b7rkelTy\ 
 LIBRARY 
 
 JNIVERSiTY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. 
 
RIENZI 
 
 ^ ^ IvlJJiiNZ-.l ^ ^ 
 
 THE LAST OF THE ROMAN TRIBUNES 
 
 V 
 
 ■^IMMHB^BV^ %:_* 
 
 By EDWARD BULWER LYTTON 
 
 (LORD LYTTON) 
 
 Let the mountains exult around ! 
 On her seven-hill'd throne renown 'd, 
 Once more old Rome is crown'd ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY, ^ ^ .^ ^ 
 ^ ^ ^ PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK 
 
<*>». 
 
 UBRARY 
 
 to 
 
 ALESSANDRO MANZONI, 
 
 AS 
 
 TO THE GENIUS OF THE PLACE 
 
 ARE DEDICATED 
 
 THESE FRUITS. 
 
 GATHERED ON 
 
 THE SOIL OF ITALIAN FICTIOH 
 
 ^.ondon, Dec. i. 1831, 
 
-*rV- 
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF 
 
 RIENZI. 
 
 I BEGAN this tale two years ago at Rome. On removing to Naples, I 
 threw it aside for ** The Last Days of Pompeii," which required more than 
 " Rienzi " the advantage of residence within reach of the scenes described. 
 The fate of the Roman Tribune continued, however, to haunt and impress 
 me, and, some time after " Pompeii " was published, I renewed my earlier 
 undertaking. I regarded the completion of these volumes, indeed, as a kind 
 of duty ; for having had occasion to read the original authorities from which 
 modern historians have drawn their accounts of the life of Rienzi, I was led 
 to believe that a very remarkable man had been superficially judged, and a 
 very important period crudely examined.* And this belief was sufficiently 
 strong to induce me at first to meditate a more serious work upon the life 
 and times of Rienzi. f Various reasons concurred against this project and 
 I renounced the biography to commence the fiction. I have still, however, 
 adhered, with a greater fidelity than is customary in Romance, to all the 
 leading events of the public life of the Roman Tribune ; and the reader will 
 perhaps find in these pages a more full and detailed account of the rise and 
 fall of Rienzi, than in any English work of which I am aware. I have, it 
 is true, taken a view of his character different in some respects from that of 
 Gibbon or Sismondi. But it is a view, in all its main features, which I be- 
 lieve (and think I could prove) myself to be warranted in taking, not less by 
 the facts of history than the laws of fiction. In the mean while, as I have 
 given the facts from which I have drawn my interpretation of the principal 
 agent, the reader has sufficient data for his own judgment. In the picture 
 of the Roman populace, as in that of the Roman nobles of the fourteenth 
 century, I follow literally the descriptions left to us ; they are not flattering, 
 but they are faithful, likenesses. 
 
 Preserving generally the real chronology of Rienzi's life, the plot of this 
 work extends over a space of some years, and embraces the variety of charac- 
 ters necessary to a true delineation of events. The story, therefore, cannot 
 have precisely that order of interest found in fictions strictly and genuinely 
 dramatic, in which (to my judgment, at least) the time ought to be as limited 
 as possible, and the characters as few — no new character of importance to 
 the catastrophe being admissible towards the end of the work. If I may use 
 the word epic in its most modest and unassuming acceptation, this fiction, in 
 short, though indulging in dramatic situations, belongs, as a whole, rather to 
 the epic than the dramatic school. 
 
 I cannot conclude without rendering the tribute of my praise and homage 
 
 • See Appendix, Nos. I. and II. 
 
 t I have adopted the termination of Rienz\ instead of Riftizo, as being more familiar to 
 the general reader. — Hut the latter is perhaps the more accurate reading, since the nanM 
 WAS a popular corruption from Lorenzo. 
 
VI 1»kEFACE. 
 
 to the versatile and gifted author of the beautiful Tragedy of Rienzi. Con- 
 sidering that our hero be the Same — considering that we had the same 
 materials from which to choose our several stories — I trust I shall be found 
 to have little, if at all, trespassed upon ground previously occupied. "With 
 the single exception of a love-intrigue between a relative of Rienzi and one 
 of the antagonist party, which makes the plot of Miss Mitford's tragedy, and 
 is little more than an episode in my romance, having slight effect on the con- 
 duct and none on the fate of the hero, I am not aware of any resemblance 
 between the two works ; and even i/iis coincidence I could easily have re- 
 moved, had I deemed it the least advisable — but it would be almost dis- 
 creditable if I had nothing that resembled a performance possessing so much 
 it were an honor to imitate. 
 
 In fact, the prodigal materials of the story — the rich and exuberant com- 
 plexities of Rienzi's character — joined to the advantage possessed by the 
 ^ovelist of embracing all that the dramatist must reject * — are sufficient to 
 prevent dramatist and novelist from interfering with each other. 
 
 iu>ndon^ December i, 1835. 
 
 * Thus the slender space permitted to the dramatist does not allow Miss Mitford to be 
 verj' faithful to facts ; to distinguish between iRienzi's earlier and his later period of power; 
 •r 10 4ctail the true, but somewhat intricate, causes of his rise, his splendor, and hu fall. 
 
PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION, 
 
 1848. 
 
 From the time of its first appearance, " Rienzi " has had the good fortune 
 to rank high amongst my most popular works, though its interest is rather 
 drawn from a faithful narration of historical facts, than from the inventions 
 of fancy. And the success of this experiment confirms me in my belief, 
 that the true mode of employing history in the service of romance is to study 
 diligently the materials as history ; conform to such views of the facts as the 
 author would adopt, if he related them in the dry character of historian ; and 
 obtain that warmer interest which fiction bestows, by tracing the causes of the 
 facts in the characters and emotions of the personages of the time. The 
 events of his work are thus already shaped to his hand — the characters al- 
 ready created — what remains for him is the inner, not outer, history of man — 
 the chronicle of the human heart ; and it is by this that he introduces a new 
 harmony between character and event, and adds the completer solution of 
 what is actual and true, by those speculations of what is natural and prob- 
 able, which are out of the province of history, but belong especially to the 
 philosophy of romance. And — if it be permitted the tale-teller to 
 come reverently for instruction in his art to the mightiest teacher of 
 all, who, whether in the page or on the scene, would give to airy fancies 
 the breath and the form of life — such, we may observe, is the lesson 
 the humblest craftsman in historical romance may glean from the historical 
 plays of Shakespeare. Necessarily, Shakespeare consulted history according 
 to the imperfect lights, and from the popular authorities, of his age ; and I 
 do not say, therefore, that as an historian we can rely upon Shakespeare as 
 correct. But to that in which he believed he rigidly adhered : nor did he 
 seek, as lesser artists (such as Victor Hugo and his disciples), seek now, to 
 turn perforce the historical into the poetical, but leaving history as he found 
 it, to call forth from its arid prose the flower of the latent poem. Nay, even 
 in the more imaginative plays which he has founded upon novels and legends 
 popular in his time, it is curious and instructive to see how little he has al- 
 tered the original ground-work, taking for granted the main materials of the 
 story, and reserving all his matchless resources of wisdom and invention to 
 illustrate, from mental analysis, the creations whose outline he was content 
 to borrow. He receives, as a literal fact not to be altered, the somewhat in- 
 credible assertion of the novelist, that the pure and delicate and high-born 
 Venetian loves the swarthy Moor ; and that Romeo, fresh from his " woes 
 for Rosaline," becomes suddenly enamoured of Juliet : he found the Improb- 
 able, and employed his ait to make it truthful. 
 
 That " Rienzi " should have attracted peculiar attention in Italy is o\ 
 course to be attributed to the choice of the .subject, ratlier than to the skill 
 of the author. It has been translated into the Italian language by eminent 
 writer^ ; and the authorities for the new view of Kienzi's times and chaiacter 
 which the author rieemed himself w.irranied to take, have been compared with 
 his text by carefql critics and illustrious scholars, in those states in which the 
 
 vii 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 work has been permitted to circulate.* I may say, T trust without unworthy 
 pride, that the result has confirmed the accuracy of delineations which Eng- 
 lish readers, relying only on the brilliant but disparaging account in Gibbon, 
 deemed too favorable ; and has tended to restore tiie great Tribune to his 
 long forgotten claims to the love and reverence of the Italian land. Nor, if 
 I may trust to the assurances that have reached me from many now engaged 
 in the aim of political regeneration, has the effect of that revival of the 
 honors due to a national hero, leading to the ennobling study of great ex- 
 amples, been wholly without its influence upon the rising generation of 
 Italian youth, and thereby upon those stirring events which have recently 
 drawn the eyes of Europe to the men and the lands beyond the Alps. 
 
 In preparing for the press this edition of a work illustrative of the exer- 
 tions of a Roman, in advance of his time, for the political freedom of his 
 country, and of those struggles between contending principles, of which Italy 
 was the most stirring field in the Middle Ages, it is not out of place or sea- 
 son to add a few sober words, whether as a student of the Italian past, or as 
 an observer, with some experience of the social elements of Italy as it now 
 exists, upon the state of affairs in that country. 
 
 It is nothing new to see the Papal Church iH the capacity of a popular re- 
 former, and in contra- position to the despotic potentates of the several states, 
 as well as to the German Emperor, who nominally inherits the sceptre of the 
 Caesars. Such was its common character under its more illustrious pontiffs ; 
 and the old Republics of Italy grew up under the shadow of the Papal 
 throne, harboring ever two factions — the one for the Emperor, the one for the 
 Pope— the latter the more naturally allied to Italian independence. On the 
 modern stage, we almost see the repetition of many an ancient drama. But 
 the past should teach us to doubt the continuous and steadfast progress of 
 any single line of policy under a principality so constituted as that of the 
 Papal Church — a principality m which no race can be perpetuated, in which 
 no objects can be permanent ; in which the successor is chosen by a select 
 ecclesiastical synod, under a variety of foreign as well as of national influ- 
 ences ; in which the chief usually ascends the throne at an age that ill adapts 
 his mind to the idea of human progress, and the active direction»of mundane 
 affairs ; a principality in which the peculiar sanctity that wraps the person 
 of the sovereign exonerates him from the healthful liabilities of & power 
 purely temporal, and directly accountable to man. A reforming pope is a 
 lucky accident, and dull indeed must be the brain which believes in the pos- 
 sibility of a long succession of reforming popes, or which can regard as other 
 than precarious and unstable the discordant combination of a constitutional 
 government with an infallible head. 
 
 It is as true as it is trite that political freedom is not the growth of a day- 
 it is not a flower without a stalk — and it must gradually develop itself from 
 amidst the unfolding leaves of kindred institutions. 
 
 In one respect the Austrian domination, fairly considered, has been bene- 
 ficial to the states over which it has been directly exercised, and may be even 
 said to have unconsciously schooled them to the capacity for freedom. In 
 those states the personal rights which depend on impartial and incorrupt ad- 
 ministration of the law are infinitely more secure than in most of the courts 
 of Italy. Bribery, which shamefully predominates ia the judicature of cer- 
 tain principalities, is as unknown in the juridical courts of Austrian Italy as 
 in England. The Emperor himself is often involved in legal disputes with 
 a subject, and justice is as free and as firm for the humblest suitor, as if his 
 
 f In the Papal States. I believe, it was, neither prudently nor effectually, proscribed. 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 antagonist were his equal. Austria, indeed, but holds together the naotley 
 and inharmonious members of its vast domain on either side the Alps, by a 
 p-eneral cliaracter of paternal mildness and forbearance in all that great 
 circle of good government which lies without the one principle of constitu- 
 tional liberty. It asks but of its subjects to submit to be well governed, 
 without agitating the question " how and by what means that government is 
 carried on." For every man, except the politician, the innovator, Austria is 
 no harsh stepmother. But it is obviously clear that the better in othc- res- 
 pects the administration of a state, it does but foster the more the desi'e for 
 that political security which is only found in constitutional freedom the 
 everence paid to personal rights but begets the passion for political ; and • 
 under a mild despotism are already half matured the germs of a popular con- 
 stitution. But it is still a grave question whether Italy is ripe for self-gov- 
 srnment, and whether, were it possible that the Austrian domination could, 
 be shaken off, the very passions so excited, the very bloodshed so poured 
 forth, would not ultimately place the larger portion of Italy under auspices 
 less favorable to the sure growth of freedom than those which silently brighten 
 under the sway of the German Caesar. 
 
 The two kingdoms, at the opposite extremes of Italy, to which circum- 
 stance and nature seem to assign the main ascendancy, are Naples and Sar- 
 dinia. Looking to the former, it is impossible to discover on the face of the 
 earth a country more adapted for commercial prosperity. Nature formed it 
 as the garden of Europe, and the mart of the Mediterranean. Its soil and 
 climate could unite the products of the East with those of the Western hemi- 
 sphere. The rich island of Sicily should be the great corn granary of the 
 modern nations, as it was of the ancient ; the figs, the olives, the oranges, of 
 both the Sicilies, under skilful cultivation, should equal the produce of Spain 
 and the Orient, and the harbors of the kingdom (the keys to three-quarters 
 of the globe) should be crowded with the sails and busy with the life of com- 
 merce. But, in the character of its population, Naples has been invariably 
 in the rear of Italian progress ; it caught but partial inspiration from the free 
 republics, or even the wise tyrannies, of the Middle Ages; the theatre of 
 frequent revolutions without fruit ; and all rational enthusiasm created by 
 hat insurrection, which has lately bestowed on Naples the boon of a repre- 
 sentative system, cannot but be tempered by the conviction that, of all the 
 states in Italy, this is the one which least warrants the belief of permanence 
 to political freedom, or of capacity to retain with vigor what may be seized 
 by passion.* 
 
 Far otherwise is it with Sardinia. Many years since, the writer of these 
 pages ventured to predict that the time must come when Sardinia would lead 
 the ^'an of Italian civilization, and take proud place amongst the greater 
 nations of Europe. In the great portion of this population there is visible 
 
 • If the Electoral Chamber in the new Neapolitan Constitution give a fair "hare ?* 
 members to the Island of Sicily, it will be rich in the inevitable elei^erls ^f aiscord, and 
 nothing save a wisdom and moderation which rannrxt 'obcrly oe anticipated, can prevent 
 the ultimate separation of the island from me dominion of Naples. Nature has set the 
 ocean between the 'wo countries, but differences in character, and degree and quality of 
 ""•'-•""ticn. national jealousies, historical memories, have trebled the space of the seas that 
 loll between them. Alore easy to unite under one free Parliament Spain with Flanders ; 
 cr re-annex to Eii^^land its old domains of Aquilaine and Normandy, than to unite in one 
 Council Chamber truly popular, the passions, interests, and prejudices of Sicily and 
 Naples, 'i'ime will show. And now, in May. iS^g, Time has already shown the impracti- 
 cability of the first scheme proposed for cordi.d union between Naples and Sicily, and has 
 rendered it utterly impossible, by mutual recollections of hatred, bequeathed by a civil war 
 of singular barbarism, that Naples should permanently retain Sicily by any other bold than 
 the brute force of conquest, 
 
3t PREFACE. 
 
 the new blood of a young race ; it is not, as with other Italian states, a worn- 
 out stock : you do not see there a people fallen, pioud of the past, and lazy 
 amidst ruins, but a people rising, practical, industrious, active : there, in a 
 word, is an eager youth to be formed to mature development, not a decrepit 
 age to be restored to bloom and muscle. Progress is the great characteristic 
 of the Sardinian state. Leave it for live years : visit it again, and you behold 
 improvement. When you enter the kingdom and find, by the very skirts of 
 its admirable roads, a raised footpath for the passengers and travelers from 
 town to town, you become suddenly aware that you are in a land where close 
 attention to the humbler classes is within the duties of a government. As 
 you pass on from the more purely Italian part of the population — from the 
 Genoese country into that of Piedmont — the difference between a new people 
 and an old, on which I have dwelt, becomes visible in the improved cultiva- 
 tion of the soil, the better habitations of the laborer, the neater aspect of the 
 Jtowns, the greater activity in the thoroughfares. To the extraordinary 
 virtues of the King, as king, justice is scarcely done, whether in England or 
 abroad. Certainly, despite his recent concessions, Charles Albert is not, 
 and cannot be at heart, much of a constitutional reformer ; and his strong 
 religious tendencies, which, perhaps unjustly, have procured him in philo- 
 sophical quarters the character of a bigot, may link him more than his 
 political, with the cause of the Father of his Church. But he is nobly and 
 pre-eminently national, careful of the prosperity and jealous of the honor of 
 his own state, while conscientiously desirous of the independence of Italy. 
 His attention to business is indefatigable. Nothing escapes his vigilance. 
 Over all departments of the kingdom is the eye of a man ever anxious to 
 improve. Already the silk manufactures of Sardinia almost rival those of 
 Lyons : in their own departments the tradesmen of Turin exhibit an artistic 
 elegance and elaborate finish scarcely exceeded in the wares of London and 
 Paris. The King's internal regulations are admirable ; his laws administered 
 with the most impartial justice ; his forts and defences are in that order, 
 without which, at least on the Continent, no land is safe ; his army is the 
 most perfect in Italy. His wise genius extends itself to the elegant as to the 
 useful arts — an encouragement that shames England, and even France, is 
 bestowed upon the School for Painters, which has become one of the orna- 
 ments of his illustrious reign. The character of the main part of the popula- 
 tion, and the geographical position of his country, assist the monarch, and 
 must force on himself, or his successors, in the career of improvement so 
 signally begun. In the character of the people the vigor of the Northman 
 ennobles the ardor and fancy of the West. In the position of the country 
 the public mind is brought into constant communication with the new ideas 
 in the free lands of Europe. Civilization sets in direct currents towards the 
 streets and marts of Turin. Whatever the result of the present crisis in 
 Italy, no power and no chance which statesmen can predict can precliide 
 Sardinia from ultimately heading all that is best in Italy. The King may im- 
 prove his present position, or peculiar prejudices, inseparable perhaps from 
 the heritage of absolute monarchy, and which the raw and rude councils of 
 an Electoral Chamber newly called into life must often irritate and alarm, 
 «iay check his own progress towards the master throne of the Ausonian land. 
 But the people themselves, sooner or later, will do the work^ of the Kin^. 
 And in now looking around Italy for a race worthy of Rienzi, and able to 
 accomplish his proud dreams, I see but one for which the time is ripe or ripevf 
 \ng, and I place the hopes of Italy in the men of Piedmont and Sardinia» 
 
 i,ONDpN, February 14, 1848, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 MGB 
 
 l^EFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1835, . •••••••••V 
 
 Preface to the Edition of 1848, ••••••••«« Tii 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. The Brothers, _ . : ij 
 
