order, but with a pleased and complacent
expression upon their swarthy features. Some that repaired to the marquee
were bearing packets and bales upon their shoulders - those that returned
seemed to have got rid of their burthens, but every now and then,
impatiently opening their hands, appeared counting and recounting to
themselves the coins contained therein.

The Knight looked inquiringly at his companion.

"It is the marquee of the merchants," said the captain; "they have free
admission to the camp, and their property and persons are rigidly
respected. They purchase each soldier's share of the plunder at fair
prices, and either party is contented with the bargain."

"It seems, then, that there is some kind of rude justice observed amongst
you," said the Knight.

"Rude! Diavolo! Not a town in Italy but would be glad of such even
justice, and such impartial laws. Yonder lie the tents of the judges,
appointed to try all offences of soldier against soldier. To the right,
the tent with the golden ball contains the treasurer of the army. Fra
Moreale incurs no arrears with his soldiery."

It was, indeed, by these means that the Knight of St. John had collected
the best equipped and the best contented force in Italy. Every day brought
him recruits. Nothing was spoken of amongst the mercenaries of Italy but
the wealth acquired in his service, and every warrior in the pay of
Republic or of Tyrant sighed for the lawless standard of Fra Moreale.
Already had exaggerated tales of the fortunes to be made in the ranks of
the Great Company passed the Alps; and, even now, the Knight, penetrating
farther into the camp, beheld from many a tent the proud banners and
armorial blazon of German nobility and Gallic knighthood.

"You see," said the Free Companion, pointing to these insignia, "we are not
without our different ranks in our wild city. And while we speak, many a
golden spur is speeding hitherward from the North!"

All now in the quarter they had entered was still and solemn; only afar
came the mingled hum, or the sudden shout of the pandemonium in the rear,
mellowed by distance to a not unpleasing sound. An occasional soldier,
crossing their path, stalked silently and stealthily to some neighbouring
tent, and seemed scarcely to regard their approach.

"Behold! we are before the General's pavilion," said the Free Lance.

Blazoned with purple and gold, the tent of Montreal lay a little apart from
the rest. A brooklet from the stream they had crossed murmured gratefully
on the ear, and a tall and wide-spreading beech cast its shadow over the
gorgeous canvass.

While his troop waited without, the knight was conducted at once to the
presence of the formidable adventurer.

Chapter 8.II. Adrian Once More the Guest of Montreal.

Montreal was sitting at the head of a table, surrounded by men, some
military, some civil, whom he called his councillors, and with whom he
apparently debated all his projects. These men, drawn from various cities,
were intimately acquainted with the internal affairs of the several states
to which they belonged. They could tell to a fraction the force of a
signor, the wealth of a merchant, the power of a mob. And thus, in his
lawless camp, Montreal presided, not more as a general than a statesman.
Such knowledge was invaluable to the chief of the Great Company. It
enabled him to calculate exactly the time to attack a foe, and the sum to
demand for a suppression of hostilities. He knew what parties to deal with
- where to importune - where to forbear. And it usually happened that, by
some secret intrigue, the appearance of Montreal's banner before the walls
of a city was the signal for some sedition or some broil within. It may be
that he thus also promoted an ulterior, as well as his present, policy.

The divan were in full consultation when an officer entered, and whispered
a few words in Montreal's ear. His eyes brightened. "Admit him," he said
hastily. "Messires," he added to his councillors, rubbing his hands, "I
think our net has caught our bird. Let us see."

At this moment the drapery was lifted and the Knight admitted.

"How!" muttered Montreal, changing colour, and in evident disappointment.
"Am I to be ever thus balked?"

"Sir Walter de Montreal," said the prisoner, "I am once more your guest.
In these altered features you perhaps scarcely recognise Adrian di
Castello."

"Pardon me, noble Signor," said Montreal, rising with great courtesy; "the
mistake of my varlets disturbed my recollection for a moment. - I rejoice
once more to press a hand that has won so many laurels since last we
parted. Your renown has been grateful to my ears. Ho!" continued the
chieftain, clapping his hands, "see to the refreshment and repose of this
noble Cavalier and his attendants. Lord Adrian, I will join you
presently."

Adrian withdrew. Montreal, forgetful of his councillors, traversed his
tent with hasty strides; then summoning the officer who had admitted
Adrian, he said, "Count Landau still keeps the pass?"

"Yes, General!"

"Hie thee fast back, then - the ambuscade must tarry till nightfall. We
have trapped the wrong fox."

The officer departed, and shortly afterwards Montreal broke up the divan.
He sought Adrian, who was lodged in a tent beside his own.

"My Lord," said Montreal, "it is true that my men had orders to stop every
one on the roads towards Florence. I am at war with that city. Yet I
expected a very different prisoner from you. Need I add, that you and your
men are free?"

"I accept the courtesy, noble Montreal, as frankly as it is rendered. May
I hope hereafter to repay it? Meanwhile permit me, without any disrespect,
to say that had I learned the Grand Company was in this direction, I should
have altered my course. I had heard that your arms were bent (somewhat to
my mind more nobly) against Malatesta, the tyrant of Rimini!"

"They were so. He was my foe; he is my tributary. We conquered him. He
paid us the price of his liberty. We marched by Asciano upon Sienna. For
sixteen thousand florins we spared that city; and we now hang like a
thunderbolt over Florence, which dared to send her puny aid to the defence
of Rimini. Our marches are forced and rapid and our camp in this plain but
just pitched."

"I hear that the Grand Company is allied with Albornoz, and that its
General is secretly the soldier of the Church. Is it so?"

"Ay - Albornoz and I understand one another," replied Montreal, carelessly;
"and not the less so that we have a mutual foe; whom both are sworn to
crush, in Visconti, the archbishop of Milan."

"Visconti! the most potent of the Italian princes. That he has justly
incurred the wrath of the Church I know - and I can readily understand that
Innocent has revoked the pardon which the intrigues of the Archbishop
purchased from Clement VI. But I do not see clearly why Montreal should
willingly provoke so dark and terrible a foe."

Montreal smiled sternly. "Know you not," he said, "the vast ambition of
that Visconti? By the Holy Sepulchre, he is precisely the enemy my soul
leaps to meet! He has a genius worthy to cope with Montreal's. I have
made myself master of his secret plans - they are gigantic! In a word, the
Archbishop designs the conquest of all Italy. His enormous wealth
purchases the corrupt - his dark sagacity ensnares the credulous - his
daring valour awes the weak. Every enemy he humbles - every ally he
enslaves. This is precisely the Prince whose progress Walter de Montreal
must arrest. For this (he said in a whisper as to himself) is precisely
the Prince who, if suffered to extend his power, will frustrate the plans
and break the force of Walter de Montreal."

Adrian was silent, and for the first time a suspicion of the real nature of
the Provencal's designs crossed his breast.

"But, noble Montreal," resumed the Colonna, "give me, if your knowledge
serves, as no doubt it does, - give me the latest tidings of my native
city. I am Roman, and Rome is ever in my thoughts."

"And well she may," replied Montreal, quickly. "Thou knowest that
Albornoz, as Legate of the Pontiff, led the army of the Church into the
Papal Territories. He took with him Cola di Rienzi. Arrived at Monte
Fiascone, crowds of Romans of all ranks hastened thither to render homage
to the Tribune. The Legate was forgotten in the popularity of his
companion. Whether or not Albornoz grew jealous - for he is proud as
Lucifer - of the respect paid to the Tribune, or whether he feared the
restoration of his power, I cannot tell. But he detained him in his camp,
and refused to yield him to all the solicitations and all the deputations
of the Romans. Artfully, however, he fulfilled one of the real objects of
Rienzi's release. Through his means he formally regained the allegiance of
Rome to the Church, and by the attraction of his presence swelled his camp
with Roman recruits. Marching to Viterbo, Rienzi distinguished himself
greatly in deeds of arms against the tyrant ("Vita di Cola di Rienzi".)
John di Vico. Nay, he fought as one worthy of belonging to the Grand
Company. This increased the zeal of the Romans; and the city disgorged
half its inhabitants to attend the person of the bold Tribune. To the
entreaties of these worthy citizens (perhaps the very men who had before
shut up their darling in St. Angelo) the crafty Legate merely replied, 'Arm
against John di Vico - conquer the tyrants of the Territory - re-establish
the patrimony of St. Peter, and Rienzi shall then be proclaimed Senator,
and return to Rome.'