 II. An Historical Survey — Not to be Passed over, except by those who dislike to 
 
 Understand what they Read, 23 
 
 III. The Brawl, 28 
 
 IV. An Adventure, 35 
 
 V. The Description of a Conspirator, and the Dawn of the Conspiracy, . . .47 
 
 VI. Irene in the Palace of Adrian di Castello, 57 
 
 VII. Upon Love and Lovers, ,..60 
 
 VIII. The Enthusiastic Man judged by the Discreet Man, 63 
 
 IX. When the People saw this Picture, every one Marvelled » 6C 
 
 X. A Rough Spirit Raised, which may hereafter Rend the Wizard, ... 70 
 
 XI. Nina di Raselli, 74 
 
 XII. The Strange Adventures that befell Walter de Montreal, « • • • 81 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 I. The King of Provence, and his Proposal, ...••••.87 
 
 II. The Interview, and the Doubt, . ^ _ . . . . 99 
 
 III. The Situation of a Popular Patrician in Times of Popular Discontent — Scene of 
 
 the Lateran, 102 
 
 IV. The Ambitious Citizen, and the Ambitious Soldier, ..... 117 
 
 V. The Procession of the Barons — The Beginning of the End, .... 127 
 
 VI, The Conspirator becomes the Magistrate, 130 
 
 ^VII. Looking after the Halter when the Mare is Stolen, 134 
 
 VlII. The Attack — the Retreat — the Election — and the Adhesion, . , , . 135 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 I. The Return of Walter de Montreal to his Fortress, 143 
 
 II. The 'sife of Love and War — The Messenger of Peace — The Joust, . . 147 
 III. The Conversation between the Roman and the Provencal — Adeline's History — 
 
 The Moon-lit Sea — The Lute and the Song, i6a 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 I. The Boy Angelo — The Dream of Nina fulfilled, ....... 174 
 
 II. The Blessing of a Councillor whose Interests and Heart are our own — The 
 
 Straws thrown upward, — do they portend a Storm ? 185 
 
 III. The Actor Unmasked, 197 
 
 IV. The Enemy's Camp, 202 
 
 V. The Night and its Incidents, 205 
 
 VI. The Celebrated Citation, •... 2i< 
 
 VII. The Festival, • • . sif 
 
xii CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 CHAP. ^ PAGE 
 
 I. The Judgment of the Tribune, .•••«•••.• . 222 
 
 II. The Flight, ...* •••«• 2^0 
 
 III. The Battle, 234 
 
 IV. The HoUowness of the Base, ....•..••. 242 
 V. The Rottenness of the Edifice, , , , , , 248 
 
 VI. The Fall of the Temple, ........... 253 
 
 VII. The Successors of an Unsuccessful Revolution — ^Who is to Blame, the For- 
 saken One or the Forsakers ? 258 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 I. The Retreat of the Lover, •••o '>.6t 
 
 II. The Seeker, ••••• 264 
 
 III. The Flowers amidst the Tombs, ...•••••*. 274 
 
 iV. We Obtain what we Seek, and Know it not, .•••«• 280 
 
 V. The Error, ^ . 284 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 I. Avignon— The two Pages — The Stranger Beauty, 294 
 
 II. The Character of a Warrior Priest — An Interview — The Intrigue and Counter- 
 intrigue of Courts, . . . . • . 301 
 
 III. Holy Men — Sagacious Deliberations — Just Resolves — And Sordid Motives 
 
 to All, 306 
 
 IV. The Lady and the Page, 311 
 
 V. The Inmate of the Tower, 313 
 
 VI. The Scent does not Lie — The Priest and the Soldier 320 
 
 VII, Vaucluse and its Genius Loci— Old Acquaintance Renewed, . * , . 321 
 
 VIII. The Crowd — The Trial — The Verdict— The Soldier and the Page, . . 326 
 
 IX. Albornoz and Nina, 329 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 I. The Encampment, ..•••. 33s 
 
 II. Adrian once more the Guest of Montreal, . . . . _. • • 344 
 
 III. Faithful and Ill-fated Love — The Aspirations Survive the Affections, . . 349 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 I. The Triumphal Entrance, • • t . 357 
 
 II. The Masquerade, 361 
 
 III. Adrian's Adventures at Palestrina, . . . , , . . _ . . 371 
 
 , IV. The Position of the Senator — The Work of Years — The Reward of Ambition, 376 
 
 V. The Biwer Bit 383 
 
 VI. The Events Gather to the End, 386 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 '. The Conjunction of Hostile Planets in the House of Death 
 
 II. Montreal at Rome -His reception of Angelo Villani, . 
 
 III. Montreal's Banquet, 
 
 IV. The Sentence of Walter de Montreal, .... 
 V. The Discovery, . 
 
 VI. The Suspense, • < 
 
 VII. The Tax, 
 VIII*. The Threshold of the Event, * . * . * . ' . * . * , 
 Chapter the Last. The Close of the Chase, • • • 
 
 390 
 392 
 396 
 402 
 407 
 411 
 415 
 417 
 421 
 
 430 
 
 '^«-*. 
 
RIENZI, 
 
 THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 THE TIME THE PLACE, AND THE MEN. 
 
 **Fu da sua gioventudine nutricato di latte di eloquenza; buono gram- 
 natico, megliore rettorico, autorista buono . . . Oh, come spesso diceva, 
 ' Dove sono questi buoni Romani ? Dov'e loro somma giustizia ? Poterommi 
 trovare in tempo che questi fioriscano?' Era bell 'omo. . . . Accadde che 
 uno sue frate fu ucciso, e non ne fu fatta vendetta di sua morte ; ' non lo 
 p)te6 aiutare ; pensa lungo mano vendicare '1 sangue di suo frate : pensa 
 lunga mano dirizzare la cittate di Roma male guidata. ' — Vita di Cola di 
 A'ienzi. Ed. 1828. Forli. 
 
 " From his youth he was nourished with the milk of eloquence; a good 
 grammarian, a better rhetorician, well versed in the writings of authors. . . 
 Oh, how often would he say, * Where are those good Romans ? Where is 
 their supreme justice ? Shall I ever behold such times as those in which 
 they flourished?' He was a handsome man. ... It happened that a 
 brother of his was slain, and no retribution was made for his death : he 
 could not help him ; long did he ponder how to avenge his brother's blood : 
 long did he ponder how to direct the ill-guided state of Rome." — Life of 
 (via di Rienzi, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 The celebrated name which forms the title to this work will 
 sufficiently apprise the reader that it is in the earlier half of 
 the fourteenth century that my story opens. 
 
 It was on a summer evening that two youths might be seen 
 walking beside the banks of the Tiber, not far from that part of 
 Its winding course which sweeps by the base of Mount Aven- 
 tine. The path they had selected was remote and tranquil. 
 It was only At a distance that were seen the scattered and 
 
14 RIENZI, 
 
 squalid houses that bordered the river, from amidst which rose, 
 dark and frequent, the high roof and enormous towers which 
 marked the fortified mansion of some Roman baron. On one 
 side of the river, behind the cottages of the fishermen, soared 
 Mount Janiculum, dark with massive foliage, from which 
 gleamed, at frequent intervals, the gray walls of many a castel- 
 lated palace, and the spires and columns of a hundrai 
 churches ; on the other side, the deserted Aventine rose ab- 
 rupt and steep, covered with thick brushwood ; while, on the 
 height, from concealed but numerous convents, rolled, not un- 
 musically, along the quiet landscape and rippling waves, the 
 sound of the holy bell. 
 
 Ot the young men introduced in this scene, the elder, who 
 might have somewhat passed his twentieth year, was of a tall 
 and even commanding stature ; and there was that in his pres- 
 ence remarkable and almost noble, despite the homeliness of 
 his garb, which consisted of the long, loose gown and the plain 
 tunic, both of dark-gray serge which distinguished, at that 
 time, the dress of humbler scholars who frequented the monas- 
 teries for such rude knowledge as then yielded a scanty return 
 for intense toil. His countenance was handsome, and would 
 have been rather gay than thoughtful in its expression, but for 
 that vague and abstracted dreaminess of eye which so usually 
 denotes a propensity to revery and contemplation, and betrays 
 that the past or the future is more congenial to the mind than 
 the enjoyment and action of the present hour. 
 
 The younger, who was yet a boy, had nothing striking in his 
 appearance or countenance, unless an expression of great 
 sweetness and gentleness could be so called ; and there was 
 something almost feminine in the tender deference with which 
 he appeared to listen to his companion. His dress was that 
 usually worn by the hr.mbler classes, though somewhat neater, 
 perhaps, and newer ; and the fond vanity of a mother might 
 be detected in the care with which the long and silky ringlets 
 had been smoothed and parted as they escaped from his cap 
 and flowed midway down his shoulders. 
 
 As they thus sauntered on, beside the whispering reeds of 
 the river, each with his arm round the form of his comrade, 
 there was a grace in the bearing, in the youth, and in the evi- 
 dent affection of the brothers — for such their connection — ■ 
 which elevated the lowliness of their apparent condition. 
 
 " Dear brother," said the elder, *' 1 cannot express to thee 
 how I enjoy these evening hours. To you alone I feel as if I 
 wer« not « mere v^i^ms^ry and idltf when I Uik of the uncer< 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I5 
 
 tain future, and build up my castles of the air. Our parents 
 listen to me as if I were uttering fine things out of a book ; 
 and my dear mother, Heaven bless her ! wipes her eyes, and 
 says, * Hark, what a scholar he is.' As for the monks, if ever I 
 dare look from my Livy, and cry, ' Thus should Rome be again ! * 
 they stare, and gape, and frown, as though 1 had broached an 
 heresy. But you, sweet brother, though you share not my 
 studies, sympathize so kindly with all their results — you seem 
 to approve my wild schemes, and to encourage my ambitious 
 hopes — that sometimes I forget our birth, our fortunes, and 
 think and dare as if no blood save that of the Teuton Emperor 
 flowed through our veins." 
 
 ** Methinks, dear Cola," said the younger brother, "that Na- 
 ture played us an unfair trick ; to you she transmitted the 
 royal soul, derived from our father's parentage ; and to me 
 only the quiet and lovely spirit of my mother's humble lineage." 
 
 "Nay," answered Cola quickly, "you would then have the 
 brighter share, for I should have but the barbarian origin, and 
 you the Roman. Time was, when to be a simple Roman was 
 to be nobler than a northern king. Well, well, we may live to 
 see great changes ! " 
 
 "I shall live to see thee a great man, and that will content 
 me," said the younger, smiling affectionately ; " a great scholar 
 all confess you to be already : our mother predicts your for- 
 tunes every time she hears of your welcome visits to the 
 Colonna." 
 
 " The Colonna ! " said Cola with a bitter smile ; " the 
 Colonna — the pedants ! They affect, dull souls, the knowl- 
 edge of the past, play the patron, and misquote Latin over 
 their cups ! They are pleased to welcome me at their board, 
 because the Roman doctors call me learned, and because 
 Nature gave me a wild wit, which to them is pleasanter 
 than the stale jests of a hired buffoon. Yes, they would ad- 
 vance my fortunes — but how ? by some place in the public 
 offices, which would fill a dishonest coffer, by wringing, yet 
 more sternly, the hard-earned coins from our famishing citi- 
 zens ! If there be a vile thing in the world, it is a plebeian, ad- 
 vanced by patricians, not for the purpose of righting his own 
 order, but for playing the pander to the worst interests of theirs. 
 He who is of the people but makes himself a traitor to his birth, 
 if he furnishes the excuse for these tyrant hypocrites to lift up 
 their hands and cry, * See what liberty exists in Rome, when w^y 
 the patricians, thus elevate a plebeian ? * Did they ever elevate 
 a plebeian if he sympathized with plebeians? No, brother; 
 
l6 RIENZI, 
 
 should I be lifted above our condition, I will be raised by the 
 arms of my countrymen, and not upon their necks." 
 
 " All I hope is, Cola, that you will not, in your zeal for your 
 feilow-citizens, forget how dear you are to us. No greatness 
 could ever reconcile me to the thought that it brought you 
 danger." 
 
 "And / could laugh at all danger, it it led to greatness. 
 But greatness — greatness ! Vain dream ! Let us keep it for 
 our flight sleep. Enough of my plans ; now, dearest brother, 
 of yours." 
 
 And, with the sanguine and cheerful elasticity which 
 belonged to him, the young Cola, dismissing all wilder thoughts, 
 bent his mind to listen, and to enter into, the humbler pro- 
 jects of his brother. The new boat and the holiday dress, and 
 the cot removed to a quarter more secure from the oppression 
 of the barons, and such distant pictures of love as a dark eye 
 and a merry lip conjure up to the vague sentiments of a boy — 
 to schemes and aspirations of which such objects made the 
 limit, did the scholar listen, with a relaxed brow and a tender 
 smile ; and often, in later life did that conversation occur to 
 him, when he shrank from asking his own heart which ambition 
 was the wiser. 
 
 "And then," continued the younger brother, " by degrees 1 
 might save enough to purchase such a vessel as that which we 
 now see, laden, doubtless, with corn and merchandise, bringing, 
 oh, such a good return that I could fill your room with books, 
 and never hear you complain that you were not rich enough to 
 purchase some crumbling old monkish manuscript. Ah, that 
 would make me so happy ! " Cola smiled, as he pressed his 
 brother closer to his breast. 
 
 *' Dear boy," said he, " may it rather be mine to provide for 
 your wishes ! Yet methinks the masters of yon vessel ha\'e no 
 enviable possession ; see how anxiously the men look round, 
 and behind, and before : peaceful traders though they be, 
 they fear, it seems, even in this city (once the emporium of the 
 civilized world), some pirate in pursuit ; and ere the voyage be 
 over, they may find that pirate in a Roman noble. Alas, to 
 what are we reduced ! " 
 
 The vessel thus referred to was speeding rapidly down the 
 river, and some three or four armed men on deck were indeed 
 intently surveying the quiet banks on either side, as if antici- 
 pating a foe. The bark soon, however, glided out of sight, and 
 the brothers fell back upon those themes which require onljf 
 the future for a text to become attractive to the young. 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. I7 
 
 At length, as the evening darkened, they remembered that 
 It was past the usual hour in which they returned home, and 
 they began to retrace their steps. 
 
 " Stay," said Cola abruptly ; " how our talk has beguiled me ! 
 Father Uberto promised me a rare manuscript, which the good 
 friar confesses hath puzzled the whole convent. I was to seek 
 his cell for it this evening. Tarry here a few minutes, it is 
 but half-way up the Aventine. I shall soon return." 
 
 "Can I not accompany you ?" 
 
 ** Nay," returned Cola, with considerate kindness, " you fiave 
 borne toil all the day, and must be wearied ; my labors, of the 
 body, at least, have been light enough. You are delicate, too, 
 and seem fatigued already ; the rest will refresh you. I shall 
 not be long." 
 
 The boy acquiesced, though he rather wished to accompany 
 his brother ; but he was of a meek and yielding temper, and 
 seldom resisted the lightest command of those he loved. He 
 sat Iwm down on a little bank by the river-side, and the firm 
 step and towering form of his brother were soon hid from his 
 gaze by the thick and melancholy foliage. 
 
 At first he sat very quietly, enjoying the cool air, and think- 
 ing over all the stories of ancient Rome that his brother had 
 told him in their walk. At length he recollected that his lit- 
 tle sister, Irene, had begged him to bring her home some 
 flowers ; and, gathering such as he could find at hand (and 
 many a flower grew, wild and clustering, over that desolate spot), 
 he again seated himself, and began weaving them into one of 
 those garlands for which the southern peasantry still retain 
 their ancient affection, and something of their classic skill. 
 
 While the boy was thus engaged, the tramp of horses and 
 he loud shouting of the men were heard at a distance. They 
 tame near, and nearer. 
 
 " Some baron's procession, perhaps, returning from a feast," 
 thought the boy. " It will be a pretty sight — their white 
 plumes and scarlet mantles ! I love to see such sights, but I 
 will just move out of their way." 
 
 So, still mechanically platting his garland, but with eyes 
 turned towards the quarter of the expected procession, the 
 young Roman moved yet nearer towards the river. 
 
 Presently the train came in view, — a gallant company, in 
 truth ; horsemen in front, riding two abreast, where the path 
 permitted, their steeds caparisoned superbly, their plumes 
 waving gaily, and the gleam of their corselets glittering through 
 the shades of the dusky twilight. A large and miscellaneous 
 
l8 RIENZI, 
 
 crowd, all armed, some with pikes and mail, others with less 
 warlike or worse fasliioned weapons, followed the cavaliers; 
 and high al)ove phinie and pike floated the blood-red banner of 
 the Oibini, witli tlie motto and device (in which was ostenta- 
 tiously disphiyed the Guclfic badge of the keys of St. Peter) 
 wrougiit in burnislied gold. A momentary fear crossed tlie 
 boy's mind, for at that time, and in that city, a nobleman 
 DCgirt with his swordsmen was more dreaded than a wild beast 
 ly the ]jlebeians ; but it was already too late to fly — the train 
 ivere upon him. 
 
 "Ho, boy !" cried the leader of the horsemen, Martino 
 di Porto, one of the great House of the Orsini ; " hast thou 
 seen a boat pass up the river? But thou must have seen it — 
 how long since ?" 
 
 " I saw a large boat about a half an hour ago," answered the 
 boy, terrified by the rough voice and imperious bearing of the 
 cavalier. 
 
 " Sailing right ahead, with a green flag at the stern?" 
 
 "The same, noble sir." 
 
 " On, then ! we will stop her course ere the moon rise," 
 said the baron. " On ! Let the boy go with us, lest he prove 
 traitor, and alarm the Colonna." * 
 
 " An Orsini, an Orsini ! " shouted the multitude ; "on, on ! " 
 and despite the prayers and remonstrances of the boy, he was 
 placed in the thickest of the crowd, and borne, or rather 
 dragged, along with the rest — frightened, breathless, almost 
 weeping, with his poor little garland still hanging on his arm, 
 while a sling was thrust into his unw^illing hand. Still he 
 felt, through all his alarm, a kind of childish curiosity to see the 
 result of the pursuit. 
 
 By the loud and eager conversation of those about him, he 
 learned that the vessel he had seen contained a supply of corn 
 destined to a fortress up the river held by the Colonna, then 
 at deadly feud with the Orsini ; and it was the object of the 
 expedition in which the boy had been thus lucklessly 
 entrained to intercept the provision, and divert it to the garri- 
 son of Martino di Porto. This news somewhat increased his 
 consternation, for the boy belonged to a family that claimed 
 the patronage of the Colonna. 
 
 Anxiously and tearfully he looked with every moment up the 
 steep ascent of the Aventine ; but his guardian, his protector, 
 still delayed his appearance. 
 
 They had now proceeded some way, when a winding in the 
 road suddenly brought before them the object of their pursuit. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. IQ 
 
 as, seen by the light of the earliest stars, it scudded rapidly 
 down the stream. 
 
 " Now, the Saints be blessed !" quoth the chief ; "she is ours." 
 
 "Hold !" said a captain (a German) riding next to Martino, 
 in a half-whisper ; " I hear sounds which I like not, by yonder 
 trees — hark ! the neigh of a horse ! By my faith, too, there is 
 the gleam of a corselet." 
 
 " Push on, my masters," cried Martino ; " the heron shall 
 not balk the eagle — push on ! " 
 
 With renewed shouts, those on foot pushed forward, till, as 
 they had nearly gained the copse referred to by the German, a 
 small, compact body of horsemen, armed cap-a-pie, dashed 
 from amidst the trees, and, with spears in their rests, charged 
 into the ranks of the pursuers. 
 
 " A Colonna ! a Colonna ! " " An Orsini ! an Orsini ! " were 
 shouts loudly and fiercely interchanged. Martino di Porto, a 
 man of great bulk and ferocity, and his cavaliers, who were 
 chiefly German mercenaries, met the encounter unshaken. 
 " Beware the bear's hug," cried the Orsini, as down went his 
 antagonist, rider and steed, before his lance. 
 
 The contest was short and fierce ; the complete armor of the 
 horsemen protected them on either side from wounds ; not so 
 unscathed fared the half-armed foot-followers of the Orsini, as 
 they pressed, each pushed on by the other, against the Colonna. 
 After a shower of stones and darts, which fell but as hailstones 
 against the thick mail of the horsemen, they closed in, and, by 
 their number, obstructed the movements of the steeds, while 
 the spear, sword, and battle-axe of their opponents made ruth- 
 less havoc among their undisciplined ranks. And Martino^ 
 who cared little how many of his mere mob were butchered, 
 seeing that his foes were for the moment embarrassed by the 
 wild rush and gathering circle of his foot-train (for the place 
 of conflict, though wider than the previous road, was confined 
 and narrow), made a sign to some of his horsemen, and was 
 about to ride forward towards the boat, now nearly out of sight, 
 when a bugle at some distance was answered by one of his 
 enemy at hand; and the shout of "Colonna to the rescue!'* 
 was echoed afar off. A few moments brought in view a 
 numerous train of horse at full speed, with the banners of the 
 Colonna waving gallantly in the front. 
 
 " A plague on the wizards ! Who would have imagined they 
 had divined us so craftily ! " muttered Martino ; "we must not 
 abide these odds"; and the hand that he had ^rst raised fo* 
 Advance now gave the signal ol retreat. 
 
r.O RTENZT, 
 
 Serried breast to breast and in complete order, the horsemen 
 of Martino turned to fly; the foot rabble who had come for the 
 spoil, remained but for slaughter. They endeavored to imitate 
 their leaders ; but how could they all elude the rushing charg- 
 ers and sharp lances of their antagonists, whose blood was 
 heated by the affray, and who regarded the lives at their mercy 
 as a boy regards the wasp's nest he destroys? The crowd dis- 
 persing in all directions, — some, indeed, escaped up the hills, 
 where the footing was impracticable to the horses ; some plunged 
 into the river and swam across to the opposite bank, — those 
 less cool or experienced, who fled right onwards, served, by 
 clogging the way of the enemy, to facilitate the flight of their 
 leaders, but fell themselves, corpse upon corpse, butchered in 
 the unrelenting and unresisted pursuit. 
 
 *' No quarter to the rufifians — every Orsini slain is a robber 
 the less — strike for God, the Emperor, and the Colonna ! " 
 Such were the shouts which rung the knell of the dismayed 
 and falling fugitives. Among those who fled onward, in the 
 very path most accessible to the cavalry, was the young brother 
 of Cola, so innocently mixed with the affray. Fast he fled, 
 dizzy with terror — poor boy, scarce before ever parted from 
 his parents' or his brother's side ! — the trees glided past him— • 
 the banks receded ; on he sped, and fast behind came the 
 tramp of th?. hoofs — the shouts — the curses — the fierce 
 laughter of the foe, as they bounded over the dead and 
 dying in their path. He was now at the spot in which his 
 brother had left him ; hastily he glanced behind him, and saw 
 the couched lance and horrent crest of the horseman close at 
 his rear ; despairingly he looked up, and, behold ! his brother 
 bursting through the tangled brakes that clothed the moun- 
 tain, and bounding to his succor. 
 
 " Save me ! save me, brother!" he shrieked aloud, and the 
 shriek reached Cola's ear. The snort of the fiery charger 
 breathed hot upon him ; a moment more, and with one wild, 
 shrill cry of " Mercy, mercy," he fell to the ground — a corpse ; 
 the iance of the pursuer passing through and through him, from 
 back to breast, and nailing him on the very sod where he had 
 sate, full of young life and careless hope, not an hour ago. 
 
 The horseman plucked forth his spear, and passed on in 
 pursuit of new victims ; his comrades following. Cola had de- 
 scended—was on the spot — kneeling by his murdered brother. 
 Presently, to the sound of horn and trumpet, came by a nobler 
 company than most of those hitherto engaged ; who had been, 
 ;indt'cU« but the advanced-guard of the Colonna, At their 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 21 
 
 head rode a man in years, whose long white hair escaped from 
 his plumed cap and mingled with his venerable beard. "How 
 is this?" said the chief, reigning in his steed, ''young 
 Rienzi ! " 
 
 The youth looked up as he heard that voice, and then flung 
 himself before the steed of the old noble, and, clasping liis 
 hands, cried out in a scarce articulate voice : "It is my brother, 
 noble Stephen, — a boy, a mere child ! — the best — the mildest ! 
 See how his blood dabbles the grass — back, back — 3our 
 horse's hoofs are in the stream ! Justice, my lord, juslice ! — 
 you are a great man." 
 
 "Who slew him? an Orsini, doubtless; you shall have jus- 
 tice." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks," murmured Rienzi, as he tottered once 
 more to his brother's side, turned his face from the grass, and 
 strove wildly to feel the pulse of his heart ; he drew back his 
 hand hastily, for it was crimsoned with blood, and lifting that 
 hand on high, shrieked out again, "Justice ! justice ! " 
 
 The group round the old Stephen Colonna, hardened as they 
 were in such scenes, were affected by the sight. A handsome 
 boy, whose tears ran fast down his checks, and who rode his 
 palfrey close by the side of the Colonna, drew forth his sword. 
 " My lord," said he, half sobbing, "an Orsini only could have 
 butchered a harmless lad like this ; let us lose not a moment, 
 let us on after the ruffians." 
 
 " No, Adrian, no ! " cried Stephen, laying his hand on the 
 boy's shoulder ; your zeal is to be lauded, but we must beware 
 an ambush. Our men have ventured too far. What, ho, 
 there ! sound a return." 
 
 The bugles in a few minutes brought back the pursuers, — 
 among them, the horseman whose spear had been so fatally 
 misused. He was the leader of those engaged in the conflict 
 with Martino di Porto ; and the gold wrought into his armor 
 with the gorgeous trappings of his charger, betokened his rank. 
 
 "Thanks, my son, thanks," said the old Colonna to this 
 cavalier, "you have done well and bravely. But tell me, 
 knowest thou, for thou hast an eagle eye, which of the Orsini 
 slew this poor boy ? — a foul deed ; his family, too, our 
 clients ! " 
 
 "Who? yon lad ? " replied the horseman, lifting the helmet 
 from his head, and wiping his heated brow ; "say you so ! how 
 came he, then, with Martino's rascals ? 1 fear me the mistake 
 hath cost him dear. I could but suppose him of the Orsini 
 rabble, and so — and so — " 
 
22 RIENZIj 
 
 *' You slew him ! " cried Rienzi, in a voice of thunder, 
 starting from the ground. " Justice ! then, my Lord Stephen, 
 justice ! you promised nie justice, and I will have it !" 
 
 " My poor youth," said the old man compassionately, "you 
 should have had justice against the Orsini ; but see you not 
 this has been an error ? I do not wonder you are too grieved 
 to listen to reason now> We must make this up to you." 
 
 " And let this pay for masses for the boy's soul ; I grieve me 
 much for the accident," said the younger Colonna, flinging 
 down a purse of gold. ** Ay, see us at the palace next week, 
 young Cola — next week. My father, we had best return to- 
 wards the boat ; its safeguard may require us yet." 
 
 " Right, Gianni ; stay, some two of you, and see to the poor 
 lad's corpse ; — a grievous accident ! how could it chance ? " 
 
 The company passed back the way they came, two of the 
 common soldiers alone remaining, except the boy Adrian, who 
 lingered behind a few moments, striving to console Rienzi, who, 
 as one bereft of sense, remained motionless, gazing on the 
 proud array as it swept along, and muttered to himself, *' Jus- 
 tice, justice ! I will have it yet." 
 
 The loud voice of the elder Colonna summoned Adrian, re- 
 luctantly and weeping, away. " Let me be your brother," said 
 the gallant boy, affectionately pressing the scholar's hand to 
 his heart ; "I want a brother like you." 
 
 Rienzi made no reply ; he did not heed or hear him ; dark 
 and stern thoughts — thoughts in which were the germ of a 
 mighty revolution — were at his heart. He woke from them 
 with a start, as the soldiers were now arranging their bucklers 
 so as to make a kind of bier for the corpse, and then burst into 
 tears as he fiercely motioned them away, and clasped the clay 
 to his breast till he was literally soaked with the oozing 
 blood. 
 
 The poor child's garland had not dropped from his arm 
 even when he fell, and, entangled by his dress, it still clung 
 around him. It was a sight that recalled to Cola all the 
 gentleness, the kind heart, and winning graces of his only 
 brother — his only friend ! It was a sight that seemed to make 
 yet more inhuman the untimely and unmerited fate of that in- 
 nocent boy. " My brother ! my brother ! " groaned the sur- 
 vivor ; how shall I meet our mother ? How shall I meet even 
 night and solitude again ? — so young, so harmless ! See ye, 
 sirs, he was but too gentle. And they will not give us justice 
 because his murderer was a noble and a Colonna. And this 
 gold, too — gold for a brother's blood ! Will they not — " and 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 23 
 
 the young man's eyes glared like fire — "will they not give us 
 justice? Time shall show!" So saying, he bent his head 
 over the corpse ; his lips muttered, as with some prayer or in- 
 vocation ; and then rising, his face was as pale as the dead 
 beside him, but it was no longer pale with grief ! 
 
 From that bloody clay and that mward prayer, Cola di 
 Rienzi rose a new being. With his young brother died his own 
 youth. But for that event, the future liberator of Rome might 
 have been but a dreamer, a scholar, a poet ; the peaceful rival 
 of Petrarch ; a man of thoughts, not deeds. But from that 
 time, all his faculties, energies, fancies, genius, became con- 
 centrated into a single point ; and patriotism, before a vision, 
 leapt into the life and vigor of a passion, lastingly kindled, 
 stubbornly hardened, and awfully consecrated, — by revenge ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL SURVEY — NOT TO BE PASSED OVER, EXCEPT BY 
 THOSE WHO DISLIKE TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY READ. 
 
 Years had passed away, and the death of the Roman boy, 
 amidst more noble and less excusable slaughter, was soon for- 
 gotten, — forgotten almost by the parents of the slain, in the 
 growing fame and fortunes of their eldest son, — forgotten and 
 forgiven never by that son himself. But, between that pro- 
 logue of blood, and the political drama which ensues, — 
 between the fading interest, as it were, of a dream, and the 
 more busy, actual, and continuous excitements of sterner 
 life, — this may be the most fitting time to place before the 
 reader a short and rapid outline of the state and circumstances 
 of that city in which the principal scenes of this story are laid : 
 an outline necessary, perhaps, to many, for a full comprehen- 
 sion of the motives of the actors, and the vicissitudes of the plot. 
 
 Despite the miscellaneous and mongrel tribes that had 
 forced their settlements in the City of the Caesars, the Roman 
 population retained an inordinate notion of their own supre- 
 macy over the rest of the world ; and degenerated from the 
 iron virtues of the Republic, possessed all the insolent and un- 
 ruly turbulence which characterized the Plebs of the ancient 
 Forum. Amongst a ferocious, yet not a brave, populace, the 
 nobles supported themselves less as sagacious tyrants than as 
 relentless banditti. The popes had struggled in vain against 
 these stubborn and stern patricians. Their state deri4e<3* 
 
24 RIENZT, 
 
 their command defied, their persons publicly outraged, the 
 pontiff-sovereigns of the rest of Europe resided, at the 
 Vatican, as prisoners under terror of execution. When, 
 tliirty eight years before the date of the events we are about 
 to witness, a Frenchman, under the name of Clement V., had 
 ascended the chair of St. Peter, the new pope, with more pru- 
 dence than valor, had deserted Rome for the tranquil retreat 
 of Avignon ; and the luxurious town of a foreign province be- 
 came the court of the Roman pontiff, and the throne of the 
 Cliristian Church. 
 
 Thus deprived of even the nominal check of the papal pres- 
 ence, the power of the nobles might be said to have no limits, 
 save their own caprice, or their mutual jealousies and feuds. 
 Though arrogating through fabulous genealogies their descent 
 from the ancient Romans, they were, in reality, for the most 
 part, the sons of the bolder barbarians of the North ; and, 
 contaminated by the craft of Italy, rather than imbued with 
 its national affections, they retained the disdain of their foreign 
 ancestors for a conquered soil and a degenerate people. While 
 the rest of Italy, especially in Florence, in Venice, and in 
 Milan, was fast and far advancing beyond the other states of 
 Europe in civilization and in art, the Romans appeared rather 
 to recede than to improve ; unblest by laws, unvisited by art, 
 strangers at once to the chivalry of a warlike, and the graces 
 of a peaceful, people. But they still possessed the sense and 
 desire of liberty, and, by ferocious paroxysms and desperate 
 struggles, sought to vindicate for their city the title it still 
 assumed of " the Metropolis of the World." For the last two 
 centuries they had known various revolutions, — brief, often 
 bloody, and always unsuccessful. Still, there was the empty 
 pageant of a popular form of government. The thirteen quar- 
 ters of the city named each a chief ; and the assembly of these 
 magistrates, called Caporioni, by theory possessed an authority 
 they had neither the power nor the courage to exert. Still 
 there was the proud name of Senator ; but, at the present time, 
 the office was confined to one or to two persons, sometimes 
 elected by the pope, sometimes by the nobles. The authority 
 attached to the name seems to have had no definite limit ; it 
 '/as that of a stern dictator, or an indolent puppet, according 
 as he who held it had the power to enforce the dignity h§ 
 assumed. It was never conceded but to nobles, and it was by 
 the nobles that all th<^ '"iitr:ii^es were committed. Private 
 enmity ^vlcr:; ".^a.i> gratified whenever public justice was invoked : 
 iitid the vindication of order was but the ex«cution of revenge. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNESo 25 
 
 Holding their palaces as the castles and fortresses of princes, 
 each asserting his own independency of all authority and law, 
 and planting fortifications, and claiming principalities in the 
 patrimonial territories of the Church, the barons of Rome 
 made their state still more secure, and still more odious, by 
 the maintenance of troops of foreign (chiefly of German) 
 mercenaries, at once braver in disposition, more disciplined in 
 service, and more skilful in arms, than even the freest Italians 
 of that time. Thus they united the judicial and the military 
 force, not for the protection, but for the ruin of Rome. Of 
 these barons, the most powerful were the Orsini and Colonna ; 
 their feuds were hereditary and incessant, and every day wit- 
 nessed the fruits of their lawless warfare, in bloodshed, in 
 rape, and in conflagration. The flattery or the friendship of 
 Petrarch, too credulously believed by modern historians, has 
 invested the Colonna, especially of the date now entered upon, 
 with r.n elegance and a dignity not their own. Outrage, fraud, 
 and assassination, a sordid avarice in securing lucrative offices 
 to themselves, an insolent oppression of their citizens, and the 
 most dastardly cringing to power superior to their own (with 
 but few exceptions), mark the character of the first family of 
 Rome. But, wealthier than the rest of the barons, they were, 
 therefore, more luxurious, and, perhaps, more intellectual ; and 
 their pride was flattered in being patrons of those arts of which 
 they could never have become the professors. From these 
 multiplied oppressors the Roman citizens turned with fond and 
 impatient regret to their ignorant and dark notions of departed 
 liberty and greatness. They confounded the times of the 
 Empire with those of the Republic ; and often looked to the 
 Teutonic king, who obtained his election from beyond the 
 Alps, but his title of emperor from the Romans, as the deserter 
 of his legitimate trust and proper home ; vainly imagining that, 
 if both the Emperor and the Pontiff fixed their residence in 
 Rome, Liberty and Law would again seek their natural shelter 
 beneath the resuscitated majesty of the Roman people. 
 