"These words inspired the Romans with so great a zeal, that they willingly
lent their aid to the Legate. Aquapendente, Bolzena yielded, John di Vico
was half reduced and half terrified into submission, and Gabrielli, the
tyrant of Agobbio, has since succumbed. The glory is to the Cardinal, but
the merit with Rienzi."

"And now?"

"Albornoz continued to entertain the Senator-Tribune with great splendour
and fair words, but not a word about restoring him to Rome. Wearied with
this suspense, I have learned by secret intelligence that Rienzi has left
the camp, and betaken himself with few attendants to Florence, where he has
friends, who will provide him with arms and money to enter Rome."

"Ah then! now I guess," said Adrian, with a half smile, "for whom I was
mistaken!"

Montreal blushed slightly. "Fairly conjectured!" said he.

"Meanwhile, at Rome," continued the Provencal - "at Rome, your worthy
House, and that of the Orsini, being elected to the supreme power,
quarrelled among themselves, and could not keep the authority they had won.
Francesco Baroncelli, (This Baroncelli, who has been introduced to the
reader in a former portion of this work, is called by Matteo Villani "a man
of vile birth and little learning - he had been a Notary of the Capitol."
In the midst of the armed dissensions between the Barons, which followed
the expulsion of Rienzi, Baroncelli contrived to make himself Master of the
Capitol, and of what was considered an auxiliary of no common importance -
viz. the Great Bell, by whose alarum Rienzi had so often summoned to arms
the Roman people. Baroncelli was crowned Tribune, clothed in a robe of
gold brocade, and invested with the crozier-sceptre of Rienzi. At first,
his cruelty against the great took the appearance of protection to the
humble; but the excesses of his sons (not exaggerated in the text), and his
own brutal but bold ferocity, soon made him execrated by the people, to
whom he owed his elevation. He had the folly to declare against the Pope;
and this it really was that mainly induced Innocent to restore, and oppose
to their New Demagogue, the former and more illustrious Tribune.
Baroncelli, like Rienzi, was excommunicated; and in his instance, also, the
curse of the Church was the immediate cause of his downfall. In attempting
flight he was massacred by the mob, December, 1353. Some, however, have
maintained that he was slain in combat with Rienzi; and others, by a
confusion of dates, have made him succeed to Rienzi on the death of the
latter. - Matteo Villani, lib. iii. cap. 78. Osservaz. Stor. di Zefirino
Re. MS. Vat. Rip. dal Bzovio, ann. 1353. N. 2.) a new demagogue, a humble
imitator of Rienzi, rose upon the ruins of the peace broken by the nobles,
obtained the title of Tribune, and carried about the very insignia used by
his predecessor. But less wise than Rienzi, he took the antipapal party.
And the Legate was thus enabled to play the papal demagogue against the
usurper. Baroncelli was a weak man, his sons committed every excess in
mimicry of the highborn tyrants of Padua and Milan. Virgins violated and
matrons dishonoured, somewhat contrasted the solemn and majestic decorum of
Rienzi's rule; - in fine, Baroncelli fell massacred by the people. And
now, if you ask what rules Rome, I answer, 'It is the hope of Rienzi.'"

"A strange man, and various fortunes. What will be the end of both!"

"Swift murder to the first, and eternal fame to the last," answered
Montreal, calmly. "Rienzi will be restored; that brave phoenix will wing
its way through storm and cloud to its own funereal pyre: I foresee, I
compassionate, I admire. - And then," added Montreal, "I look beyond!"

"But wherefore feel you so certain that, if restored, Rienzi must fall?"

"Is it not clear to every eye, save his, whom ambition blinds? How can
mortal genius, however great, rule that most depraved people by popular
means? The Barons - (you know their indomitable ferocity) - wedded to
abuse, and loathing every semblance to law; the Barons, humbled for a
moment, will watch their occasion, and rise. The people will again desert.
Or else, grown wise in one respect by experience, the new Senator will see
that popular favour has a loud voice, but a recreant arm. He will, like
the Barons, surround himself by foreign swords. A detachment from the
Grand Company will be his courtiers; they will be his masters! To pay them
the people must be taxed. Then the idol is execrated. No Italian hand can
govern these hardy demons of the north; they will mutiny and fall away. A
new demagogue will lead on the people, and Rienzi will be the victim. Mark
my prophecy!"

"And then the 'beyond' to which you look?"

"Utter prostration of Rome, for new and long ages; God makes not two
Rienzis; or," said Montreal, proudly, "the infusion of a new life into the
worn-out and diseased frame, - the foundation of a new dynasty. Verily,
when I look around me, I believe that the Ruler of nations designs the
restoration of the South by the irruptions of the North; and that out of
the old Franc and Germanic race will be built up the thrones of the future
world!"

As Montreal thus spoke, leaning on his great war-sword, with his fair and
heroic features - so different, in their frank, bold, fearless expression,
from the dark and wily intellect that characterises the lineaments of the
South - eloquent at once with enthusiasm and thought - he might have seemed
no unfitting representative of the genius of that northern chivalry of
which he spake. And Adrian half fancied that he saw before him one of the
old Gothic scourges of the Western World.

Their conversation was here interrupted by the sound of a trumpet, and
presently an officer entering, announced the arrival of ambassadors from
Florence.

"Again you must pardon me, noble Adrian," said Montreal, "and let me claim
you as my guest at least for tonight. Here you may rest secure, and on
parting, my men shall attend you to the frontiers of whatsoever territory
you design to visit."

Adrian, not sorry to see more of a man so celebrated, accepted the
invitation.

Left alone, he leaned his head upon his hand, and soon became lost in his
reflections.

Chapter 8.III. Faithful and Ill-fated Love. - The Aspirations Survive the
Affections.

Since that fearful hour in which Adrian Colonna had gazed upon the lifeless
form of his adored Irene, the young Roman had undergone the usual
vicissitudes of a wandering and adventurous life in those exciting times.
His country seemed no longer dear to him. His very rank precluded him from
the post he once aspired to take in restoring the liberties of Rome; and he
felt that if ever such a revolution could be consummated, it was reserved
for one in whose birth and habits the people could feel sympathy and
kindred, and who could lift his hand in their behalf without becoming the
apostate of his order and the judge of his own House. He had travelled
through various courts, and served with renown in various fields. Beloved
and honoured wheresoever he fixed a temporary home, no change of scene had
removed his melancholy - no new ties had chased away the memory of the
Lost. In that era of passionate and poetical romance, which Petrarch
represented rather than created, Love had already begun to assume a more
tender and sacred character than it had hitherto known, it had gradually
imbibed the divine spirit which it derives from Christianity, and which
associates its sorrows on earth with the visions and hopes of heaven. To
him who relies upon immortality, fidelity to the dead is easy; because
death cannot extinguish hope, and the soul of the mourner is already half
in the world to come. It is an age that desponds of a future life -
representing death as an eternal separation - in which, if men grieve
awhile for the dead, they hasten to reconcile themselves to the living.
For true is the old aphorism, that love exists not without hope. And all
that romantic worship which the Hermit of Vaucluse felt, or feigned, for
Laura, found its temple in the desolate heart of Adrian Colonna. He was
emphatically the Lover of his time! Often as, in his pilgrimage from land
to land, he passed the walls of some quiet and lonely convent, he seriously
meditated the solemn vows, and internally resolved that the cloister should
receive his maturer age. The absence of years had, however, in some degree
restored the dimmed and shattered affection for his fatherland, and he
desired once more to visit the city in which he had first beheld Irene.
"Perhaps," he thought, "time may have wrought some unlooked-for change; and
I may yet assist to restore my country."