 The absence of the pope and the papal court served greatly 
 to impoverish the citizens ; and they had suffered yet more 
 visibly by the depredations of hordes of robbers, numerous 
 and unsparing, who invested Romagna, obstructing all the pub- 
 lic ways, and were, sometimes secretly, sometimes openly, pro- 
 tected by the barons, who often recruited their banditti garri- 
 sons by banditti soldiers. 
 
 But besides the lesser and ignobler robbers, there had risen 
 in Italy a far more formidable description of freebooters. A 
 
26 RIENZI, 
 
 German, who assumed the lofty title of the Duke Werner, had, 
 a few years prior to the period we approach, enlisted and 
 organized a considerable force, styled " The Great Company," 
 with which he besieged cities and invaded states, without any 
 object less shameless than that of pillage. His example was 
 soon imitated: numerous "Companies," similarly constituted, 
 devastated the distracted and divided land. They appeared, 
 suddenly raised, as if by magic, before the walls of a city, and 
 demanded immense sums as the purchase of peace. Neither 
 tyrant nor commonwealth maintained a force sufficient to resist 
 them ; and if other northern mercenaries were engaged to 
 oppose them, it was only to recruit the standards of the free- 
 booters with deserters. Mercenary fought not mercenary, nor 
 German, German : and greater pay, and more unbridled rapine, 
 made the tents of the "Companies" far more attractive than 
 the regulated stipends of a city, or the dull fortress and impov- 
 erished coffers of a chief. Werner, the most implacable and 
 ferocious of all these adventurers, and who had so openly 
 gloried in his enormities as to wear upon his breast a silver 
 plate, engraved with the words, " Enemy to God, to Pity, and 
 to Mercy," had not long since ravaged Romagna with fire and 
 sword. But, whether induced by money, or unable to control 
 the fierce spirits he had raised, he afterwards led the bulk of 
 his company back to Germany. Small detachments, however, 
 remained, scattered throughout the land, waiting only an able 
 leader once more to reunite them ; amongst those who appeared 
 most fitted for that destiny was Walter de Montreal, a Knight 
 of St. John, and gentleman of Provence, whose valor and mili- 
 tary genius had already, though yet young, raised his name into 
 dreaded celebrity ; and whose ambition, experience, and sagac- 
 ity, relieved by certain chivalric and noble qualities, were 
 suited to enterprises far greater and more important than the 
 violent depredations of the atrocious Werner. From these 
 scourges no state had suffered more grievously than Rome. 
 The patrimonial territories of the pope — in part wrested from 
 him by petty tyrants, in part laid waste by these foreign rob- 
 bers — yielded but a scanty supply to the necessities of Clement 
 VI., the most accomplished gentleman and the most graceful 
 voluptuary of his time ; and the good father had devised a 
 plan, whereby to enrich at once the Romans and their pontiff. 
 Nearly fifty years before the time we enter upon, in order 
 both to rei)lenish the papal coffers and ])acify the starving 
 Romans, Boniface Vlll. had instituted the Festival of the Ju- 
 bilee, or Holy Year j in fact, a revival of a Pagan ceremoniaL 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 2^ 
 
 A plenary indulgence was promised to every Catholic who, in 
 that year, and in the first year of every succeeding century, 
 should visit the churches of St. Peter and St. Paul. An im- 
 mense concourse of pilgrims, from every part of Christendom, 
 had attested the wisdom of the invention ; " and two priests 
 stood night and day, with rakes in their hands, to collect with- 
 out counting the heaps of gold and silver that were poured on 
 the altar of St. Paul."* 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that this most lucrative festival 
 should, ere this next century was half expired, appear to a dis- 
 creet pontiff to be too long postponed. And both pope and 
 city agreed in thinking it might well bear a less distant 
 renewal. Accordingly, Clement VI. had proclaimed, under the 
 name of the Mosaic Jubilee, a second Holy Year for 1350, viz., 
 three years distant from that date at which, in the next chapter^ 
 my narrative will commence. This circumstance had a -^rcr-t 
 effect in whetting the popular indignation against the barons, 
 and preparing the events I slvdU relate ; for the roads were, as 
 I before said, infested by the banditti, the creatures and allies 
 of the barons. And if the roads were not cleared, the pilgrims 
 might not attend. It was the object of the pope's vicar, 
 Raimond, bishop of Orvietto (bad politician and good 
 canonist), to seek, by every means, to remove all impediment 
 between the offerings of devotion and the treasury of St. 
 Peter. 
 
 Such, in brief, was the state of Rome at the period we are 
 about to examine. Her ancient mantle of renown still, in the 
 eyes of Italy and of Europe, cloaked her ruins. In name, at 
 least, she was still the queen of the earth ; and from her hands 
 came the crown of the emperor of the north, and the keys of 
 ihe father of the church. Her situation was precisely that 
 which presented a vast and glittering triumph to bold ambition, 
 an inspiring, if mournful, spectacle to determined patriotism, 
 and a fitting stage for that more august tragedy which seeks it* 
 incidents, selects its actors, and shapes its moral, amidst the 
 vicissitudes and crimes of nations. 
 
 * Gibbon, voL xii, c. 59. 
 
tS RIENZ!, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BRAWL. 
 
 On an evening in April, 1347, and in one of those wide 
 spaces in which Modern and Ancient Rome seemed blent 
 together, — equally desolate and equally in ruins, — a miscel- 
 laneous and mdignant populace were assembled. That morn- 
 ing the house of a Roman jeweller had been forcibly entered 
 and pillaged by the soldiers of Martino di Porto, with a daring 
 effrontery which surpassed even the ordinary license of the 
 barons. The sympathy and sensation throughout the city 
 were deep and ominous. 
 
 " Never will I submit to this tyranny !" 
 
 **Nor I!" 
 
 " Nor I ! " 
 
 "Nor, by the bones of St. Peter, will I ! 
 
 "And what, my friends, is this tyranny to which you will not 
 submit ?" said a young nobleman, addressing himself to the 
 crowd of citizens, who, heated, angry, half-armed, and with 
 the vehement gestures of Italian passion, were now sweeping 
 down the long and narrow street that led to the gloomy quarter 
 occupied by the Orsini. 
 
 " Ah, my lord ! " cried two or three of the citizens in a 
 breath, " you will right us ; you will see justice done to us ; 
 you are a Colonna." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed scornfully one man of gigantic 
 frame, and wielding on high a huge hammer, indicative of his 
 trade. " Justice and Colonna ! body of God I those names are 
 not often found together." 
 
 " Down with him ! down with him ! he is an Orsinist, down 
 with him ! " cried at least ten of the throng : but no hand was 
 raised against the giant. 
 
 "He speaks the truth," said a second voice firmly. 
 
 " Ay, that doth he," said a third, knitting his brows, and 
 unsheathing his knife, "and we will abide by it. The Orsini 
 are tyrants, and the Colonnas are, at the best, as bad." 
 
 "Thou best in thy teeth, ruffian !" cried the young noble, 
 advancing into the press and confronting the last asperser of 
 the Colonna. 
 
 Before tke flashing eye and menacing gesture of the cavalier, 
 the worthy brawler retreated some steps, so as to leave an open 
 space between the towering form of the smith and the small, 
 slender, but vigorous frame of the young noble. 
 
THE LACT C? TIT": TRIBUNES. 2g 
 
 Taught from their birth to despise the coiirar;o of the 
 plebeians, even while careless of much reputation as to their 
 own, the patricians of Rome were not unaccustomed to the 
 rude fellowship of these brawls ; nor was it unoften that the 
 mere presence of a noble sufficed to scatter whole crowds, that 
 had the moment before been breathing vengeance against his 
 order and his house. 
 
 Waving his hand, therefore, to the smith, and utterly un- 
 needing either his brandished weapon or his vast stature, the 
 youiig Adrian di Castello, a distant kinsman of the Colonna, 
 haughtily bade him give way. 
 
 " To your homes, friends! and know," he added, with some 
 dignity, " that ye wrong us much, if ye imagine we share the 
 evil-doings of the Orsini, or are pandering solely to our own 
 passions in the feud between their house and ours. May the 
 Holy Mother so judge me," continued he, devoutly lifting up 
 his eyes, "as I now with truth declare, that it is for your 
 wrongs, and for the wrongs of Rome, that I have drawn this 
 sword against the Orsini." 
 
 "So say all the tyrants," rejoined the smith hardily, as he 
 leant his hammer against a fragment of stone — some remnant 
 of ancient Rome — "they never fight against each other, but it 
 is for our good. One Colonna cuts me the throat of Orsini's 
 baker — it is for our good ! another Colonna seizes on the 
 daughter of Orsini's tailor — it is for our good ! our good — yes, 
 for the good of the people ! The good of the bakers and 
 tailors, eh .?" 
 
 "Fellow," said the young nobleman gravely, "if a Colonna 
 did thus, he did wrong ; but the holiest cause may have bad 
 supporters." 
 
 " Yes, the holy Church itself is propped on very indifferent 
 rolumns," answered the smith, in a rude witticism on the 
 affection of the pope for the Colonna. 
 
 " He blasphemes ! the smith blasphemes ! " cried the parti- 
 sans of that powerful house. " A Colonna, a Colonna ! " 
 
 " An Orsini, an Orsini !" was no less promptly the counter cry. 
 
 " The People ! " shouted the smith, waving his formidable 
 weapon far above the heads of the group. 
 
 In an instant the whole throng, who had at first united 
 against the aggression of f)ne man, were divided by the heredi- 
 tary wrath ot faction. At the cry of Orsini, several new parti- 
 sans h\».rried to the spot ; the friends of the Colonna drew 
 themselves on one side, the defenders of the Orsini on the other ; 
 aiSM^ the few who agreed with (he smith that both factions wer^ 
 
3© RIENZI, 
 
 equally odious and the people was the sole legitimate cry in a 
 popular commotion, would have withdrawn themselves from 
 the approaching me/ee, if the smith himself, who was looked 
 upon by them as an authority of great influence, had not — 
 whether from resentment at the haughty bearing of the young 
 Colonna, or from that appetite of contest not uncommon in 
 men of 4 bulk and force which assure them m all personal 
 affravs the lofty pleasure of superiority — if. 1 say. the smith 
 himself had not, after a pause of indecision, retired among the 
 Orsini, and entrained, by his example, the allia*^^ce of his 
 friends with the favorers of that faction. 
 
 In popular commotions, each man is whirled alon^ with the 
 herd, often half against his own approbation or assent. 'Jhe 
 few words of peace by which Adrian di Castello commenced an 
 address to his friends were drowned amidst their shouts. Proud 
 to find in their ranks one of the most beloved, and one of the 
 noblest of that name, the partisans of the Colonna placed him 
 in their front, and charged impetuously on their foes. Adrian, 
 however, who had acquired from circumstances something of 
 that chivalrous code which he certainly could not have owed tc> 
 his Roman birth, disdained at first to assault men, among wliom 
 he recognized no equal, either in rank or the practice of arms. 
 He contented himself with putting aside the few strokes that 
 were aimed at him in the gathering confusion of the conflict — 
 few, for those who recognized him, even amidst the bitterest 
 partisans of the Orsini, were not willing to expose themselves 
 to the danger and odium of spilling the blood of a man who, in 
 addition to his great birth and the terrible power of his connec- 
 tions, was possessed of a personal popularity \vhich he owed 
 rather to a comparison with the vices of his relatives than to 
 any remarkable virtues hitherto displayed by himself. The 
 smith alone, who had as yet taken no active pan in the fray, 
 seemed to gather himself up in determined opposition as the 
 cavalier now advanced within a few steps of him. 
 
 " Did we not tell thee," quoth the giant, frowning, "that the 
 Colonna were, not less than the Orsini, the foes of the people? 
 Look at thy followers and clients : are they not cutting the 
 throats of humble men by way of vengeance for the crime of a 
 great one ? But that is the way one patrician always scourges 
 the insolence of another. He lays the rod on the backs of the 
 people, and then cries, *See how just I am ! '" 
 
 " I do not answer thee now," answered Adrian ; "but if thou 
 regrettest with me t\m waste of blood, join with me in attempt* 
 
THE LAST OF TH£ TRIBUNES. Jt 
 
 **I — not 1 1 Let the blood of the slaves flow to-day •. the time 
 is fast coming when it shall be washed away by the blood of the 
 lords." 
 
 *' Away, ruffian ! " said Adrian, seeking no farther parley, and 
 touching the smith with the flat side of his sword. In an in- 
 stant the hammer of the smith swung in the air, and, but for 
 the active spring of the young noble, would infallibly have 
 crushed him to the earth. Ere the smith could gain time for a 
 second blow, Adrian's sword passed twice through his right 
 arm, and the weapon fell heavily to the ground. 
 
 "Slay him, slay him ! " cried several of the clients of the Co' 
 lonna, now pressing, dastard-like, round the disarmed and dis- 
 abled smith. 
 
 "Ay, slay him !'* said, in tolerable Italian, but with a bar- 
 barous accentj one man, half-clad in armor, who had but just 
 joined the group, and who was one of those wild German ban- 
 dits whom the Colonna held in their pay ; " he belongs to a hor- 
 rible gang of miscreants sworn against all order and peace. He 
 is one of Rienzi's followers, and, bless the Three Kings ! raves 
 about the People." 
 
 " Thou sayest right, barbarian," said the sturdy smith, in a 
 loud voice, and tearing aside the vest from his breast with his 
 left hand ; "come all — Colonna and Orsini — dig to this heart 
 with your sharp blades, and when you have reached the centre, 
 you will find there the object of your common hatred, ' Rienzi 
 and the People ! " 
 
 As he uttered these words, in language that would have 
 seemed above his station (if a certain glow and exaggeration of 
 phrase and sentiment were not common, when excited, to all 
 the Romans), the loudness of his voice rose above the noise 
 immediately round him, and stilled, for an instant, the general 
 din; and when at last the words, "Rienzi and the People" 
 rang forth, they penetrated midway through the increasing 
 crowd, and were answered, as by an echo, with a hundred voices, 
 "Rienzi and the People !" 
 
 But whatever impression the words of the mechanic made on 
 others, it was equally visible in the young Colonna. At the 
 name of Rienzi the glow of excitement vanished from his cheek; 
 he started back, muttered to himself, and for a moment seemed, 
 even in the midst of that stirring commotion, to be lost in a 
 moody and distant revery. He recovered, as the shout died 
 away ; and saying to the smith, in a low tone, "Friend, I am 
 sorry for thy wound ; but seek me on the morrow, and thou 
 shalt find thou hast wronged me"; he beckoned to the Ger- 
 
$2 RIEN2I, 
 
 man to follow him, and threaded his way through the crowd, 
 which generally gave back as he advanced. For the bitterest 
 hatred to the order of the nobles was at that time in Home 
 mingled with a servile respect for their persons, and a myste- 
 rious awe of their uncontrollable power. 
 
 As Adrian passed through that part of the crowd in which 
 the fray had not yet commenced, the murmurs that followed 
 him were not those which many of his race could have heard. 
 
 "A Colonna," said one. 
 
 " Yet no ravisher," said another, laughing wildly. 
 
 "Nor murtherer," muttered a third, pressing his hand to his 
 breast. "'Tis not against /itm that my father's blood cries 
 aloud." 
 
 "Bless him," said a fourth, **for as yet no man curses 
 him ! '* 
 
 " Ah, God help us ! " said an old man, with a long gray beard, 
 leaning on his staff: "the serpent's young yet; the fangs will 
 show by and by." 
 
 ** For shame, father ! he is a comely youth, and not proud in 
 the least. What a smile he hath ! " quoth a fair matron, who 
 kept on the outskirts of the 7nelee. 
 
 " Farewell to a man's honor when a noble smiles on his wife ! '* 
 Was the answer. 
 
 "Nay," said Luigi, a jolly butcher, with a roguish eye, "what 
 a man can win fairly from maid or wife, that let him do, whether 
 plebeian or noble ; that's my morality ; but when an ugly old 
 patrician finds fair words will not win fair looks, and carries 
 me off a dame on the back of a German boar, with a stab in the 
 side for comfort to the spouse, then, I say, he is a wicked man 
 and an adulterer." 
 
 While such were the comments and the murmurs that fol- 
 lowed the noble, very different v/cre the looks and words that 
 attended the German soldier. 
 
 Equally, nay, with even greater promptitude, did the crowd 
 make way at his armed and heavy tread ; but not with looks of 
 reverence : the eye glared as he approached, but the cheek 
 grew pale, the head bowed, the lip quivered ; each man felt a 
 shudder of hate and fear, as recognizing a dread and mortal 
 foe. And well and wrathfully did the fierce mercenary note 
 the sigt;s of the general aversion. He pushed on rudely, half- 
 smiling in contempt, half-frowning in revenge, as he looked from 
 side to side; and his long, matted, light hair, tawny-colored 
 mustache, and brawny front, contrasted strongly with the darls 
 eyes, raven locks, and slender frames of the Italians. 
 
tHE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES,, J^ 
 
 "May Lucifer double damn those German cut-throats!" 
 muttered, between his teeth, one of the citizens. 
 
 *' Amen ! " answered, heartily, another. 
 
 " Hush ! " said a third, timorously looking round ; "if one of 
 them hear thee, thou art a lost man." 
 
 "Oh, Rome ! Rome ! to what art thou fallen !" said bitterly 
 one citizen, clothed in black, and of a higher seeming than the 
 rest ; " when thou shudderest in thy streets at the tread of a 
 hired barbarian ! " 
 
 " Hark to one of our learned men, and rich citizens ! " said 
 the butcher reverently. 
 
 " 'Tis a friend of Rienzi's," quoth another of the group, lift- 
 ing his cap. 
 
 With downcast eyes, and a face in which grief, shame, and 
 wrath were visibly expressed, Pandulfo di Guido, a citizen of 
 birth and repute, swept slowly through the crowd, and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Meanwhile, Adrian, having gained a street which, though in 
 the neighborhood of the crowd, was empty and desolate, turned 
 to his fierce comrade. " Rodolph ! " said he, " mark ! no vio- 
 lence to the citizens. Return to the crowd, collect the friends 
 of our house, withdraw them from the scene ; let not the 
 Colonna be blamed for this day's violence ; and assure our 
 followers, in my name, that I swear, by the knighthood I re- 
 ceived at the Emperor's hands, that by my sword shall Martino 
 di Porto be punished for his outrage. Fain would I, in per- 
 son, allay the tumult, but my presence only seems to sanction 
 it. Go — thou hast weight with them all." 
 
 ** Ay, Signor, the weight of blows ! " answered the grim sol- 
 dier. " But the command is hard ; I would fain let their pud- 
 dle-blood flow an hour or two longer. Yet, pardon me ; in 
 obeying thy orders, do I obey those of my master, thy kinsman ? 
 It is old Stephen Colonna, who seldom spares blood or treas- 
 ure, God bless him (save his own I ) whose mon^y I hold, and 
 to whose bests I am sworn." 
 
 " Diavolo ! " muttered the cavalier, and the a:^2;ry spot was 
 on his cheek ; but, with the habitual self-control ot the Italian 
 nobles, he smothered his rising choler, and said aloud, with 
 calmness, but dignity : 
 
 " Do as I bid thee ; check this tumult ; make us the forbear^ 
 ing party. Let all be still within one hour hence, and call on vat 
 to-morrow for thy reward ; be this purse an earnest of my fu- 
 ture thanks. As for my kinsman, whom I command thee to 
 name more reverentlv. 'tis in his name I speak ; Hark ! the 
 
34 ftifiK^r, 
 
 din increases — the contest swells ! Go — lose not another mo« 
 ment." 
 
 Somewhat awed by the quiet firmness of the patrician, 
 Rodolf nodded, without answer, slid the money into his bosom, 
 and stalked away into the thickest of the throng. But, even 
 ere he arrived, a sudden reaction had taken place. 
 
 The young cavalier, left alone, in that spot, followed with his 
 eyes the receding form of the mercenary, as the sun, now set- 
 ting, shone slant upon his glittering casque, and said bitterly 
 to himself : " Unfortunate city, fountain of all mighty mem- 
 ories, fallen queen of a thousand nations, how art thou de- 
 crowned and spoiled by thy recreant and apostate children ,' 
 Thy nobles divided against themselves ; thy people cursing thy 
 nobles ; thy priests, who should sow peace, planting discord ; 
 the father of thy church deserting thy stately walls, his home a 
 refuge, his mitre a fief, his court a Gallic village ; and we ! — 
 we, of the haughtiest blood of Rome — we, the sons of Caesars, 
 and of the lineage of demigods, guarding an insolent and ab- 
 horred state by the swords of hirelings, who mock our coward- 
 ice while they receive our pay ; who keep our citizens slaves, 
 and lord it over their very masters in return ! Oh, that we, the 
 hereditary chiefs of Rome, could but feel — oh, that we could 
 but find, our only legitimate safeguard, in the grateful hearts of 
 our countrymen ! " 
 
 So deeply did the young Adrian feel the galling truth of all 
 he uttered, that the indignant tears rolled down his cheeks as 
 he spoke. He felt no shame as he dashed them away ; for that 
 weakness which weeps for a fallen race is the tenderness, not 
 of women but of angels. 
 
 As he turned slowly to quit the spot, his steps were suddenly 
 arrested by a loud shout : " Rienzi ! Rienzi ! " smote the air. 
 From the walls of the Capitol to' the bed of the glittering 
 Tiber, that name echoed far and wide ; and, as the shout died 
 away, it was swallowed up in a silence so profound, so univer- 
 sal, so breathless, that you might have imagined that death it- 
 self had fallen over the city. And now, at the extreme end of 
 the crowd, and eltvated above their level, on vast fragments of 
 stone which had been dragged from the ruins of Rome in one 
 of the late frequent tumults between contending factions, to 
 serve as a barricade for citizens against citizens, — on these 
 silent memorials of the past grandeur, the present misery, of 
 Rome, — stood that extraordinary man, who, above all his race, 
 was the most penetrated with the glories of the one time, with 
 the degradation of the other. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. JfJ 
 
 From the distance at which he stood from the scene, Adrian 
 tr)\ild only distinguish the dark outline of Rienzi's form ; he 
 could only b.ear the faint sound of his mighty voice ; he could 
 only perceive, in the subdued yet waving sea of human beings 
 lihat spread around, their heads bared in the last rays of the 
 sun, the unutterable effect which an eloquence described by 
 contemporaries almost as miraculous, — but in reality less so 
 Torn the genius of the man than the sympathy of the audience, — 
 created in all who drank into their hearts and souls the 
 stream of its burning thoughts. 
 
 It was but fo? a short time that that form was visible to the 
 earnest eye, that that voice at intervals reached the straining 
 ear, of Adrian di Castello ; but that time sufficed to produce 
 all the effect which Adrian himself had desired. 
 
 Another shout, more earnest, more prolonged than the first — 
 a shout in which spoke the release of swelling thoughts, of 
 intense excitement — betokened the close of the harangue ; and 
 then you might see, after a minute's pause, the crowd breaking 
 in all directions and pouring down the avenues in various 
 knots and groups, each testifying the strong and lasting im- 
 pression made upon the multitude by that address. Every 
 cheek was flushed, every tongue spoke ; the animation of the 
 orator had passed, like a living spirit, into the breasts of the 
 audience. He had thundered against the disorders of the pa- 
 tricians, yet, by a word, he had disarmed the anger of the 
 plebeians ; he had preached freedom, yet he had opposed 
 license. He had calmed the present, by a promise of the fu- 
 ture. He had chid their quarrels, yet had supported their 
 cause. He had mastered the revenge of to-day, by a solemn 
 assurance that there should come justice for the morrow. So 
 great may be the power, so mighty the eloquence, so formidable 
 the genius, of one man, — without arms, without rank, without 
 !word, or ermine, who addresses himself to a people that is oi> 
 pressed ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE, 
 
 Avoiding the broken streams of the dispersed crowd, Adrian 
 Colonna strode rapidly down one of the narrow streets leading 
 to his palace, which was situated at no inconsiderable distance 
 from the place in which the late contest had occurred. The 
 education of bis life made him feel a profound interest, not 
 
^6 RIENZI, 
 
 only in the divisions and disputes of his country, but also in the 
 scene he had just witnessed, and the authority exercised by 
 Rienzi. 
 
 An orphan of a younger, but opulent branch of the Colonna, 
 Adrian had been brought up under the care and guardianship 
 of his kinsman, that astute, yet valiant, Stephen Colonna, who, 
 of all the nobles of Rome, was the most powerful, alike from the 
 favor of the pope, and the number of 'armed hirelings whom his 
 wealth enabled him to maintain, Adrian had early manifested 
 what in that age was considered an extraordinary disposition 
 towards intellectual pursuits, and had acquired much of the 
 little that was then known of the ancient language and the 
 ancient history of his country. 
 
 Though Adrian was but a boy at the time in which, first 
 presented to the reader, he witnessed the emotions of Rienzi at 
 the death of his brother, his kind heart had been penetrated with 
 sympathy for Cola's affliction, and shame for the apathy of his 
 kinsmen at the result of their own feuds. He had earnestly 
 sought the friendship of Rienzi, and, despite his years, had be- 
 come aware of the power and energy of his character. But 
 though Rienzi, after a short time, had appeared to think no 
 more of his brother's death — though he again entered the halls 
 of the Colonna, and shared their disdainful hospitalities, he 
 maintained a certain distance and reserve of manner, which 
 even Adrian could only partially overcome. He rejected every 
 offer of service, favor, or promotion ; and any unwonted proof 
 of kindness from Adrian seemed, instead of making him more 
 familiar, to offend him into colder distance. The easy humor 
 and conversational vivacity which had first rendered him a wel- 
 come guest with those who passed their lives between fighting 
 nnd feasting, had changed into a vein ironical, cynical, and 
 severe. But the dull barons were equally amused at his wit, 
 and Adrian was almost the only one who detected the serpent 
 couched beneath the smile. 
 
 Often Rienzi sat at the feast, silent, but observant, as if watch. 
 ing every look, weighing every word, taking gauge and measure- 
 ment of the intellect, policy, temperam^jnt, of every guest ; and 
 when he had seemed to satisfy himself, his spirits would rise, 
 his words flow, and while his dazzling but bitter wit lit up the 
 revel, none saw that the unmirthful flash was the token of the 
 coming storm. But all the while he neglected no occasion to 
 mix with the humbler citizens, to stir up their minds, to 
 inflame their imaginations, to kindle their emulation, with pic- 
 tures Qi t'Ae present an^ with legenrls of the past. He |;rew ia 
 
THE LAST OF THE rUlBUNES. 37 
 
 popularity and repute, and was yet more in power with the 
 herd, because in favor with the nobles. Perhaps it was for that 
 reason that he had continued the guest of the Colonna. 
 
 When, six years before the present date, the Capitol of the Cae- 
 sars witnessed the triumph of Petrarch, the scholastic fame of the 
 young Rienzi had attracted the friendship of the poet — a friend- 
 ship that continued, with slight interruption, to the last, through 
 careers so widely different ; and afterwards, one among the Roman 
 Deputies to Avignon, he had been conjoined with Petrarch* to 
 supplicate Clement VI. to remove the Holy See from Avignon to 
 Rome. It was in this mission that, for the first time, he evinced his 
 extraordinary powers of eloquence and persuasion. The pontiff, 
 indeed, more desirous of ease than glory, was not convinced by 
 the arguments, but he was enchanted with the pleader; and Ri- 
 enzi returned to Rome loaded with honors, and clothed with the 
 dignity of high and responsible office. No longer the inactive 
 scholar, the gay companion, he rose at once to pre-eminence 
 above all his fellow-citizens. Never before had authority been 
 borne with so austere an integrity, so uncorrupt a zeal. He 
 had sought to impregnate his colleagues with the same loftiness 
 of principle ; he had failed. Now secure in his footing, he hiid 
 begun openly to appeal to the people ; and already a new spirit 
 seemed to animate the populace of Rome. 
 
 While these were the fortunes of Rienzi, Adrian had been 
 long separated from him, and absent from Rome. 
 
 The Colonna were staunch supporters of the imperial party, 
 and Adrian di Castello had received and obeyed an invitation 
 to the Emperor's court. Under that monarch he had initiated 
 himself in arms, and among the knights of Germany he had 
 learned to temper the natural Italian shrewdness with the chivalry 
 of northern valor. 
 
 In leaving Bavaria he had sojourned a short time in the soli- 
 tude of one of his estates by the fairest lake of northern Italy ; 
 and thence, with a mind improved alike by action and study, 
 jiad visited many of the free Italian states, imbibed sentiments 
 less prejudiced than those of his order, and acquired an 
 early reputation for himself while inly marking the char- 
 acters and deeds of others. In him the best qualities of the 
 Italian noble wer« united. Passionately addicted to the cultiva- 
 tion of letter's, subtle and profound in policy, gentle and bland of 
 manner, dignifying a love of pleasure with a certain elevation 
 of taste, he yet possessed a gallantry of conduct, and purity of 
 
 * According to the modem historians: but it seems more probable that Rienzi's mission 
 to Avignon wis posterior to that of Petrarch. However this be, it was at Avignon thai 
 Petrarch and Rienzi became most intimate, as Petrarch himself observes in one of his letters^ 
 
3S RIENZI, 
 
 honor, and an aversion from cruelty, which were then very rarely 
 found in the Italian temperament, and which even the Chivalry 
 of the North, while maintaining among themselves, usually 
 abandoned the moment they came into contact with the 
 systematic craft and disdain of honesty which made the char- 
 acter of the ferocious, yet wily, South. With these qualities he 
 combined, indeed, the softer passions of his countrymen ; he 
 adored Beauty and he made a deity of Love. 
 
 He had but a few weeks returned to his native city, whither 
 his reputation had already preceded him, and where his early 
 affection for letters and gentleness of bearing were still remem- 
 bered. He returned to find the position of Rienzi far more 
 altered than his own. Adrian had not yet sought the scholar. 
 He wished first to judge with his own eyes, and at a distance, of 
 the motives and object of his conduct ; for partly he caught 
 the suspicions which his own order entertained of Rienzi, and 
 pr.rtly he shared in the trustful enthusiasm of the people. 
 
 ** Certainly," said he now to himself, as he walked musingly on- 
 ward, " certainly, no man has it more in his power to reform 
 our diseased state, to heal our divisions, to awaken our citizens 
 to the recollections of ancestral virtue. But that very power, 
 how dangerous is it ! Have I not seen, in the free states of 
 Italy, men called into authority for the sake of preserving the 
 people, honest themselves at first, and then, drunk with the 
 sudden rank, betraying the very cause which had exalted them ? 
 True, those men were chiefs and nobles ; but are plebeians less 
 human ? Howbeit I have heard and seen enough from afar ; 
 I will now approach and examine the man himself." 
 
 While thus soliloquizing, Adrian but little noted the various 
 passengers, who, more and more rarely as the evening waned, 
 hastened homeward. Among these were two females, who now 
 alone shared with Adrian the long and gloomy street into which 
 he had entered. The moon was already bright in the heavens, 
 and as the women passed the cavalier with a light and quick 
 step, the younger one turned back and regarded him by the 
 clear light with an eager yet timid glance. 
 
 " Why dost thou tremble, my pretty one?" said her com- 
 panion, who might have told some five-and-forty years, and 
 whose garb and voice bespoke her of inferior rank to the 
 younger female. " The streets seem quiet enough now, and, 
 the Virgin be praised ! we are not so far from home either." 
 
 "Oh ! Benedetta, it is he ! it is the young signor ! it is 
 Adrian ! " 
 
 "That is fortunate," said the nurse, for such was her condi* 
 
THE LAST or tHE TRIBUNES. 39 
 
 tion, "since they say he is as bold as a Northman, and as the 
 Palazzo Colonna is not very far hence, we shall be within reach 
 of his aid should we want it ; that is to say, sweet one, if you 
 will walk a little slower than you have yet done." 
 
 The young lady slackened her pace, and sighed. 
 
 *' He is certainly very handsome," quoth the nurse; "but 
 thou must not think more of him ; he is too far above thee for 
 marriage, and for aught else thou art too honest, and thy 
 brother too proud^-" 
 
 "And thou, Benedetta, art too quick with thy tongue. How 
 canst thou talk thus, when thou knowest he hath never, since 
 at least I was a mere child, even addressed me ; nay, he scarce 
 knows of my very existence. He, the Lord Adrian di Castello, 
 dream of poor Irene ! the mere thought is madness ! " 
 
 "Then why," said the nurse briskly, "dost thou dream of 
 him ? " 
 
 Her companion sighed again, more deeply than at first. 
 
 " Holy St. Catharine !" continued Benedetta, "if there were 
 but one man in the world, I would die single ere I would think 
 of him, until, at least, he had kissed my hand twice, and left it 
 my own fault if it were not my lips instead." 
 
 The young lady still replied not. 
 
 " But how didst thou contrive to love him ? " asked the 
 nurse. " Thou canst not have seen him very often ; it is but 
 some four or five weeks since his return to Rome." 
 
 " Oh, how dull thou art !" answered the fair Irene. "Have I 
 not told thee again and again that I lov^d him six years ago ?" 
 
 " When thou hadst told but thy tenth year, and a doll would 
 have been thy most suitable lover ! As I am a Christian, Sig- 
 nora, thou hast made good use of thy time." 
 
 "And during his absence," continued the girl fondly, yet 
 sadly, "did I not hear him spoken of,and was not the mere sound 
 of his name like a love-gift that bade me remember ? And 
 when they praised him, have I not rejoiced? and when they 
 blamed him, have I not resented ? and when they said that his 
 lance was victorious in the tourney, did I not weep with pride ? 
 and when they whispered that his vows were welcome in the 
 bower, wept I not as fervently with grief } Have not the six 
 years of his absence been a dream, and was not his return a 
 waking into light — a morning of glory and the sun? And I 
 see him now in the church, when he wots not of me : and on 
 his happy steed as he passes by my lattice : and is not that 
 enouL^h of hay)piness for love?" 
 
 "But if he loves not thee V 
 
40 RiENZtj 
 
 '■^ Fool, I ask not that ; nay, I know not if I wish it. Per 
 haps I would rather dream of him, such as I would have him, 
 than know him for what he is. He might be unkind, or un- 
 generous, or love me but little ; rather would I not be loved at 
 •ill, than loved coldly, and eat away my heart by comparing it 
 with his. I can love him now as something abstract, unreal, 
 and divine ; but what would be my shame, my grief, if I were 
 to find him less than I have imagined I Then, indeed, my life 
 would have been wasted ; then, indeed, the beauty of the eartb 
 would be gone ! " 
 
 The good nurse was not very capable of sympathizing wita 
 sentiments like these. Even had their characters been more 
 alike, their disparity of age would have rendered such sym- 
 pathy impossible. What but youth can echo back the soul of 
 youth — all the music of its vild vanities and romantic follies? 
 The good nurse did not sympathize with the sentiments of 
 her young lady, but she sympathized with the deep earnestness 
 with which they were expressed. She thought it wondrous silly, 
 but wondrous moving ; she wiped her eyes with the corner of 
 her veil, and hoped in her secret heart that her young charge 
 would soon get a real husband to put such unsubstantial fanta- 
 sies out of her head. There was a short pause in their conver- 
 sation, when, just where two streets crossed one another, there 
 was a loud noise of laughing voices and trampling feet. 
 Torches were seen on high, affronting the pale light of the 
 moon ; and, at a very short distance from the two females, in 
 the cross street, advanced a company of seven or eight men, 
 bearing, as seen by the red light of the torches, the formidable 
 badge of the Orsini. 
 
 Amidst the other disorders of the time, it was no unfrequent 
 custom for the younger or more dissolute of the nobles, in 
 small and armed companies, to parade the streets at night, 
 seeking occasion for a licentious gallantry among the cowering 
 citizens, or a skirmish at arms with some rival stragglers of 
 their own order. Such a band had Irene and her companion 
 now chanced to encounter. 
 
 " Holy mother ! " cried Benedetta, turning pale, and half 
 running, "what curse has befallen us? How could we have 
 been so foolish us to tarry so late at the lady Nina's? Run, 
 Signora, run, or we shall fall into their hands !" 
 