But with this lingering patriotism no ambition was mingled. In that heated
stage of action, in which the desire of power seemed to stir through every
breast, and Italy had become the El Dorado of wealth, or the Utopia of
empire, to thousands of valiant arms and plotting minds, there was at least
one breast that felt the true philosophy of the Hermit. Adrian's nature,
though gallant and masculine, was singularly imbued with that elegance of
temperament which recoils from rude contact, and to which a lettered and
cultivated indolence is the supremest luxury. His education, his
experience, and his intellect, had placed him far in advance of his age,
and he looked with a high contempt on the coarse villanies and base tricks
by which Italian ambition sought its road to power. The rise and fall of
Rienzi, who, whatever his failings, was at least the purest and most
honourable of the self-raised princes of the age, had conspired to make him
despond of the success of noble, as he recoiled from that of selfish
aspirations. And the dreamy melancholy which resulted from his ill-starred
love, yet more tended to wean him from the stale and hackneyed pursuits of
the world. His character was full of beauty and of poetry - not the less
so in that it found not a vent for its emotions in the actual occupation of
the poet! Pent within, those emotions diffused themselves over all his
thoughts and coloured his whole soul. Sometimes, in the blessed
abstraction of his visions, he pictured to himself the lot he might have
chosen had Irene lived, and fate united them - far from the turbulent and
vulgar roar of Rome - but amidst some yet unpolluted solitude of the bright
Italian soil. Before his eye there rose the lovely landscape - the palace
by the borders of the waveless lake - the vineyards in the valley - the
dark forests waving from the hill - and that home, the resort and refuge of
all the minstrelsy and love of Italy, brightened by the "Lampeggiar dell'
angelico riso," that makes a paradise in the face we love. Often, seduced
by such dreams to complete oblivion of his loss, the young wanderer started
from the ideal bliss, to behold around him the solitary waste of way - or
the moonlit tents of war - or, worse than all, the crowds and revels of a
foreign court.

Whether or not such fancies now, for a moment, allured his meditations,
conjured up, perhaps, by the name of Irene's brother, which never sounded
in his ears but to awaken ten thousand associations, the Colonna remained
thoughtful and absorbed, until he was disturbed by his own squire, who,
accompanied by Montreal's servitors, ushered in his solitary but ample
repast. Flasks of the richest Florentine wines - viands prepared with all
the art which, alas, Italy has now lost! - goblets and salvers of gold and
silver, prodigally wrought with barbaric gems - attested the princely
luxury which reigned in the camp of the Grand Company. But Adrian saw in
all only the spoliation of his degraded country, and felt the splendour
almost as an insult. His lonely meal soon concluded, he became impatient
of the monotony of his tent; and, tempted by the cool air of the descending
eve, sauntered carelessly forth. He bent his steps by the side of the
brooklet that curved, snakelike and sparkling, by Montreal's tent; and
finding a spot somewhat solitary and apart from the warlike tenements
around, flung himself by the margin of the stream.

The last rays of the sun quivered on the wave that danced musically over
its stony bed; and amidst a little copse on the opposite bank broke the
brief and momentary song of such of the bolder habitants of that purple air
as the din of the camp had not scared from their green retreat. The clouds
lay motionless to the west, in that sky so darkly and intensely blue, never
seen but over the landscapes that a Claude or a Rosa loved to paint; and
dim and delicious rose-hues gathered over the grey peaks of the distant
Apennines. From afar floated the hum of the camp, broken by the neigh of
returning steeds; the blast of an occasional bugle; and, at regular
intervals, by the armed tramp of the neighbouring sentry. And opposite to
the left of the copse - upon a rising ground, matted with reeds, moss, and
waving shrubs - were the ruins of some old Etruscan building, whose name
had perished, whose very uses were unknown.

The scene was so calm and lovely, as Adrian gazed upon it, that it was
scarcely possible to imagine it at that very hour the haunt of fierce and
banded robbers, among most of whom the very soul of man was embruted, and
to all of whom murder or rapine made the habitual occupation of life.

Still buried in his reveries, and carelessly dropping stones into the noisy
rivulet, Adrian was aroused by the sound of steps.

"A fair spot to listen to the lute and the ballads of Provence," said the
voice of Montreal, as the Knight of St. John threw himself on the turf
beside the young Colonna.

"You retain, then, your ancient love of your national melodies," said
Adrian.

"Ay, I have not yet survived all my youth," answered Montreal, with a
slight sigh. "But somehow or other, the strains that once pleased my fancy
now go too directly to my heart. So, though I still welcome jongleur and
minstrel, I bid them sing their newest conceits. I cannot wish ever again
to hear the poetry I heard when I was young!"

"Pardon me," said Adrian, with great interest, "but fain would I have
dared, though a secret apprehension prevented me hitherto, - fain would I
have dared to question you of that lovely lady, with whom, seven years ago,
we gazed at moonlight upon the odorous orange-groves and rosy waters of
Terracina."

Montreal turned away his face; he laid his hand on Adrian's arm, and
murmured, in a deep and hoarse tone, "I am alone now!"

Adrian pressed his hand in silence. He felt no light shock at thus
learning the death of one so gentle, so lovely, and so ill-fated.

"The vows of my knighthood," continued Montreal, "which precluded Adeline
the rights of wedlock - the shame of her house - the angry grief of her
mother - the wild vicissitudes of my life, so exposed to peril - the loss
of her son - all preyed silently on her frame. She did not die (die is too
harsh a word!), but she drooped away, and glided into heaven. Even as on a
summer's morn some soft dream fleets across us, growing less and less
distinct, until it fades, as it were, into light, and we awaken - so faded
Adeline's parting spirit, till the daylight of God broke upon it."

Montreal paused a moment, and then resumed: "These thoughts make the
boldest of us weak sometimes, and we Provencals are foolish in these
matters! - God wot, she was very dear to me!"

The Knight bent down and crossed himself devoutly, his lips muttered a
prayer. Strange as it may seem to our more enlightened age, so martial a
garb did morality then wear, that this man, at whose word towns had blazed
and torrents of blood had flowed, neither adjudged himself, nor was
adjudged by the majority of his contemporaries, a criminal. His order,
half monastic, half warlike, was emblematic of himself. He trampled upon
man, yet humbled himself to God; nor had all his acquaintance with the
refining scepticism of Italy shaken the sturdy and simple faith of the bold
Provencal. So far from recognising any want of harmony between his calling
and his creed, he held that man no true chevalier who was not as devout to
the Cross as relentless with the sword.

"And you have no child save the one you lost?" asked Adrian, when he
observed the wonted composure of Montreal once more returning.

"None!" said Montreal, as his brow again darkened. "No love-begotten heir
of mine will succeed to the fortunes I trust yet to build. Never on earth
shall I see upon the face of her child the likeness of Adeline! Yet, at
Avignon, I saw a boy I would have claimed; for methought she must have
looked her soul into his eyes, they were so like hers! Well, well! The
Provence tree hath other branches; and some unborn nephew must be - what?
The stars have not yet decided! But ambition is now the only thing in the
world left me to love."

"So differently operates the same misfortune upon different characters,"
thought the Colonna. "To me, crowns became valueless when I could no
longer dream of placing them on Irene's brow!"

The similarity of their fates, however, attracted Adrian strongly towards
his host; and the two Knights conversed together with more friendship and
unreserve than they had hitherto done. At length Montreal said, "By the
way, I have not inquired your destination."

"I am bound to Rome," said Adrian; "and the intelligence I have learned
from you incites me thitherward yet more eagerly. If Rienzi return, I may
mediate successfully, perchance, between the Tribune-Senator and the
nobles; and if I find my cousin, young Stefanello, now the head of our
house, more tractable than his sires, I shall not despair of conciliating
the less powerful Barons. Rome wants repose; and whoever governs, if he
govern but with justice, ought to be supported both by prince and
plebeian!"

Montreal listened with great attention, and then muttered to himself, "No,
it cannot be!"  He mused a little while, shading his brow with his hand,
before he said aloud, "To Rome you are bound. Well, we shall meet soon
amidst its ruins. Know, by the way, that my object here is already won:
these Florentine merchants have acceded to my terms; they have purchased a
two years' peace; tomorrow the camp breaks up, and the Grand Company march
to Lombardy. There, if my schemes prosper, and the Venetians pay my price,
I league the rascals (under Landau, my Lieutenant) with the Sea-City, in
defiance of the Visconti, and shall pass my autumn in peace amidst the
pomps of Rome."

"Sir Walter de Montreal," said Adrian, "your frankness perhaps makes me
presumptuous; but when I hear you talk, like a huxtering trader, of selling
alike your friendship and your forbearance, I ask myself, 'Is this the
great Knight of St. John; and have men spoken of him fairly, when they
assert the sole stain on his laurels to be his avarice?"

Montreal bit his lip; nevertheless, he answered calmly, "My frankness has
brought its own penance, Lord Adrian. However, I cannot wholly leave so
honoured a guest under an impression which I feel to be plausible, but not
just. No, brave Colonna; report wrongs me. I value Gold, for Gold is the
Architect of Power! It fills the camp - it storms the city - it buys the
marketplace - it raises the palace - it founds the throne. I value Gold, -
it is the means necessary to my end!"

"And that end - "

"Is - no matter what," said the Knight coldly. "Let us to our tents, the
dews fall heavily, and the malaria floats over these houseless wastes."

The pair rose; - yet, fascinated by the beauty of the hour, they lingered
for a moment by the brook. The earliest stars shone over its crisping
wavelets, and a delicious breeze murmured gently amidst the glossy
herbage."

"Thus gazing," said Montreal, softly, "we reverse the old Medusan fable the
poets tell us of, and look and muse ourselves out of stone. A little
while, and it was the sunlight that gilded the wave - it now shines as
brightly and glides as gaily beneath the stars; even so rolls the stream of
time: one luminary succeeds the other equally welcomed - equally
illumining - equally evanescent! - You see, the poetry of Provence still
lives beneath my mail!"

Adrian early sought his couch; but his own thoughts and the sounds of loud
mirth that broke from Montreal's tent, where the chief feasted the captains
of his band, a revel from which he had the delicacy to excuse the Roman
noble, kept the Colonna long awake; and he had scarcely fallen into an
unquiet slumber, when yet more discordant sounds again invaded his repose.
At the earliest dawn the wide armament was astir - the creaking of cordage
- the tramp of men - loud orders and louder oaths - the slow rolling of
baggage-wains - and the clank of the armourers, announced the removal of
the camp, and the approaching departure of the Grand Company.

Ere Adrian was yet attired, Montreal entered his tent.

"I have appointed," he said, "five score lances under a trusty leader, to
accompany you, noble Adrian, to the borders of Romagna; they wait your
leisure. In another hour I depart; the on-guard are already in motion."

Adrian would fain have declined the proffered escort; but he saw that it
would only offend the pride of the chief, who soon retired. Hastily Adrian
endued his arms - the air of the fresh morning, and the glad sun rising
gorgeously from the hills, revived his wearied spirit. He repaired to
Montreal's tent, and found him alone, with the implements of writing before
him, and a triumphant smile upon his countenance.

"Fortune showers new favours on me!" he said, gaily. "Yesterday the
Florentines spared me the trouble of a siege: and today (even since I last
saw you - a few minutes since) puts your new Senator of Rome into my
power."

"How! Have your bands then arrested Rienzi?"

"Not so - better still! The Tribune changed his plan, and repaired to
Perugia, where my brothers now abide - sought them - they have supplied him
with money and soldiers enough to brave the perils of the way, and to defy
the swords of the Barons. So writes my good brother Arimbaldo, a man of
letters, whom the Tribune thinks rightly he has decoyed with old tales of
Roman greatness, and mighty promises of grateful advancement. You find me
hastily expressing my content at the arrangement. My brothers themselves
will accompany the Senator-Tribune to the walls of the Capitol."

"Still, I see not how this places Rienzi in your power."

"No! His soldiers are my creatures - his comrades my brothers - his
creditor myself! Let him rule Rome then - the time soon comes when the
Vice-Regent must yield to - "

"The Chief of the Grand Company," interrupted Adrian, with a shudder, which
the bold Montreal was too engrossed with the unconcealed excitement of his
own thoughts to notice. "No, Knight of Provence, basely have we succumbed
to domestic tyrants: but never, I trust, will Romans be so vile as to wear
the yoke of a foreign usurper."

Montreal looked hard at Adrian, and smiled sternly.

"You mistake me," said he; "and it will be time enough for you to play the
Brutus when I assume the Caesar. Meanwhile we are but host and guest. Let
us change the theme."

Nevertheless this, their latter conference, threw a chill over both during
the short time the Knights remained together, and they parted with a
formality which was ill-suited to their friendly intercourse of the night
before. Montreal felt he had in cautiously revealed himself, but caution
was no part of his character, whenever he found himself at the head of an
army, and at the full tide of fortune; and at that moment, so confident was
he of the success of his wildest schemes, that he recked little whom he
offended, or whom alarmed.

Slowly, with his strange and ferocious escort, Adrian renewed his way.
Winding up a steep ascent that led from the plain, - when he reached the
summit, the curve in the road shewed him the whole army on its march; - the
gonfalons waving - the armour flashing in the sun, line after line, like a
river of steel, and the whole plain bristling with the array of that moving
war; - while the solemn tread of the armed thousands fell subdued and
stifled at times by martial and exulting music. As they swept on, Adrian
descried at length the stately and towering form of Montreal upon a black
charger, distinguished even at that distance from the rest, not more by his
gorgeous armour than his lofty stature. So swept he on in the pride of his
array - in the flush of his hopes - the head of a mighty armament - the
terror of Italy - the hero that was - the monarch that might be!

BOOK IX. THE RETURN.

"Allora la sua venuta fu a Roma sentita; Romani si apparecchiavano a
riceverlo con letizia...furo fatti archi trionfali," &c. &c. - "Vita di
Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. c. 17.

"Then the fame of his coming was felt at Rome; the Romans made ready to
receive him with gladness...triumphal arches were erected," &c., &c. -
"Life of Cola di Rienzi".

Chapter 9.I. The Triumphal Entrance.

All Rome was astir! - from St. Angelo to the Capitol, windows, balconies,
roofs, were crowded with animated thousands. Only here and there, in the
sullen quarters of the Colonna, the Orsini, and the Savelli, reigned a
death-like solitude and a dreary gloom. In those fortifications, rather
than streets, not even the accustomed tread of the barbarian sentinel was
heard. The gates closed - the casements barred - the grim silence around -
attested the absence of the Barons. They had left the city so soon as they
had learned the certain approach of Rienzi. In the villages and castles of
the Campagna, surrounded by their mercenaries, they awaited the hour when
the people, weary of their idol, should welcome back even those ferocious
Iconoclasts.

With these exceptions, all Rome was astir! Triumphal arches of drapery,
wrought with gold and silver, raised at every principal vista, were
inscribed with mottoes of welcome and rejoicing. At frequent intervals
stood youths and maidens, with baskets of flowers and laurels. High above
the assembled multitudes - from the proud tower of Hadrian - from the
turrets of the Capitol - from the spires of the sacred buildings dedicated
to Apostle and to Saint - floated banners as for a victory. Rome once more
opened her arms to receive her Tribune!

Mingled with the crowd - disguised by his large mantle - hidden by the
pressure of the throng - his person, indeed, forgotten by most - and, in
the confusion of the moment, heeded by none - stood Adrian Colonna! He had
not been able to conquer his interest for the brother of Irene. Solitary
amidst his fellow-citizens, he stood - the only one of the proud race of
Colonna who witnessed the triumph of the darling of the people.

"They say he has grown large in his prison," said one of the bystanders;
"he was lean enough when he came by daybreak out of the Church of St.
Angelo!"

"Ay," said another, a little man with a shrewd, restless eye, "they say
truly; I saw him take leave of the Legate."

Every eye was turned to the last speaker; he became at once a personage of
importance. "Yes," continued the little man with an elated and pompous
air, "as soon, d'ye see, as he had prevailed on Messere Brettone, and
Messere Arimbaldo, the brothers of Fra Moreale, to accompany him from
Perugia to Monte Fiascone, he went at once to the Legate d'Albornoz, who
was standing in the open air conversing with his captains. A crowd
followed. I was one of them; and the Tribune nodded at me - ay, that did
he! - and so, with his scarlet cloak, and his scarlet cap, he faced the
proud Cardinal with a pride greater than his own. 'Monsignore,' said he,
'though you accord me neither money nor arms, to meet the dangers of the
road and brave the ambush of the Barons, I am prepared to depart. Senator
of Rome, his Holiness hath made me: according to custom, I pray you,
Monsignore, forthwith to confirm the rank.'  I would you could have seen
how the proud Spaniard stared, and blushed, and frowned; but he bit his
lip, and said little."