 But the advice of Benedetta came too late; the fluttering 
 garments of the women had been already descried : in a mo- 
 ment more they were surrounded by the marauders. A rude 
 |iand tore aside Benedetta's veil, and at sieht of features which 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 4t 
 
 if time had not spared, it could never very materially injure, the 
 rough aggressor cast the poor nurse against the wall with i 
 curse, which was echoed by a loud laugh from his comrades. 
 
 " Thou hast a fine fortune in faces, Giuseppe !" 
 
 "Yes ; it was but the other day that he seized on a girl of 
 sixty." 
 
 "And then, by way of improving her beauty, cut her across 
 the face with his dagger, because she was not sixteen !" 
 
 " Hush, fellows ! whom have we here ? " said the chief of the 
 party, a man richly dressed, and who, though bordering upoi: 
 middle age, had only the more accustomed himself to the ex- 
 cesses of youth ; as he spoke, he snatched the trembling Irene 
 from the grasp of his followers. " Ho, there I the torches ' 
 O^y che bella faccia ! what blushes \ what eyes ! — nay, look not 
 down, pretty one ; thou needst not be ashamed to win the love 
 of an Orsini — yes ; know the triumph thou hast achieved : it is 
 Martino di Porto who bids thee smile upon him ! " 
 
 "For the blest Mother's sake, release me! Nay, sir, this 
 must not be ; I am not unfriended ; this insult shall not pass ! '* 
 
 " Hark to her silver chiding ; it is better than my best hound's 
 bay! This adventure is worth a month's watching. What! 
 will you not come ? — restive— shrieks too! Francesco, Pieiro, 
 ye are the gentlest of the band. Wrap her veil around her, — 
 muffle this music — so ! bear her before me to the palace, and 
 to-morrow, sweet one, thou shalt go home with a basket of 
 fiorins which thou mayest say thou hast bought at market." 
 
 But Irene's shrieks, Irene's struggles, had already brought 
 succor to her side, and, as Adrian approached the spot, the 
 nurse flung herself on her knees before him. 
 
 " Oh, sweet signor, for Christ's grace save us ! deliver my 
 young mistress — her friends love you well ! We are all for the 
 Colonna ! Save the kin of your own clients, gracious 
 signor ! " 
 
 " It is enough that she is a woman," answered Adrian, adding, 
 between his teeth, "and that an Orsini is her assailant." He 
 strode haughtily into the thickest of the group ; the servitors 
 laid hands on their swords, but gave way before him as they 
 recognized his person ; he reached the two men who had al- 
 ready seized Irene ; in one moment he struck the foremost to 
 the ground, in another he had passed his left arm round the 
 light and slender form of the maiden, and stood confronting the 
 Orsini with his drawn blade, which, however, he pointed to the 
 ground. 
 
 " For shame, my lord, for shame ! " said he indignantly. 
 
42 RIENZI, 
 
 '*Will you force Rome to rise, to a man, against our order? 
 Vex not too far the lion, chained though he be ; war against «j 
 if ye will ! draw your blades upon men, though they be of your 
 own race, and speak your own tongue : but if ye would sleep 
 at nights, and not dread the avenger's gripe ; if ye would walk 
 the market-place secure, wrong not a Roman woman ! Yes, 
 the very walls around us preach to you the punishment of such 
 a deed . for that offence fell the Tarquins ; for that offence 
 were swept away the Decemvirs ; for that offence, if ye rush 
 upon it, the blood of your whole house may flow like water. 
 Cease, then, my lord, from this mad attempt, so unworthy your 
 great name; cease, and thank even a Colonna that he has come 
 between you and a moment's frenzy ! " 
 
 So noble, so lofty were the air and gesture of Adrian, as he 
 thus spoke, that even the rude servitors felt a thrill of appro- 
 bation and remorse — not so Martino di Porto. He had been 
 struck with the beauty of the prey thus suddenly snatched from 
 him ; he had been accustomed to long outrage and to long im- 
 punity ; the very sight, the very voice of a Colonna, was a 
 blight to his eye and a discord to his ear ; what, then, when a 
 Colonna interfered with his lusts and rebuked his vices? 
 
 " Pedant !" he cried, with quivering lips, " prate not to me 
 of thy vain legends and gossip's tales ! think not to snatch 
 from me my possession in another, when thine own life is in 
 my hands. Unhand the maiden ! throw down thy sword ! re- 
 turn home without further parley, or, by my faith, and the blades 
 of my followers (look at them well !) thou diest ! " 
 
 " Signor," said Adrian calmly, yet while he spoke he re- 
 treated gradually with his fair burthen towards the neighboring 
 wall, so as at least to leave only his front exposed to those 
 fearful odds, " thou wilt not so misuse the present chances, 
 and wrong thyself in men's mouths, as to attack with eight 
 swords even thy hereditary foe, thus cumbered, too, as he is. 
 But — nay hold ! — if thou art so proposed, bethink thee well, 
 one cry of my voice would soon turn the odds against thee. 
 Thou art now in the quarter of my tribe ; thou art surrounded 
 by the habitations of the Colonna : yon palace swarms with 
 men who sleep not, save with harness on their backs ; men 
 whom my voice can reach even now, but from whom, if they 
 once taste of blood, it could not save thee ! " 
 
 " He speaks true, noble lord," said one of the band : " we 
 have wandered too far out of our beat ; we are in their very 
 den ; the palace of old Stephen Colonna is within call ; and, to 
 my knowledge," added he^ in a whisper^ " eigliteen fresh men« 
 
^ THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 43 
 
 Of-arms — ay, and Northmen too — marched through its gates 
 this day." 
 
 "Were there eight hundred men at arm's length," answered 
 Martino furiously, " I would not be thus bearded amidst mine 
 own train ! Away with yon woman ! To the attack ! to the 
 attack 1 " 
 
 Thus saying, he made a desperate lunge at Adrian, who, hav= 
 
 _ ing kept his eye cautiously on the movements of his eneny, 
 
 was not unprepared for the assault. As he put aside the blade 
 
 with his own, he shouted with a loud voice, *'Colonna! to the 
 
 rescue, Colonna ! " 
 
 Nor had it been without an ulterior object that the acute and 
 self-controlling mind of Adrian had hitherto sought to prolong 
 the parley. Even as he first addressed Orsini, he had per- 
 ceived, by the moonlight, the glitter of armor upon two men 
 advancing from the far end of the street, and judged at once, 
 by the neighborhood, that they must be among the mercenaries 
 of the Colonna. 
 
 Gently he suffered the form of Irene, which now, for she had 
 swooned with the terror, pressed too heavily upon him, to slide 
 from his left arm, and standing over her form, while sheltered 
 from behind by the wall which he had so warily gained, he 
 contented himself with parrying the blows hastily aimed at him, 
 without attempting to retaliate. Few of the Romans, however 
 accustomed to such desultory warfare, were then well and dex- 
 terously practiced in the use of arms ; and the science Adrian 
 had acquired in the schools of the martial North befriended 
 him now, even against such odds. It is true, indeed, that the 
 followers of Orsini did not share the fury of their lord ; partly 
 ifraid of the consequence to themselves should the blood of so 
 /ligh-born a signor be spilt by their hands, partly embarrassed 
 with the apprehension that they should see themselves sud- 
 denly beset with the ruthless hirelings so close within hearing, 
 Ithey struck but aimless and randon blows, looking every mo- 
 ment behind and aside, and rather prepared for flight than 
 (slaughter. Echoing the cry of "Colonna," poor Benedetta fled 
 at the first clash of swords. She ran down the dreary street, 
 still shrieking that cry, and passed the very portals of Stephen's 
 palace (where some grim forms yet loitered) without arresting 
 her steps there, so great were her confusion and terror. 
 
 Meanwhile, the two armed men whom Adrian had descried 
 preceded leisurely up the street. The one was of a rude and 
 common mould ; his arms and his complexion testified his call- 
 ing and race ; and by the great respect he paid to his compan^ 
 
44 RIENZI, 
 
 ion, it was evident that that companion was no native of Italy. 
 
 For the brigands of the North, while tliey served the vices of 
 the Southern, scarce affected to disguise their contempt for his 
 cowardice. 
 
 The companion of the brigand was a man of a martial, yet 
 ^asy air. He wore no helmet, but a cap of crimson velvet, set 
 off with a white plume ; on his mantle, or surcoat, which was 
 one of scarlet, was wrought a broad white cross, both at back 
 and breast ; and so brilliant was the polish of his corselet, 
 that, as from time to time the mantle waved aside and exposed 
 it to the moonbeams, it glittered like light itself. 
 
 " Nay, Rodolf," said he, if thou hast so good a lot of it here 
 with that hoary schemer, Heaven forbid that I should wish to 
 draw thee back again to oui merry band. But tell me — this 
 Rienzi, thinkest thou he has any solid and formidable power ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! noble chieftain, not a whit of it. He pleases the 
 mob ; but as for the nobles, they laugh at him ; and as for the 
 soldiers, he has no money ! " 
 
 *' He pleases the mob, then ? " 
 
 " Ay, that doth he ; and when he speaks aloud to them, all 
 the roar of Rome is hushed." 
 
 " Humph I When nobles are hated, and soldiers are bought, 
 a mob may, in any hour, become the master. An honest 
 people and a weak mob ; a corrupt people and a strong mob," 
 said the other, rather to himself than to his comrade, and 
 scarce, perhaps, conscious of the eternal truth of his aphorism. 
 '* He is no mere brawler, this Rienzi, I suspect. I must see 
 to it. Hark ! what noise is that ? By the holy Sepulchre, it 
 js the ring of our own metal ! " 
 
 ** And that cry — * a Colonna ! '" exclaimed Rodolf. " Par- 
 ^ion me, master, I must away to the rescue ! " 
 
 " Ay, it is the duty of thy hire ; run ; yet stay, I will accom^^ 
 pany thee, gratis for once, and from pure passion for mischief. 
 By this hand, there is no music like clashing steel ! " 
 
 Still Adrian continued gallantly and unwounded to defend 
 himself, though his arm now grew tired, his breath well-nigh 
 spent, and his eyes began to wink and reel beneath the glare 
 of the tossing torches. Orsini himself, exhausted by his fury, 
 Had paused for an instant, fronting his foe with a heaving 
 breast and savage looks, when, suddenly, his followers ex- 
 claimed, " Fly ! fly ! the bandits approach ! we are surround- 
 ed ! " — and two of the servitors, without further parley, took 
 fairly to their heels. The other five remained irresolute, and 
 waiting but the command of their master, when he of the white 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 45 
 
 plume, whom I have just described, thrust himself into the 
 melee. 
 
 " What ! gentles," said he, " have ye finished already ? Nay, 
 let us not mar the sport ; begin again, I beseech you. What 
 are the odds ? Ho ! six to one ! Nay, no wonder that ye 
 have waited for fairer play. See, we two will take the weaker 
 side. Now then, let us begin again." 
 
 " Insolent ! " cried the Orsini. " Knowest thou him whom 
 thou addressest thus arrogantly ? I am Martino di Porto. 
 Who art thou ? " 
 
 '' Walter de Montreal, gentleman of Provence, and Knight 
 of St. John ! " answered the other carelessly. 
 
 At that redoubted name — the name of one of the boldest 
 warriors and of the most accomplished freebooter of his time — 
 even Martino's cheek grew pale, and his followers uttered a 
 cry of terror. 
 
 " And this my comrade," continued the knight, "for we 
 may as well complete the introduction, is probably better 
 known to you than I am, gentles of Rome ; and you doubtless 
 recognize in him Rodolf of Saxony, a brave man and a true, 
 where he is properly paid for his services." 
 
 *'Signor," said Adrian to his enemy, who, aghast and dumb, 
 remained staring vacantly at the two new-comers, "you are 
 now in my power. See, our own people, too, are ap- 
 proaching." 
 
 And, indeed, from the palace of Stephen Colonna torches 
 be^gan to blaze, and armed men were seen rapidly advancing to 
 the spot. 
 
 " Go home in peace, and if, to-morrow, or any day more 
 suitable to thee, thou wilt meet me alone, and lance to lance, 
 as is the wont of the knights of the empire ; or with band to 
 Dand, and man for man, as is rather the Roman custom; I will 
 i}ot fail thee — there is my gage." 
 
 " Nobly spoken," said Montreal ; "and if ye choose the lat- 
 ter, by your leave, I will be one of the party." 
 
 Martino answered not ; he took up the glove, thrust it in his 
 bosom, and strode hastily away ; only, when he had got some 
 paces down the street, he turned back, and, shaking his 
 clenched hand at Adrian, exclaimed in a voice trembling with 
 impotent rage, " Faithful to death ! " 
 
 The words made one of the mottoes of the Orsini; and, 
 whatever its earlier signification, had long passed into current 
 proverb, to signify their hatred to the ("olonna, 
 
 Adrian, now ei^a^ed in raisings and attempting to revive^ 
 
46 RIENZI, 
 
 Irene, who was still insensible, disdainfully left it to Montreal 
 to reply. 
 
 " I doubt not, Signor," said the latter coolly," that thou wilt 
 be faithful to Death : for Death God wot, is the only contract 
 wliich men, however ingenious, are unable to break or evade." 
 
 " Pardon me, gentle Knight," said Adrian, looking up from 
 his charge, " if I do not yet give myself wholly to gratitude. I 
 have learned enough of knighthood to feel that thou wilt ac- 
 Knowledge that my first duty is here — " 
 
 " Oh, a lady, then, was the cause of the quarrel ! I need 
 t.ot ask who was in the right, when a man brings to the rivalry 
 such odds as yon caitiff." 
 
 " Thou mistakest a little. Sir Knight ; it is but a lamb I 
 h-ave rescued from the wolf." 
 
 *' For thy own table ! Be it so ! " returned the Knight gaily 
 
 Adrian smiled gravely, and shook his head in denial. In 
 truth, he was s©mewhat embarrassed by his situation. Though 
 habitually gallant, he was not willing to expose to misconstruc- 
 tion the disinterestedness of his late conduct, and (for it was 
 his policy to conciliate popularity) to sully the credit which his 
 bravery would give him among the citizens, by conveying Irene 
 (whose beauty, too, as yet, he had scarcely noted) to his own 
 dwelling ; and yet, in her present situation, there was no alter- 
 native. She evinced no sign of life. He knew not her home» 
 nor parentage. Benedetta had vanished. He could not leave 
 her in the streets; he could not resign her to the care of anoth- 
 er ; and as she lay now upon his breast, he felt her already en- 
 deared to him by that sense of protection which is so grateful 
 to the human heart. He briefly, therefore, explained to those 
 now gathered round him his present situation, and the cause 
 of the past conflict ; and bade the torch-bearers precede him to 
 .♦lis home. 
 
 " You, Sir Knight," added he, turning to Montreal, "if not 
 already more pleasantly lodged, will, I trust, deign to be my 
 guest ? 
 
 " Thanks, Signor," answered Montreal maliciously, " but I, 
 also, perhaps, have my own affairs to watch over. Adieu ! I 
 shall seek you at the earliest occasion. Fair night and gentle 
 dreams ! 
 
 ' Robers Bertrams qui estoit tors 
 Mais h ceval estoit mult fors 
 Cil avoit o lui grans eflfors 
 Multi ot 'homes per lui mors.' " * 
 
 *An nt-favored man, but a ntout horseman, wa* Robert Bertram. Croat doed* w«M 
 Ul, niul many » man dind by hit h«nd< 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 47 
 
 And, muttering this rugged chant from the old " Roman de 
 Roil," the Proven9al, followed by Rodolf, pursued his way. 
 
 The vast extent of Rome, and the thinness of its population, 
 left many of the streets utterly deserted. The principal nobles 
 were thus enabled to possess themselves of a wide range of 
 buildings, which they fortified, partly against each other, partly 
 against the people ; their numerous relatives and clients lived 
 Firound them, forming, as it were, petty courts and cities in 
 themselves. 
 
 Almost opposite to the principal palace of the Colonna (oc- 
 tupied by his powerful kinsman, Stephen) was the mansion of 
 Adrian. Heavily swung back the massive gates at his approach ^ 
 he ascended the broad staircase, and bore his charge into an 
 apartment which his tastes had decorated in a fashion not as 
 yet common in that age. Ancient statues and busts were 
 arranged around ; the pictured arras of Lombardy decorated 
 the walls, and covered the massive seats. 
 
 ** What, ho ! Lights here, and wine ! " cried the Seneschal. 
 
 " Leave us alone," said Adrian, gazing passionately on the 
 pale cheek of Irene, as he now, by the clear light, beheld all 
 its beauty ; and a sweet yet burning hope crept into his heart. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF A CONSPIRATOR, AND THE DAWN OF 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 Alone by a table covered with various papers sat a man in 
 the prime of life. The chamber was low and long ; many 
 antique and disfigured bas-reliefs and torsos were placed around 
 the wall, interspersed, here and there, with the short sword and 
 close casque, time-worn relics of the prowess of ancient Rome. 
 Right above the table at which he sat the moonlight streamed 
 through a high and narrow casement, deep sunk in the massy 
 wall. In a niche to the right of this window, guarded by a 
 sliding door, which was now partially drawn aside, but Avhich, 
 by its solid substance, and the sheet of iron with whirh it was 
 plated, testified how valuable, in the eyes of the owner, was the 
 treasure it protected, were ranged some thirty or forty volumes, 
 then deem.ed no inconsiderable library ; and being, for the 
 most part, the laborious copies in manuscript by the hand of 
 the owner from immortal originals. 
 
 Leaning his cheek on his hand, bis lirow somewhat knit, hia 
 
48 RIENZI, 
 
 lip slightly compressed, that personage indulged in meditations 
 ^ar other tlian the indolent dreams of scholars. As the high 
 and still mootilight shone upon his countenance, it gave an ad- 
 ditional and solemn dignity to features whicli were naturally or 
 a grave and majestic cast. Thick and auburn hair, the color 
 of which, not common to the Romans, was ascribed to Ins 
 descent from the Teuton emperor, clustered in large curls 
 above a high and expansive forehead , and even the pi esent 
 thoughtful compression of the brow could not mar the asjje'^-'^ 
 of latent power, which it derived, from that great breaoth be- 
 tween the eyes, in which the Grecian sculptois of old so ad- 
 mirably conveyed the expression of authority, and the silent 
 energy of command. But his features were not cast in the 
 Grecian, still less in the Teuton, mould. The iron jaw, th? 
 aquiline nose, the somewhat sunken cheek, strikingly recalled 
 the character of the hard Roman race, and might not inaptly 
 have suggested to a painter a model for the younger Brutus. 
 