"And confirmed Rienzi Senator?"

"Yes; and blessed him, and bade him depart."

"Senator!" said a stalwart but grey-haired giant with folded arms; "I like
not a title that has been borne by a patrician. I fear me, in the new
title he will forget the old."

"Fie, Cecco del Vecchio, you were always a grumbler!" said a merchant of
cloth, whose commodity the ceremonial had put in great request. "Fie! -
for my part, I think Senator a less new-fangled title than Tribune. I hope
there will be feasting enow, at last. Rome has been long dull. A bad time
for trade, I warrant me!"

The artisan grinned scornfully. He was one of those who distinguished
between the middle class and the working, and he loathed a merchant as much
as he did a noble. "The day wears," said the little man; "he must be here
anon. The Senator's lady, and all his train, have gone forth to meet him
these two hours."

Scarce were these words uttered, when the crowd to the right swayed
restlessly; and presently a horseman rode rapidly through the street. "Way
there! Keep back! Way - make way for the Most Illustrious the Senator of
Rome!"

The crowd became hushed - then murmuring - then hushed again. From balcony
and casement stretched the neck of every gazer. The tramp of steeds was
heard at a distance - the sound of clarion and trumpet; - then, gleaming
through the distant curve of the streets, was seen the wave of the
gonfalons - then, the glitter of spears - and then from the whole
multitude, as from one voice, arose the shout, - "He comes! he comes!"

Adrian shrunk yet more backward amongst the throng; and, leaning against
the wall of one of the houses, contemplated the approaching pageant.

First came, six abreast, the procession of Roman horsemen who had gone
forth to meet the Senator, bearing boughs of olive in their hands; each
hundred preceded by banners, inscribed with the words, "Liberty and Peace
restored."  As these passed the group by Adrian, each more popular citizen
of the cavalcade was recognised, and received with loud shouts. By the
garb and equipment of the horsemen, Adrian saw that they belonged chiefly
to the traders of Rome; a race who, he well knew, unless strangely altered,
valued liberty only as a commercial speculation. "A vain support these,"
thought the Colonna; - "what next?" on, then, came in glittering armour the
German mercenaries, hired by the gold of the Brothers of Provence, in
number two hundred and fifty, and previously in the pay of Malatesta of
Rimini; - tall, stern, sedate, disciplined, - eyeing the crowd with a look,
half of barbarian wonder, half of insolent disdain. No shout of
gratulation welcomed these sturdy strangers; it was evident that their
aspect cast a chill over the assembly.

"Shame!" growled Cecco del Vecchio, audibly. "Has the people's friend need
of the swords which guard an Orsini or a Malatesta? - shame!"

No voice this time silenced the huge malcontent.

"His only real defence against the Barons," thought Adrian, "if he pay them
well! But their number is not sufficient!"

Next came two hundred fantassins, or foot-soldiers, of Tuscany, with the
corselets and arms of the heavy-armed soldiery - a gallant company, and
whose cheerful looks and familiar bearing appeared to sympathise with the
crowd. And in truth they did so, - for they were Tuscans, and therefore
lovers of freedom. In them, too, the Romans seemed to recognise natural
and legitimate allies, - and there was a general cry of "Vivano i bravi
Toscani!"

"Poor defence!" thought the more sagacious Colonna; "the Barons can awe,
and the mob corrupt them."

Next came a file of trumpeters and standard-bearers; - and now the sound of
the music was drowned by shouts, which seemed to rise simultaneously as
from every quarter of the city; - "Rienzi! Rienzi! - Welcome, welcome! -
Liberty and Rienzi! Rienzi and the Good Estate!"  Flowers dropped on his
path, kerchiefs and banners waved from every house; - tears might be seen
coursing, unheeded, down bearded cheeks; - youth and age were kneeling
together, with uplifted hands, invoking blessings on the head of the
Restored. On he came the Senator-Tribune - "the Phoenix to his pyre!"

Robed in scarlet, that literally blazed with gold, his proud head bared in
the sun, and bending to the saddle bow, Rienzi passed slowly through the
throng. Not in the flush of that hour were visible, on his glorious
countenance, the signs of disease and care: the very enlargement of his
proportions gave a greater majesty to his mien. Hope sparkled in his eye -
triumph and empire sat upon his brow. The crowd could not contain
themselves; they pressed forward, each upon each, anxious to catch the
glance of his eye, to touch the hem of his robe. He himself was deeply
affected by their joy. He halted; with faltering and broken words, he
attempted to address them. "I am repaid," he said, - "repaid for all; -
may I live to make you happy!"

The crowd parted again - the Senator moved on - again the crowd closed in.
Behind the Tribune, to their excited imagination, seemed to move the very
goddess of ancient Rome.

Upon a steed, caparisoned with cloth of gold; - in snow-white robes,
studded with gems that flashed back the day, - came the beautiful and regal
Nina. The memory of her pride, her ostentation, all forgotten in that
moment, she was scarce less welcome, scarce less idolized, than her lord.
And her smile all radiant with joy - her lip quivering with proud and elate
emotion, - never had she seemed at once so born alike for love and for
command; - a Zenobia passing through the pomp of Rome, - not a captive, but
a queen.

But not upon that stately form riveted the gaze of Adrian - pale,
breathless, trembling, he clung to the walls against which he leaned. Was
it a dream? Had the dead revived? Or was it his own - his living Irene -
whose soft and melancholy loveliness shone sadly by the side of Nina - a
star beside the moon? The pageant faded from his eyes - all grew dim and
dark. For a moment he was insensible. When he recovered, the crowd was
hurrying along, confused and blent with the mighty stream that followed the
procession. Through the moving multitude he caught the graceful form of
Irene, again snatched by the closing standards of the procession from his
view. His blood rushed back from his heart through every vein. He was as
a man who for years had been in a fearful trance, and who is suddenly
awakened to the light of heaven.

One of that mighty throng remained motionless with Adrian. It was Cecco
del Vecchio.

"He did not see me," muttered the smith to himself; "old friends are
forgotten now! Well, well, Cecco del Vecchio hates tyrants still - no
matter what their name, nor how smoothly they are disguised. He did not
see ME! Umph!"

Chapter 9.II. The Masquerade.

The acuter reader has already learned, without the absolute intervention of
the author as narrator, the incidents occurring to Rienzi in the interval
between his acquittal at Avignon and his return to Rome. As the impression
made by Nina upon the softer and better nature of Albornoz died away, he
naturally began to consider his guest - as the profound politicians of that
day ever considered men - a piece upon the great Chess-Board, to be moved,
advanced, or sacrificed, as best suited the scheme in view. His purpose
accomplished, in the recovery of the patrimonial territory, the submission
of John di Vico, and the fall and death of the Demagogue Baroncelli, the
Cardinal deemed it far from advisable to restore to Rome, and with so high
a dignity, the able and ambitious Rienzi. Before the daring Roman, even
his own great spirit quailed; and he was wholly unable to conceive or to
calculate the policy that might be adopted by the new Senator, when once
more Lord of Rome. Without affecting to detain, he therefore declined to
assist in restoring him. And Rienzi thus saw himself within an easy march
of Rome, without one soldier to protect him against the Barons by the way.
But Heaven had decreed that no single man, however gifted, or however
powerful, should long counteract or master the destinies of Rienzi: and
perhaps in no more glittering scene of his life did he ever evince so
dexterous and subtle an intellect as he now did in extricating himself from
the wiles of the Cardinal. Repairing to Perugia, he had, as we have seen,
procured, through the brothers of Montreal, men and money for his return.
But the Knight of St. John was greatly mistaken, if he imagined that Rienzi
was not thoroughly aware of the perilous and treacherous tenure of the
support he had received. His keen eye read at a glance the aims and the
characters of the brothers of Montreal - he knew that while affecting to
serve him, they designed to control - that, made the debtor of the grasping
and aspiring Montreal, and surrounded by the troops conducted by Montreal's
brethren, he was in the midst of a net which, if not broken, would soon
involve fortune and life itself in its fatal and deadly meshes. But,
confident in the resources and promptitude of his own genius, he yet
sanguinely trusted to make those his puppets, who dreamed that he was their
own; and, with empire for the stake, he cared not how crafty the
antagonists he was compelled to engage.