 The marked outline of the face, and the short, firm upper 
 lip, were not concealed by the beard and mustachios usually 
 then worn ; and, in the faded portrait of the person now de- 
 scribed, still extant at Rome, may be -rr.ccd n certain resem- 
 blance to the popular pictures of Napoleon ; not indeed in the 
 features, which are more stern and prominent in the portrait of 
 the Roman, but in that peculiar expression of concentrated and 
 tranquil power which so nearly realizes the ideal of intellectual 
 majesty. Though still young, the personal advantages most 
 peculiar to youth — the bloom and glow, the rounded cheek in 
 which care has not yet ploughed its lines, the full, unsunken 
 eye, and the slender delicacy of frame — these were not the 
 characteristics of that solitary student. And, though consid- 
 ered by his contemporaries as eminently handsome, the judi:- 
 Lient was probably formed less from the more vulgar claims 10 
 iuch distinction, than from the height of the stature, — an ad- 
 vantage at that time more esteemed than at present, — and iha' 
 nobler order of beauty which cultivated genius and command- 
 ing character usually stamp upon even homely features ; the 
 more rare in an age so rugged. 
 
 The character of Rienzi (for the youth presented to the 
 reader in the first chapter of this history is now again before 
 him in maturer years) had acquired greater hardness and 
 energy with each stepping-stone to power. There was a circum- 
 stance attendant on his birth which had, probably, exercised 
 great and early influence on his ambition. Though his parents 
 were in humble circumstances, and of lowly calling, his fathei 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 46 
 
 was the natural son of the Emperor, Henry VII.; * and it was 
 the pride of the parents that probably gave to Rienzi the un- 
 wonted advantages of education. This pride transmitted to 
 himself — his descent from royahy dinned into his ear, infused 
 into his thoughts, from his cradle — made him, even in his 
 earliest youth, deem himself the equal of the Roman nignors, 
 and half unconsciously aspire to be their superior. But as the 
 literature of Rome was unfolded to his eager eye and ambitious 
 Heart, he became imbued with that pride of country which is 
 nobler than the pride of birth ; and, save when stung by allu- 
 sions to his origin, he unaffectedly valued himself more on 
 being a Roman plebeian than the descendant of a Teuton king. 
 His brother's death, and the vicissitudes he himself had al- 
 ready undergone, deepened the earnest and solemn qualities of 
 his character ; and, at length, all the faculties of a very uncom- 
 mon intellect were concentrated into one object, which borrowed 
 from a mind strongly and mystically religious, as well as 
 patriotic, a sacred aspect, and grew at once a duty and a 
 passion. 
 
 *' Yes," said Rienzi, breaking suddenly from his revery, "yes, 
 the day is at hand when Rome shall rise again from her ashes ; 
 Justice shall dethrone Oppression ; men shall walk safe in their 
 ancient Forum. We will rouse from his forgotten tomb the in- 
 domitable soul of Cato ! There shall be z, people once more in 
 Rome ! And I — I shall be the instrument of that triumph, 
 the restorer of my race ! mine shall be the first voice to swell 
 the battle-cry of freedom ; mine the first hand to rear hei 
 banner. Yes, from the height of my own soul as from a 
 mountain, I see already rising the liberties and the grandeur of 
 the New Rome ; and on the corner-stone of the mighty fabric 
 posterity shall read my name." 
 
 Uttering these lofty boasts, the whole person of the speaker 
 seemed instinct with his ambition. He strode the gloomy 
 chamber with light and rapid steps, as if on air ; his breast 
 heaved, his eyes glowed. He felt that love itself can scarcely 
 bestow a rapture equal to that which is felt, in his first virgin 
 enthusiasm, by a patriot who knows himself sijicere ! 
 
 There was a slight knock at the door, and a servitor, in the 
 rich liveries worn by the pope's officials,* presented himself. 
 
 * De Sade supposes that the mother of Rienzi was the daughter of an illegitimate sor' 
 of Henry VII., supporting his opinion from a MS. in the Vatican. But, according to the 
 contemporaneous biographer, Rienzi, in addressing Charles, king of Bohemia, claims th? 
 relationship from his father " Di vostro legnaggio sono — figlio di bastardo d'Enrico imper. 
 jitore," etc. A more recent writer, ii Padre Gabrini, cites an inscription in support of thi* 
 descent : " Nicolaus IVihunus . . . Laurentii Teutonici Filius," etc. 
 
 * Not the present hideous habiliments, which are said to have been the invention o| 
 Michad Angelo. 
 
JO RIENZI, 
 
 " Signer, said he, " my lord, the Bishop of Orvletto, is 
 without." 
 
 " Ha ! that is fortunate. Lights there ! My lord, this is an 
 honor which I can estimate better than express." 
 
 "Tut, tut ! my good friend," said the Bishop, entering, and 
 seating himself familiarly, " no ceremonies between the servants 
 of the Church ; and never, I ween well, had she greater need 
 of true friends than now. These unholy tumults, tliese licen- 
 tious contentions, in the very shrine and city of St. Peter, are 
 sufficient to scandalize all Christendom." 
 
 " And so will it be," said Rienzi, "until his Holiness himself 
 shall be graciously persuaded to fix his residence in the seat of 
 his predecessors, and curb with a strong arm the excesses of 
 the nobles." 
 
 "Alas, man!" said the Bishop, "thou knowest that these 
 words are but as wind ; for were the Pope to fulfil thy wishes, 
 and remove from Avignon to Rome, by the blood of St. Peter ! 
 he would not curb the nobles, but the nobles would curb him. 
 Thou knowest well that until his blessed predecessor, of pious 
 memory, conceived the wise design of escaping to Avignon, 
 the Father of the Christian world was but like many other 
 fathers in their old age, controlled and guarded by his re- 
 bellious children. Recollectest thou not how the holy Boniface 
 himself, a man of great heart, and nerves of iron, was kept in 
 thraldom by the ancestors of the Orsini ; his entrances and 
 exits made but at their will, so that, like a caged eagle, ht 
 beat himself against his bars and died ? Verily, thou talkest 
 of the memories of Rome ; these are not the memories that 
 are very attractive to popes." 
 
 "Well," said Rienzi, laughing gently, and drawing his seat 
 nearer to the Bishop's, " my lord has certainly the best of the 
 argument at present ; and I must own that strong, licentious, 
 and unhallowed as the order of nobility was then, it is yet 
 more so now." 
 
 " Even I," rejoined Raimond, coloring as he spoke, " though 
 Vicar of the Pope, and representative of his spiritual authority, 
 was, but three days ago, subjected to a coarse affront from that 
 very Stephen Colonna who has ever received such favor and 
 tenderness from the Holy See. His servitors jostled mine in 
 the open streets, and I myself — I, the delegate of the sire of 
 kings — was forced to draw aside to the wall, and wait until the 
 hoary insolent swept by. Nor were blaspheming words wanting 
 %o complete the insult. * Pardon, Lord Bishop,' said he, as 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 5 1 
 
 he passed me ; but this world, thou knowest, must necessarily 
 take precedence of the other.' " 
 
 " Dared he so high ? " said Rienzi, shading his face with his 
 hand, as a very peculiar smile — scarcely itself joyous, though it 
 made others gay, and which completely changed the character 
 of his face, naturally grave even to sternness — played round 
 his lips. " Then it is time for thee, holy father, as for us, to — '* 
 
 '"To what?" mterrupted the Bishop quickly. "Can we 
 effect aught ! Dismiss thy enthusiastic dreamings ; descend to 
 the real earth ; look soberly round us. Against men so power- 
 ful, what can we do ? " 
 
 "My lord," answered Rienzi gravely, " it is the misfortune 
 of signers of your rank never to know the people, or the accu- 
 rate signs of the time. As those who pass over the heights of 
 mountains see the clouds sweep below, veiling the plains and 
 valleys from their gaze, while they, only a little above the level, 
 survey the movements and the homes of men ; even so from 
 your lofty eminence ye behold but the indistinct and sullen 
 vapors, while from my humbler station I see the preparations 
 of the shepherds to shelter themselves and herds from the 
 storm which those clouds betoken. Despair not, my lord ; 
 endurance goes but to a certain limit ; to that limit it is already 
 stretched ; Rome waits but the occasion (it will soon come, but 
 not suddenly) to rise simultaneously against her oppressors," 
 
 The great secret of eloquence is to be in earnest ; the great 
 secret of Rienzi's eloquence was in the mightiness of 
 his enthusiasm. He never spoke as one who doubted of 
 success. Perhaps, like most men who undertake high and 
 great actions, he himself was never thoroughly aware of the 
 obstacles in his way. He saw the end, bright and clear, and 
 overleaped, in the vision of his soul, the crosses and the length 
 of the path ; thus the deep convictions of his own mind 
 stamped themselves irresistibly upon others. He seemed less 
 to promise than to prophesy. 
 
 The Bishop of Orvietto, not over-wise, yet a man of cool 
 temperament and much worldly experience, was forcibly im- 
 pressed by the energy of his companion ; perhaps, indeed, the 
 more so, inasmuch as his own pride and his own passions were 
 also enlisted against the arrogance and license of the nobles. 
 He paused ere he replied to Rienzi. 
 
 *' But is it," he asked at length, " only the plebeians who will 
 rise ? Thou knowest ho\V they are caitiff and uncertain." 
 
 "My iol-d/* answered ktertzi, "judge by one fact, how 
 
53 RlENZr, 
 
 knowest how loudly . speak against the nobles ; I cite themb5F 
 their name ; I beard the Savelli, the Orsini, the Colonna, in 
 their very hearing. Thinkest thou they forgive me ? thinkest 
 thou that, were only the plebeians my safeguard and my 
 favorers, they would not seize me by open force ; that I had 
 not long ere this found a gag in their dungeons, or been 
 S'vallowed up in the eternal dumbness of the grave? Observe," 
 continued he, as, reading the Vicar's countenance, he perceived 
 ^he impression he had made ; '* observe, that, throughout tlie 
 whole world, a great revolution has begun. The barbaric 
 darkness of centuries has been broken ; the knowledge which 
 made men as demigods in the past time has been called from 
 her urn ; a Power subtler than brute force, and mightier than 
 armed men, is at work ; we have begun once more to do 
 homage to the Royalty of Mind. Yes, that same Power which, 
 a few years ago, crowned Petrarch in the Capitol, when it wit- 
 nessed, after the silence of twelve centuries, the glories of a 
 TRIUMPH ; which heaped upon a man of obscure birth, and 
 unknown in arms, the same honors given of old to emperors 
 and the vanquishers of kings ; which united in one act of. 
 homage even the rival houses of Colonna and Orsini ; which 
 made the haughtiest patricians emulous to bear the train, to 
 touch but the purple robe, of the son of the Florentine ple- 
 beian ; which still draws the eyes of Europe to the lowly cot- 
 tage of Vaucluse ; which gives to the humbler student the 
 all-acknowledged license to admonish tyrants, and approach, 
 with haughty prayers, even the Father of the Church — yes, 
 that same Power, which, working silently throughout Italy^ 
 murmurs under the solid base of the Venetian oligarchy ;* 
 which, beyond the Alps, has wakened into visible and sudden 
 life in Spain, in Germany, in Flanders ; and which, even in 
 that barbarous isle, conquered by the Norman sword, ruled by 
 the bravest of living kings, f has roused a spirit Norman cannot 
 break — kings to rule over must rule by — yes, that same power 
 is everywhere abroad: it speaks, it conquers in the voice even of 
 him who is before you ; it unites in his cause all on whom one 
 glimmering of light has burst, all in whom one generous desire 
 can be kindled ! Know, Lord Vicar, that there is not a man in 
 Rome, save our oppressors themselves — not a man who has 
 
 ♦ It was about eight years afterwards that the long-smothered hate of the Venetian 
 people to that wisest and most vigilant of all oligarchies, the Sparta of Italy, broke out in 
 the conspiracy under Marino Faliero. 
 
 t Edward 1 11.. in whose reign opinions far more popular than those of the following 
 century began to work. The Civil Wars liirew b.«r,k the action into the blood. It was 
 indeed nn «gB throughout ih« world which put forth abundant bi'jssom*^ but eft)de an<| 
 Wliriptfltd fruit i A nin^ttltiT <n<^ f«rHnw«(i by «• sin^jwltfr • f aus«. 
 
Tttfi LAST OF THE TRIBUNfiS.. 53 
 
 learned one syllable of our ancient tongue — whose heart and 
 sword are not with me. The peaceful cultivators of letters — ■ 
 the proud nobles of the second order — the rising race, wiser 
 than their slothful sires ; above all, my lord, the humbler 
 ministers of religion, priests and monks, whom luxury hath not 
 blinded, pomp hath not deafened, to the monstrous outrage to 
 Christianity daily and nightly perpetrated in the Christian 
 Capital ; these, — all these, — are linked with the merchant and 
 the artisan in one indissoluble bond, waiting but the signal ta 
 fall or to conquer, to live freemen or to die martyrs, with 
 Rienzi and their country! " 
 
 *'Sayest thou so in truth?" said the Bishop, startled, and 
 half rising. "Prove but thy words, and thou shalt not find the 
 ministers of God are less eager than their lay brethren for the 
 happiness of men." 
 
 *'What I say," rejoined Rienzi, in a cooler tone, "that can I 
 show ; but I may only prove it to those who will be with us." 
 
 "Fear me not," answered Raimond ; "I know well the 
 secret mind of his Holiness, whose delegate and representative 
 I am ; and could he see but the legitimate and natural limit 
 set to the power of the patricians, who, in their arrogance, 
 have set st nought the authority of the Church itself, be sure 
 that he would smile on the hand that drew the line. Nay, so 
 certain of this am I, that if ye succeed, I, his responsible but 
 unworthy vicar, will myself sanction the success. But beware 
 of crude attempts ; the Church must not be weakened by link- 
 iny itself to failure." 
 
 " Right, my lord," answered Rienzi ; " and in this, the policy 
 of religion is that of freedom. Judge of my prudence by my 
 iOng delay. He who can see all around him impatient — him- 
 self :aot less so — and yet suppress the signal, and bide the 
 hour, :s not likely to lose his cause by rashness." 
 
 " More, then, of thii anon," said the Bishop, resettling him- 
 self in his seat. " As thy plans mature, fear not to communis 
 cate with me. Believe that Rome has no firmer friend than he 
 who, ordained to preseive order, finds himself impotent against 
 aggression. Meanwhile, to the object of my present visit, 
 which links itself, in some measure, perhaps, with the topics oil 
 which we have conversed. Thou knowest that when his Holi- 
 ness intrusted thee with thy present office, he bade thee also 
 announce his beneficent intention of granting a general Jubilee 
 at Rome for the year 1350; a most admirable design for two 
 reasons, sufficiently apparent to thyself : first, that every 
 Christian soul that may undertake the oilgrimage to Rome on 
 
j4 RiEN21. 
 
 that occasion may thus obtain a general remission of sins ; and 
 secondly, because, to speak carnally, the concourse of pilgrims 
 so assembled, usually, by the donations nud offerings their 
 piety suggests, very materially add to the revenues of the Holy 
 See : at this time, by the way, in no very flourishing condition. 
 This thou knowest, dear Rienzi." 
 
 Rienzi bowed his head in assent, and the prelate continued: 
 
 "Well, it is with the greatest grief that his Holiness per- 
 ceives that his pious intentions are likely to be frustrated ; for 
 so fierce and numerous are now the brigands in the public 
 approaches to Rome, that, verily, the boldest pilgrim may 
 tremble a little to undertake the journey ; and those who do 
 so venture will, probably, be composed of the poorest of the 
 Christian community, — men who, bringing with them neither 
 gold, nor silver, nor precious offerings, will have little to fear 
 from the rapacity of the brigands. Hence arise two conse- 
 quences : on the one hand, the rich — whom. Heaven knows, 
 and the Gospel has, indeed, expressly declared, have the most 
 need of a remission of sins — will be deprived of this glorious 
 occasion for absolution ; and, on the other hand, the coffers of 
 the Church will be impiously defrauded of that wealth which 
 it would otherwise doubtless obtain from the zeal of her 
 children." 
 
 " Nothing can be more logically manifest, my lord," said 
 Rienzi. 
 
 The Vicar continued : *' Now, in letters received five days 
 since from his Holiness, he bade me expose these fearful 
 consequences to Christianity to the various patricians who are 
 legitimately fiefs of the Church, and command their resolute 
 combination against the marauders of the road. With these 
 have I conferred, and vainly." 
 
 " For by the aid, and from the troops, of those very brigands, 
 these patricians have fortified their palaces against each 
 other," added Rienzi. 
 
 "Exactly for that reason," rcjoined the Bishop. *'Nay 
 Stephen Colonna himself had the audacity to confess it. 
 Utterly unmoved by the loss to so many precious souls, and, I 
 may add, to the papal treasury, which ought to be little less 
 dear to right-discerning men, they refuse to advance a step 
 against the bandits. Now, then, hearken the seeond mandate 
 of his Holiness : ' Failing the nobles,' saith he, in his prophetic 
 sagacity, 'confer with Cola di Rienzi. He is a bold man, and 
 a pious, and, thou tellest me, of great weight with the people ; 
 and say tc him, that if his wit can devise the method for 
 
THE LAST O? THE TRIBUNES, 55 
 
 extirpating these sons of Belial, and rendering a safe passage 
 along the public ways, largely, indeed, will he merit at our 
 hands — lasting will be the gratitude we shall owe to him ; and 
 whatever succor thou, and the servants of our See, can render 
 to him, let it not be stinted." 
 
 " Said his Holiness thus ! " exclaimed Rienzi. *' I ask no more ; 
 the gratitude is mine that he hath thought thus of his servant, 
 and intrusted me with his charge ; at once I accept it — at 
 once I pledge myself to success. Let us, my lord, let us, 
 {hen, clearly understand the limits ordained to my discretion. 
 To curb the brigands v.nthout the walls, I must have authority 
 over those within. If I undertake, at peril of my life, to clear 
 all the avenues of Rome of the robbers who now infest it, shall 
 I have full license for conduct bold, peremptory, and severe ?" 
 