Meanwhile, uniting to all his rasher and all his nobler qualities, a
profound dissimulation, he appeared to trust implicitly to his Provencal
companions; and his first act on entering the Capitol, after the triumphal
procession, was to reward with the highest dignities in his gift, Messere
Arimbaldo and Messere Brettone de Montreal!

High feasting was there that night in the halls of the Capitol; but dearer
to Rienzi than all the pomp of the day, were the smiles of Nina. Her proud
and admiring eyes, swimming with delicious tears, fixed upon his
countenance, she but felt that they were re-united, and that the hours,
however brilliantly illumined, were hastening to that moment, when, after
so desolate and dark an absence, they might once more be alone.

Far other the thoughts of Adrian Colonna, as he sate alone in the dreary
palace in the yet more dreary quarter of his haughty race. Irene then was
alive, - he had been deceived by some strange error, - she had escaped the
devouring pestilence; and something in the pale sadness of her gentle
features, even in that day of triumph, told him he was still remembered.
But as his mind by degrees calmed itself from its first wild and tumultuous
rapture, he could not help asking himself the question whether they were
not still to be divided! Stefanello Colonna, the grandson of the old
Stephen, and (by the death of his sire and brother) the youthful head of
that powerful House, had already raised his standard against the Senator.
Fortifying himself in the almost impregnable fastness of Palestrina, he had
assembled around him all the retainers of his family, and his lawless
soldiery now ravaged the neighbouring plains far and wide.

Adrian foresaw that the lapse of a few days would suffice to bring the
Colonna and the Senator to open war. Could he take part against those of
his own blood? The very circumstance of his love for Irene would yet more
rob such a proceeding of all appearance of disinterested patriotism, and
yet more deeply and irremediably stain his knightly fame, wherever the
sympathy of his equals was enlisted with the cause of the Colonna. On the
other hand, not only his love for the Senator's sister, but his own secret
inclinations and honest convictions, were on the side of one who alone
seemed to him possessed of the desire and the genius to repress the
disorders of his fallen city. Long meditating, he feared no alternative
was left him but in the same cruel neutrality to which he had been before
condemned; but he resolved at least to make the attempt - rendered
favourable and dignified by his birth and reputation - to reconcile the
contending parties. To effect this, he saw that he must begin with his
haughty cousin. He was well aware that were it known that he had first
obtained an interview with Rienzi - did it appear as if he were charged
with overtures from the Senator - although Stefanello himself might be
inclined to yield to his representations, the insolent and ferocious Barons
who surrounded him would not deign to listen to the envoy of the People's
chosen one; and instead of being honoured as an intercessor, he should be
suspected as a traitor. He determined, then, to depart for Palestrina; but
(and his heart beat audibly) would it not be possible first to obtain an
interview with Irene? It was no easy enterprise, surrounded as she was,
but he resolved to adventure it. He summoned Giulio.

"The Senator holds a festival this evening - think you that the assemblage
will be numerous?"

"I hear," answered Giulio, "that the banquet given to the Ambassadors and
Signors today is to be followed tomorrow by a mask, to which all ranks are
admitted. By Bacchus, (Still a common Roman expletive.) if the Tribune
only invited nobles, the smallest closet in the Capitol would suffice to
receive his maskers. I suppose a mask has been resolved on in order to
disguise the quality of the visitors."

Adrian mused a moment; and the result of his revery was a determination to
delay for another sun his departure to Palestrina - to take advantage of
the nature of the revel, and to join the masquerade.

That species of entertainment, though unusual at that season of the year,
had been preferred by Rienzi, partly and ostensibly because it was one in
which all his numerous and motley supporters could be best received; but
chiefly and secretly because it afforded himself and his confidential
friends the occasion to mix unsuspected amongst the throng, and learn more
of the real anticipations of the Romans with respect to his policy and his
strength, than could well be gathered from the enthusiasm of a public
spectacle.

The following night was beautifully serene and clear. The better to
accommodate the numerous guests, and to take advantage of the warm and
moonlit freshness of the air, the open court of the Capitol, with the Place
of the Lion, (as well as the state apartments within,) was devoted to the
festival.

As Adrian entered the festive court with the rush of the throng, it chanced
that in the eager impatience of some maskers, more vehement than the rest,
his vizard was deranged. He hastily replaced it; but not before one of the
guests had recognised his countenance.

From courtesy, Rienzi and his family remained at first unmasked. They
stood at the head of the stairs to which the old Egyptian Lion gave the
name. The lights shone over that Colossal Monument - which, torn from its
antique home, had witnessed, in its grim repose, the rise and lapse of
countless generations, and the dark and stormy revolutions of avenging
fate. It was an ill omen, often afterwards remarked, that the place of
that state festival was the place also of the state executions. But at
that moment, as group after group pressed forward to win smile and word
from the celebrated man, whose fortunes had been the theme of Europe, or to
bend in homage to the lustrous loveliness of Nina, no omen and no warning
clouded the universal gladness.

Behind Nina, well contented to shrink from the gaze of the throng, and to
feel her softer beauty eclipsed by the dazzling and gorgeous charms of her
brother's wife, stood Irene. Amidst the crowd on her alone Adrian fixed
his eyes. The years which had flown over the fair brow of the girl of
sixteen - then animated by, yet trembling beneath, the first wild breath of
Love; - youth in every vein - passion and childish tenderness in every
thought, had not marred, but they had changed, the character of Irene's
beauty. Her cheek, no longer varying with every instant, was settled into
a delicate and thoughtful paleness - her form, more rounded to the
proportions of Roman beauty, had assumed an air of dignified and calm
repose. No longer did the restless eye wander in search of some imagined
object; no longer did the lip quiver into smiles at some untold hope or
half-unconscious recollection. A grave and mournful expression gave to her
face (still how sweet!) a gravity beyond her years. The bloom, the flush,
the April of the heart, was gone; but yet neither time, nor sorrow, nor
blighted love, had stolen from her countenance its rare and angelic
softness - nor that inexpressible and virgin modesty of form and aspect,
which, contrasting the bolder beauties of Italy, had more than aught else
distinguished to Adrian, from all other women, the idol of his heart. And
feeding his gaze upon those dark deep eyes, which spoke of thought far away
and busy with the past, Adrian felt again and again that he was not
forgotten! Hovering near her, but suffering the crowd to press one after
another before him, he did not perceive that he had attracted the eagle eye
of the Senator.

In fact, as one of the maskers passed Rienzi, he whispered, "Beware, a
Colonna is among the masks! beneath the reveller's domino has often lurked
the assassin's dagger. Yonder stands your foe - mark him!"

These words were the first sharp and thrilling intimation of the perils
into which he had rushed, that the Tribune-Senator had received since his
return. He changed colour slightly; and for some minutes the courtly smile
and ready greeting with which he had hitherto delighted every guest, gave
way to a moody abstraction.

"Why stands yon strange man so mute and motionless?" whispered he to Nina.
"He speaks to none - he approaches us not - a churl, a churl! - he must be
seen to."

"Doubtless, some German or English barbarian," answered Nina. "Let not, my
Lord, so slight a cloud dim your merriment."

"You are right, dearest; we have friends here; we are well girt. And, by
my father's ashes, I feel that I must accustom myself to danger. Nina, let
us move on; methinks we might now mix among the maskers - masked
ourselves."

The music played loud and cheerily as the Senator and his party mingled
with the throng. But still his eye turned ever towards the grey domino of
Adrian, and he perceived that it followed his steps. Approaching the
private entrance of the Capitol, he for a few moments lost sight of his
unwelcome pursuer: but just as he entered, turning abruptly, Rienzi
perceived him close at his side - the next moment the stranger had vanished
amidst the throng. But that moment had sufficed to Adrian - he had reached
Irene. "Adrian Colonna (he whispered) waits thee beside the Lion."

In the absorption of his own reflections, Rienzi fortunately did not notice
the sudden paleness and agitation of his sister. Entered within his
palace, he called for wine - the draught revived his spirits - he listened
smilingly to the sparkling remarks of Nina; and enduing his mask and
disguise, said, with his wonted cheerfulness, "Now for Truth - strange that
in festivals it should only speak behind a vizard! My sweet sister, thou
hast lost thine old smile, and I would rather see that than - Ha! has Irene
vanished?"

"Only, I suppose, to change her dress, my Cola, and mingle with the
revellers," answered Nina. "Let my smile atone for hers."

Rienzi kissed the bright brow of his wife as she clung fondly to his bosom.
"Thy smile is the sunlight," said he; "but this girl disturbs me. Methinks
now, at least, she might wear a gladder aspect."

"Is there nothing of love beneath my fair sister's gloom?" answered Nina.
"Do you not call to mind how she loved Adrian Colonna?"

"Does that fantasy hold still?" returned Rienzi, musingly. "Well, and she
is fit bride for a monarch."

"Yet it were an alliance that would, better than one with monarchs,
strengthen thy power at Rome!"

"Ay, were it possible; but that haughty race! - Perchance this very masker
that so haunted our steps was but her lover. I will look to this. Let us
forth, my Nina. Am I well cloaked?"

"Excellently well - and I?"

"The sun behind a cloud."

"Ah, let us not tarry long; what hour of revel like that when thy hand in
mine, this head upon thy bosom, we forget the sorrows we have known, and
even the triumphs we have shared?"

Meanwhile, Irene, confused and lost amidst a transport of emotion, already
disguised and masked, was threading her way through the crowd back to the
staircase of the Lion. With the absence of the Senator that spot had
comparatively been deserted. Music and the dance attracted the maskers to
another quarter of the wide space. And Irene now approaching, beheld the
moonlight fall over the statue, and a solitary figure leaning against the
pedestal. She paused, the figure approached, and again she heard the voice
of her early love.

"Oh, Irene! recognised even in this disguise," said Adrian, seizing her
trembling hand; "have I lived to gaze again upon that form - to touch this
hand? Did not these eyes behold thee lifeless in that fearful vault, which
I shudder to recall? By what miracle wert thou raised again? By what
means did Heaven spare to this earth one that it seemed already to have
placed amongst its angels?"

"Was this, indeed, thy belief?" said Irene, falteringly, but with an accent
eloquent of joy. "Thou didst not then willingly desert me? Unjust that I
was, I wronged thy noble nature, and deemed that my brother's fall, my
humble lineage, thy brilliant fate, had made thee renounce Irene."

"Unjust indeed!" answered the lover. "But surely I saw thee amongst the
dead! - thy cloak, with the silver stars - who else wore the arms of the
Roman Tribune?"

"Was it but the cloak then, which, dropped in the streets, was probably
assumed by some more ill-fated victim; was it that sight alone, that made
thee so soon despair? Ah! Adrian," continued Irene, tenderly, but with
reproach; "not even when I saw thee seemingly lifeless on the couch by
which I had watched three days and nights, not even then did I despair!"

"What, then, my vision did not deceive me! It was you who watched by my
bed in that grim hour, whose love guarded, whose care preserved me! And I,
wretch that I was! - "

"Nay," answered Irene, "your thought was natural. Heaven seemed to endow
me with superhuman strength, whilst I was necessary to thee. But judge of
my dismay. I left thee to seek the good friar who attended thee as thy
leech; I returned, and found thee not. Heart-sick and terrified, I
searched the desolate city in vain. Strong as I was while hope supported
me, I sunk beneath fear. - And my brother found me senseless, and stretched
on the ground, by the church of St. Mark."

"The church of St. Mark! - so foretold his dream!"

"He had told me he had met thee; we searched for thee in vain; at length we
heard that thou hadst left the city, and - and - I rejoiced, Adrian, but I
repined!"

For some minutes the young lovers surrendered themselves to the delight of
reunion, while new explanations called forth new transports.

"And now," murmured Irene, "now that we have met - " she paused, and her
mask concealed her blushes.

"Now that we have met," said Adrian, filling up the silence, "wouldst thou
say further, 'that we should not part?'  Trust me, dearest, that is the
hope that animates my heart. It was but to enjoy these brief bright
moments with thee, that I delayed my departure to Palestrina. Could I but
hope to bring my young cousin into amity with thy brother, no barrier would
prevent our union. Willingly I forget the past - the death of my unhappy
kinsmen, (victims, it is true, to their own faults;) and, perhaps, amidst
all the crowds that hailed his return, none more appreciated the great and
lofty qualities of Cola di Rienzi, than did Adrian Colonna."

"If this be so," said Irene, "let me hope the best; meanwhile, it is enough
of comfort and of happiness to know, that we love each other as of old.
Ah, Adrian, I am sadly changed; and often have I thought it a thing beyond
my dreams, that thou shouldst see me again and love me still."

"Fairer art thou and lovelier than ever," answered Adrian, passionately;
"and time, which has ripened thy bloom, has but taught me more deeply to
feel thy value. Farewell, Irene, I linger here no longer; thou wilt, I
trust, hear soon of my success with my House, and ere the week be over I
may return to claim thy hand in the face of day."

The lovers parted; Adrian lingered on the spot, and Irene hastened to bury
her emotion and her raptures in her own chamber.

As her form vanished, and the young Colonna slowly turned away, a tall mask
strode abruptly towards him.

"Thou art a Colonna," it said, "and in the power of the Senator. Dost thou
tremble?"

"If I be a Colonna, rude masker," answered Adrian, coldly, "thou shouldst
know the old proverb, 'He who stirs the column, shall rue the fall.'"

The stranger laughed aloud, and then lifting his mask, Adrian saw that it
was the Senator who stood before him.

"My Lord Adrian di Castello," said Rienzi, resuming all his gravity, "is it
as friend or foe that you have honoured our revels this night?"

"Senator of Rome," answered Adrian, with equal stateliness, "I partake of
no man's hospitality but as a friend. A foe, at least to you, I trust
never justly to be esteemed."

"I would," rejoined Rienzi, "that I could apply to myself unreservedly that
most flattering speech. Are these friendly feelings entertained towards me
as the Governor of the Roman people, or as the brother of the woman who has
listened to your vows?"

Adrian, who when the Senator had unmasked had followed his example, felt at
these words that his eye quailed beneath Rienzi's. However, he recovered
himself with the wonted readiness of an Italian, and replied laconically,

"As both."

"Both!" echoed Rienzi. "Then, indeed, noble Adrian, you are welcome
hither. And yet, methinks, if you conceived there was no cause for enmity
between us, you would have wooed the sister of Cola di Rienzi in a guise
more worthy of your birth; and, permit me to add, of that station which
God, destiny, and my country, have accorded unto me. You dare not, young
Colonna, meditate dishonour to the sister of the Senator of Rome. Highborn
as you are, she is your equal."

"Were I the Emperor, whose simple knight I but am, your sister were my
equal," answered Adrian, warmly. "Rienzi, I grieve that I am discovered to
you yet. I had trusted that, as a mediator between the Barons and
yourself, I might first have won your confidence, and then claimed my
reward. Know that with tomorrow's dawn I depart for Palestrina, seeking to
reconcile my young cousin to the choice of the People and the Pontiff.
Various reasons, which I need not now detail, would have made me wish to
undertake this heraldry of peace without previous communication with you.
But since we have met, intrust me with any terms of conciliation, and I
pledge you the right hand, not of a Roman noble - alas! the prisca fides
has departed from that pledge! - but of a Knight of the Imperial Court,
that I will not betray your confidence."

Rienzi, accustomed to read the human countenance, had kept his eyes
intently fixed upon Adrian while he spoke; when the Colonna concluded, he
pressed the proffered hand, and said, with that familiar and winning
sweetness which at times was so peculiar to his manner,

"I trust you, Adrian, from my soul. You were mine early friend in calmer,
perchance happier, years. And never did river reflect the stars more
clearly, than your heart then mirrored back the truth. I trust you!"

While thus speaking, he had mechanically led back the Colonna to the statue
of the Lion; there pausing, he resumed:

"Know that I have this morning despatched my delegate to your cousin
Stefanello. With all due courtesy, I have apprised him of my return to
Rome, and invited hither his honoured presence. Forgetting all ancient
feuds, mine own past exile, I have assured him, here, the station and
dignity due to the head of the Colonna. All that I ask in return is
obedience to the law. Years and reverses have abated my younger pride, and
though I may yet preserve the sternness of the Judge, none shall hereafter
complain of the insolence of the Tribune."

"I would," answered Adrian, "that your mission to Stefanello had been
delayed a day; I would fain have forestalled its purport. Howbeit, you
increase my desire of departure, should I yet succeed in obtaining an
honourable and peaceful reconciliation, it is not in disguise that I will
woo your sister."

"And never did Colonna," replied Rienzi, loftily, "bring to his House a
maiden whose alliance more gratified ambition. I still see, as I have seen
ever, in mine own projects, and mine own destinies, the chart of the new
Roman Empire!"

"Be not too sanguine yet, brave Rienzi," replied Adrian, laying his hand on
the Lion of Basalt: "bethink thee on how many scheming brains this dumb
image of stone hath looked down from its pedestal - schemes of sand, and
schemers of dust. Thou hast enough, at present, for the employ of all
thine energy - not to extend thy power, but to preserve thyself. For,
trust me, never stood human greatness on so wild and dark a precipice!"

"Thou art honest," said the Senator; "and these are the first words of
doubt, and yet of sympathy, I have heard in Rome. But the People love me,
the Barons have fled from Rome, the Pontiff approves, and the swords of the
Northmen guard the avenues of the Capitol. But these are nought; in mine
own honesty are my spear and buckler. Oh, never," continued Rienzi,
kindling with his enthusiasm, "never since the days of the old Republic,
did Roman dream a purer and a brighter aspiration, than that which animates
and supports me now. Peace restored - law established - art, letters,
intellect, dawning upon the night of time; the Patricians, no longer
bandits of rapine, but the guard of order; the People ennobled from a mob,
brave to protect, enlightened to guide, themselves. Then, not by the
violence of arms, but by the majesty of her moral power, shall the Mother
of Nations claim the obedience of her children. Thus dreaming and thus
hoping, shall I tremble or despond? No, Adrian Colonna, come weal or woe,
I abide, unshrinking and unawed, by the chances of my doom!"

So much did the manner and the tone of the Senator exalt his language, that
even the sober sense of Adrian was enchanted and subdued. He kissed the
hand he held, and said earnestly,

"A doom that I will deem it my boast to share - a career that it will be my
glory to smooth. If I succeed in my present mission - "

"You are my brother!" said Rienzi.

"If I fail?"

"You may equally claim that alliance. You pause - you change colour."

"Can I desert my house?"

"Young Lord," said Rienzi, loftily, "say rather can you desert your
country? If you doubt my honesty, if you fear my ambition, desist from
your task, rob me not of a single foe. But if you believe that I have the
will and the power to serve the State - if you recognise, even in the
reverses and calamities I have known and mastered, the protecting hand of
the Saviour of Nations - if those reverses were but the mercies of Him who
chasteneth - necessary, it may be, to correct my earlier daring and sharpen
yet more my intellect - if, in a word, thou believest me one whom, whatever
be his faults, God hath preserved for the sake of Rome, forget that you are
a Colonna - remember only that you are a Roman!"

"You have conquered me, strange and commanding spirit," said Adrian, in a
low voice, completely carried away; "and whatever the conduct of my
kindred, I am yours and Rome's. Farewell."

Chapter 9.III. Adrian's Adventures at Palestrina.

It was yet noon when Adrian beheld before him the lofty mountains that
shelter Palestrina, the Praeneste of the ancient world. Back to a period
before Romulus existed, in the earliest ages of that mysterious
civilisation which in Italy preceded the birth of Rome, could be traced the
existence and the power of that rocky city. Eight dependent towns owned
its sway and its wealth; its position, and the strength of those mighty
walls, in whose ruins may yet be traced the masonry of the remote Pelasgi,
had long braved the ambition of the neighbouring Rome. From that very
citadel, the Mural Crown (Hence, apparently, its Greek name of Stephane.
Palestrina is yet one of the many proofs which the vicinity of Rome affords
of the old Greek civilization of Italy.) of the mountain, had waved the
standard of Marius; and up the road which Adrian's scanty troop slowly
wound, had echoed the march of the murtherous Sylla, on his return from the
Mithridatic war. Below, where the city spread towards the plain, were yet
seen the shattered and roofless columns of the once celebrated Temple of
Fortune; and still the immemorial olives clustered grey and mournfully
around the ruins.

A more formidable hold the Barons of Rome could not have selected; and as
Adrian's military eye scanned the steep ascent and the rugged walls, he
felt that with ordinary skill it might defy for months all the power of the
Roman Senator. Below, in the fertile valley, dismantled cottages and
trampled harvests attested the violence and rapine of the insurgent Barons;
and at that very moment were seen, in the old plain of the warlike Hernici,
troops of armed men, driving before them herds of sheep and cattle,
collected in their lawless incursions. In sight of that Praeneste, which
had been the favourite retreat of the luxurious Lords of Rome in its most
polished day, the Age of Iron seemed renewed.

The banner of the Colonna, borne by Adrian's troop, obtained ready
admittance at the Porta del Sole. As he passed up the irregular and narrow
streets that ascended to the citadel, groups of foreign mercenaries, -
half-ragged, half-tawdry knots of abandoned women, - mixed here and there
with the liveries of the Colonna, stood loitering amidst the ruins of
ancient fanes and palaces, or basked lazily in the sun, upon terraces,
through which, from amidst weeds and grass, glowed the imperishable hues of
the rich mosaics, which had made the pride of that lettered and graceful
nobility, of whom savage freebooters were now the heirs.

The contrast between the Past and Present forcibly occurred to Adrian, as
he passed along; and, despite his order, he felt as if Civilization itself
were enlisted against his House upon the side of Rienzi.

Leaving his train in the court of the citadel, Adrian demanded admission to
the presence of his cousin. He had left Stefanello a child on his
departure from Rome, and there could therefore be but a slight and
unfamiliar acquaintance betwixt them, despite their kindred.

Peals of laughter came upon his ear, as he followed one of Stefanello's
gentlemen through a winding passage that led to the principal chamber. The
door was thrown open, and Adrian found himself in a rude hall, to which
some appearance of hasty state and attempted comfort had been given.
Costly arras imperfectly clothed the stone walls, and the rich seats and
decorated tables, which the growing civilization of the northern cities of
Italy had already introduced into the palaces of Italian nobles, strangely
contrasted the rough pavement, spread with heaps of armour negligently
piled around. At the farther end of the apartment, Adrian shudderingly
perceived, set in due and exact order, the implements of torture.

Stefanello Colonna, with two other Barons, indolently reclined on seats
drawn around a table, in the recess of a deep casement, from which might be
still seen the same glorious landscape, bounded by the dim spires of Rome,
which Hannibal and Pyrrhus had ascended that very citadel to survey!

Stefanello himself, in the first bloom of youth, bore already on his
beardless countenance those traces usually the work of the passions and
vices of maturest manhood. His features were cast in the mould of the old
Stephen's; in their clear, sharp, high-bred outline might be noticed that
regular and graceful symmetry, which blood, in men as in animals, will
sometimes entail through generations; but the features were wasted and
meagre. His brows were knit in an eternal frown; his thin and bloodless
lips wore that insolent contempt which seems so peculiarly cold and
unlovely in early youth; and the deep and livid hollows round his eyes,
spoke of habitual excess and premature exhaustion. By him sat (reconciled
by hatred to one another) the hereditary foes of his race; the soft, but
cunning and astute features of Luca di Savelli, contrasted with the broad
frame and ferocious countenance of the Prince of the Orsini.

The young head of the Colonna rose with some cordiality to receive his
cousin. "Welcome," he said, "dear Adrian; you are arrived in time to
assist us with your well-known military skill. Think you not we shall
stand a long siege, if the insolent plebeian dare adventure it? You know
our friends, the Orsini and the Savelli? Thanks to St. Peter, or Peter's
delegate, we have now happily meaner throats to cut than those of each
other!"

Thus saying, Stefanello again threw himself listlessly on his seat, and the
shrill, woman's voic