 "Such conduct the very nature of the charge demands," re- 
 plied Raimond. 
 
 " Ay, even though it be exercised against the arch offenders — 
 against the supporters of the brigands — against the haughtiest 
 of the nobles themselves?" 
 
 The Bishop paused, and looked hard in the face of the 
 speaker. " I repeat," said he at length, sinking his voice, and 
 with a significant tone, *' in these bold attempts, success is the 
 sole sanction. Succeed^ and we will excuse thee all, even to 
 the—" 
 
 " Death of a Colonna or an Orsini, should justice demand 
 it ; and provided it be according to the law, and only incurred 
 by a violation of the law ! " added Rienzi firmly. 
 
 The Bishop did not reply in v/ords, but a slight motion of 
 his head was sufficient answer to Rienzi. 
 
 " My lord," said he, *' from this time, then, all is well ; I date 
 the revolution — the restoration of order, of the state — from 
 this hour, this very conference. Till now, knowing that jus- 
 tice must never wink upon great offenders, I had hesitated 
 through fear lest thou and his Holiness might deem it severity 
 and blame him who replaces the law, because he smites th( 
 violators of law. Now I judge thee more rightly. Your hand^ 
 my lord." 
 
 The Bishop extended his hand ; Rienzi grasped it firmly, 
 and then raised it respectfully to his lips. Both felt that the 
 compact was sealed. 
 
 This conference, so long in recital, was short in reality ; but 
 its object was already finished, and the Bishop rose to depart. 
 The outer portal of the house was opened, the numerous ser* 
 yitorsof the Bishop held on high their torches, and he had just 
 
56 RIEN-Zl, 
 
 turned from Rienzi, who had attended him to the gate, when 
 a female passed hastily through the prelate's train, and, start- 
 ing as she beheld Rienzi, flung herself at his feet. 
 
 '* Oh, hasten, sir, hasten, for the love of God, hasten ! or 
 the young Signora is lost forever ! " 
 
 " The Signora ! Heaven and earth, Benedetta, of whom 
 do you speak ? Of my sister — of Irene ? is she not within ? " 
 
 *' Oh, sir — the Orsini — the Orsini ! " 
 
 *' What of them ? Speak, woman ! '* 
 
 Here, breathlessly, and with many a break, Benedetta, re- 
 counted to Rienzi, in whom the reader has already recognized 
 the brother of Irene, so far of the adventure with Martino di 
 Porto as she had witnessed : of the termination and result of the 
 contest she knew naught. 
 
 Rienzi listened in silence ; but the deadly paleness of his 
 countenance, and the writhing of the nether lip, testified the 
 emotions to which he gave no audible vent. 
 
 " You hear, my Lord Bishop ; you hear," said he, when Ben- 
 edetta had concluded ; and turning to the Bishop, whose de- 
 parture the narrative had delayed, "you hear to what outrage 
 the citizens of Rome are subjected. My hat and sword ! in- 
 stantly ! My lord, forgive my abruptness." 
 
 " Whither art thou bent, then ? " asked Raimond. 
 
 " Whither ! whither ! Ay, I forget, my lord, you have no 
 sister. Perhaps, too, you had no brother ? No, no ; one vic- 
 tim at least I will live to save. Whither, you ask me ? To the 
 palace of Martino di Porto." 
 
 '' To an Orsini aloney and for justice ? " 
 
 "Alone, and iox justice ! No!" shouted Rienzi, in a loud 
 voice, as he seized his sword, now brought to him by one of 
 his servants, and rushed from the house ; " but one man is 
 sufficient for revenge ! " 
 
 The Bishop paused for a moment's deliberation. " He must 
 not be lost," muttered he, " as he well may be, if exposed thus 
 solitary to the wolf's rage. What, ho ! " he cried aloud ; "ad- 
 vance the torches ! Quick, quick ! We ourself — we, the Vicar 
 of the Pope — will see to this. Calm yourselves, good people ; 
 your young Signora shall be restored. On I to the palace Q% 
 Martino di Porto \ * 
 
THE LAST OF THF TRIBUNES. rj 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TRINE IN THE PALACE OF ADRIAN DI CASTELLO. 
 
 As the Cyprian gazed on the image in which he had em- 
 bodied a youth of dreams, what time the Hving luies flushed 
 slowly beneath the marble, so gazed the young and passionate 
 Adrian upon the form reclined before him, reawakening grad- 
 ually to life. And, if the beauty of that face were not of the { 
 loftiest or the most dazzling order, if its soft and quiet char- • 
 acter might be outshone by many, of loveliness less really per- * 
 feet, yet never was there a countenance that, to some eyes, 
 would have seemed more charming, and never one in which 
 more eloquently was wrought that ineffable and virgin expres- 
 sion which Italian art seeks for its models; in which modesty 
 is the outward, and tenderness the latent, expression ; the 
 bloom of youth, both of form and heart, ere the first frail and 
 delicate freshness of either is brushed away : and when even 
 love itself, the only unquiet visitant that should be known at 
 such an age, is but a sentiment, and not a passion ! 
 
 "Benedetta!" murmured Irene, at length opening her eyes, 
 unconsciously, upon him who knelt beside her, eyes of that 
 uncertain, that most liquid hue, on which you might gaze for 
 years and never learn the secret of the color, so changed it 
 tviththe dilating pupil, darkening m the shade, and brightening 
 into azure in the light : 
 
 "Benedetta," said Irene, " where art thou ? Oh, Benedettal 
 I have had such a dream." 
 
 "And I too such a vision ! " thought Adrian. 
 
 "Where am I?" cried Irene, rising from the couch. "This 
 room — these hangings ! Holy Virgin ! do' I dream still ) And 
 you ! Heavens ! it is the Lord Adrian di Castello ! " 
 
 "Is that a name thou hast been taught to fear.^" said 
 Adrian ; "if so, I will forswear it." 
 
 If Irene now blushed deeply, it was not in that wild delighj 
 with which her romantic heart might have foretold that she 
 would listen to the first words of homage from Adrian di Cas- 
 tello. Bewildered and confused, terrified at the strangeness of 
 the place, and shrinking even from tlie thought of finding her- 
 self alone with one v/ho for years had been present to her 
 fancies, alarm and distre^^s were the emotions she felt the most, 
 and which most were impressed upon her speaking countenance ; 
 and as Adrian now drew near to her, despite the gentleness of 
 bis voice ancj t\\Q respect ^f his looks, her fears, not the less 
 
58 RIENZI, 
 
 Strong that they were vague, increased upon her : she retreated 
 to the further end of the room, looked wildly round her, and 
 then covering her face with her hands, burst into a paroxysm 
 of tears. 
 
 Moved himself by these tears, and divining her thoughts, 
 Adrian forgot for a moment all the more darmg wishes he had 
 formed. 
 
 "Fear not, sweet lady," said he earnestly: ** recollect thy- 
 self, I beseech thee : no peril, no evil, can reach thee here : it 
 was this hand that saved thee from the outrage of the Orsini ; 
 this roof is but the shelter of a friend ! Tell me, then, fair 
 wonder, thy name and residence, and I will summon my servi- 
 tors, and guard thee to thy home at once." 
 
 Perhaps the relief of tears, even more than Adrian's words, 
 restored Irene to herself, and enabled her to comprehend her 
 novel situation ; and as her senses, thus cleared, told her what 
 she owed to him whom her dreams had so long imagined as the 
 ideal of all excellence, she recovered her self-possession, and 
 uttered her thanks with a grace not the less winning, if it still 
 partook of embarrassment, 
 
 *' Thank me not," answered Adrian passionately. "I have 
 touched thy hand — I am repaid. Repaid ! nay, all gratitude, 
 all homage is for me to render ! " 
 
 Blushing again, but with far different emotions than before, 
 Irene, after a momentary pause, replied, " Yet, my lord, I must 
 consider it a debt the more weighty that you speak of it so 
 lightly. And now, complete the obligation. I do not see my 
 companion ; suffer her to accompany me home ; it is but a 
 short way hence." 
 
 "Blessed, then, is the air that I have breathed so uncon- 
 sciously ! " said Adrian. " But thy companion, dear lady, is not 
 here. She fled, I imagine, in the confusion of the conflict ; and 
 not knowing thy name, nor being able, in thy then state, to 
 iearn it from thy lips, it was my happy necessity to convey thee 
 hither; but I will be thy companion. Nay, why that timid 
 glance ? My people, also, shall attend us." 
 
 "My thanks, noble lord, are of little worth ; my brother, who 
 is not unknown to thee, will thank thee more fittingly. May I 
 depart ? " and Irene, as she spoke, was already at the door. 
 
 "Art thou so eager to leave me? "answered Adrian sadly. 
 
 " Alas ! when thou hast departed from my eyes, it will seem as 
 
 if the moon had left the night ! But it is happiness to obey thy 
 
 wishes, even though they tear thee from me." 
 
 A slight smile parted Irene's lips^ and Adrian's heart beat 
 
THE LAST Oe- THE TRIBUNES. $9 
 
 audibly to himself, as he drew from that smile, and those down- 
 cast eyes, no unfavorable omen. 
 
 Reluctantly and slowly he turned towards the door, and sum- 
 moned his attendants. "But," said he, as they stood on the 
 lofty staircase, " thou sayest, sweet lady, that thy brother's 
 name is not unknown to me. Heaven grant that he be, indeed, 
 a friend of the Colonna ! " 
 
 " His boast," answered Irene evasively ; " the boast of Cola 
 di Rienzi is, to be a friend to the friends of Rome.'* 
 
 " Holy Virgin of Ara Coeli ! is thy brother that extraordinary 
 man ? " exclaimed Adrian, as he foresaw, at the mention of that 
 name, a barrier to his sudden passion. " Alas ! in a Colonna, 
 in a noble, he will see no merit ; even though thy fortunate 
 deliverer, sweet maiden, sought to be his early friend ! " 
 
 ** Thou wrongest him much, my lord," returned Irene 
 warmly ; ** he is a man above all others to sympathize with thy 
 generous valor, even had it been exerted in defence of the hum- 
 blest woman in Rome, — how much more, then, when in pro- 
 tection of his sister ! " 
 
 **The times are, indeed, diseased," answered Adrian thought- 
 fully, as they now found themselves in the open street, "when 
 men who alike mourn for the woes of their country are yet sus- 
 picious of each other ; when to be a patrician is to be regarded 
 as an enemy to the people ; when to be termed the friend of the 
 people is to be considered a foe to the patricians ; but come 
 what may, oh ! let me hope, dear lady, that no doubts, no divis- 
 ions, shall banish from f/iy breast one gentle memory of me ! '* 
 
 " Ah ! little, little do you know me ! " began Irene, and 
 stopped suddenly short. 
 
 *' Speak! speak again! Of what music has this envious silence 
 deprived my soul ! Thou wilt not, then, forget me ? And," 
 continued Adrian, ** we shall meet again? -It is to Rienzi's 
 house we are bound now ; to-morrow I shall visit my old com- 
 panion, to-morrow I shall see thee. Will it not be so ?" 
 
 In Irene's silence was her answer. 
 
 " And as thou hast told me thy brother's name, make it 
 sweet to my ear, and add to it thine own." 
 
 " They call me Irene." 
 
 ** Irene, Irene ! Let me repeat it. It is a soft name, and 
 dwells upon the lips as if loath to leave them — a fitting name 
 for one like thee." 
 
 Thus making his welcome court to Irene, in that flowered and 
 glowing language which, if more peculiar to that age and to 
 the gallantry of the South, is also the language in which the 
 
60 RIENZt, 
 
 poetry of youthful passion would, in all times and lands, utter 
 its rich extravagance, could heart speak to heart, Adrian con- 
 veyed homeward his beautiful charge, taking, however, the most 
 circuitous and lengthened route ; an artifice which Irene either 
 perceived not, or silently forgave. They were now within sight 
 ■)f the street in which Rienzi dwelt, when a party of men, bear- 
 ing torches, came unexpectedly upon them. It was the train of 
 the Bishop of Orvietto, returning from the palaceof Martino di 
 Porto, and in their way (accompanied by Rienzi) to that of 
 Adrian. They had learned at the former, without an interview 
 with the Orsini, from the retainers in the court below, the for- 
 tune of the conflict, and the name of Irene's champion ; and, 
 despite Adrian's general reputation for gallantry, Rienzi knew 
 enough of his character, and the nobleness of his temper, to 
 feel assured that Irene was safe in his protection. Alas ! in 
 that very safety to the person is often the most danger to 
 the heart. Woman never so dangerously loves, as when he 
 who loves her, for her sake, subdues himself. 
 
 Clasped to her brother's breast, Irene bade him thank her 
 Oeliveier : and Rienzi, with that fascinating frankness which 
 'lits so well on those usually reserved, and which all who 
 tvould rule the hearts of their fellow-men must at times com- 
 mand, advanced to the young Colonna, and poured forth his 
 gratitude and praise. 
 
 *' We have been severed too long, we must know each other 
 again," replied Adrian. " I shall seek thee, ere long, be 
 assured." 
 
 Turning to take his leave of Irene, he conveyed her hand to 
 his lips, and pressing it, as it dropped from his clasp, was he 
 deceived in thinking that those delicate fingers lightly, involun- 
 tarily, returned the pressure ? 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 UPON LOVE AND LOVERS. 
 
 If in adopting the legendary love-tale of Romeo and Juliet, 
 
 Shakespeare had changed the scene in which it is cast for a 
 more northern clime, we may doubt whether the art of Shake- 
 speare himself could liave reconciled us at once to the sudden- 
 ness and the strength of Juliet's passion. And, even as it is, 
 perhaps there are few of our rational and sober-minded isl- 
 anders who would not honestly confess, if fairly questioned, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNEb. 6l 
 
 that they deem the romance and fervor of those ill-starred 
 lovers of Verona exaggerated and over-drawn. Yet, in Italy, 
 the picture of that affection born of a night, but ''strong as 
 death," is one to which the veriest commonplaces of life would 
 afford parallels without number. As in different ages, so ir 
 different climes, love varies wonderfully in the shapes it takes 
 And even at this day, beneath Italian skies, many a simple gir^ 
 would feel as Juliet, and many a homely gallant would rival 
 the extravagance of Romeo. Long suits in that sunny land, 
 wherein, as whereof, I now write, are unknown. In no other 
 land, perhaps, is there found so commonly the love at firs^ 
 sight, which in France is a jest, and in England a doubt ; ii 
 no other land, too, is love, though so suddenly conceived, more 
 faithfully preserved. That which is ri»pened in fancy comes it 
 once to passion, yet is embalmed through all time by senti- 
 ment. And this must be my and their excuse, if the love of 
 Adrian seem too prematurely formed, and that of Irene too 
 romantically conceived ; it is the excuse which they take from 
 the air and sun, from the customs of their ancestors, from the 
 soft contagion of example. But while they yielded to the dic- 
 tates of their hearts, it was with a certain though secret sadness — 
 a presentiment that had, perhaps, its charm, though it was 
 of cross and evil. Born of so proud a race, Adrian could 
 scarcely dream of marriage with the sister of a plebeian ; and 
 Irene, unconscious of the future glory of her brother, could 
 hardly have cherished any hope, save that of being loved. Yet 
 these adverse circumstances, — which, in the harder, the more 
 prudent, the more self-denying, perhaps the more virtuous 
 minds, that are formed beneath the northern skies, would have 
 l3een an inducement to wrestle against love so placed — only 
 contributed to feed and to strengthen t/ieirs by an opposition 
 which has ever its attraction for romance. They found fre- 
 quent, though short, opportunities of meeting, not quite alone 
 but only in the conniving presence of Benedetta ; sometimes ir. 
 the public gardens, sometimes amidst the vast and deserted 
 ruins by which the house of Rienzi was surrounded. They 
 surrendered themselves, without much question of the future, 
 to the excitement — the elysium — of the hour ; they lived but 
 from day to day ; //i^tr future was the next time they should 
 meet ; beyond that epoch, the very mists of their youthful love 
 closed in obscurity and shadow which they sought not tc 
 penetrate : and as yet they had not arrived at that period o( 
 affection when there was danger of their fall ; their love had 
 aot passed i^*f golden portal where w^ay^ri ceases and Eartk 
 
62 RIEN2I, 
 
 begins. Everything for them was the'poetry, the vaguennes% 
 the refinement, not the power, the concentration, the mortality, 
 of desire ! The look, the whisper, the brief pressure of the 
 hand, — at most, the first kisses of love, rare and few, — these 
 marked the human limits of that sentiment which filled them 
 with a new life, which elevated them as with a new soul. 
 
 The roving tendencies of Adrian were at once fixed and 
 centered : the dreams of his tender mistress had awakened to a 
 life, dreaming still, but "rounded with a //-?////." All that 
 earnestness, and energy, and fervor of emotion, which, in her 
 brother, broke forth in the schemes of patriotism and the as- 
 pirations of power, were, in Irene, softened down into one object 
 of existence, one concentration of soul, — and that was love. 
 Yet, in this range of thought and action, so apparently limited, 
 there was, in reality, no less boundless a sphere than in the 
 wide space of her brother's many-pathed ambition. Not the 
 less had she the power and scope for all the loftiest capacities 
 granted to our clay. Equal was her enthusiasm for her idol ; 
 equal, had she been equally tried, would have been her gener- 
 osity, her devotion ; greater, be sure, her courage ; more 
 inalienable her worship ; more unsullied by selfish purposes 
 and sordid views. Time, change, misfortune, ingratitude, 
 would have left /ler the same ! What state could fall, what 
 liberty decay, if the zeal of man's noisy patriotism were as pure 
 as the silent loyalty of a woman's love ? 
 
 In them everything was young/ The heart unchilled, un« 
 blighted, — that fullness and luxuriance of life's life which has 
 in it something of divine. At that age, when it seems as if we 
 could never die, how deathless, how flushed and mighty as 
 with the youngness of a god, is all that our hearts create ! Our 
 own youth is like that of the earth itself, when it peopled the 
 woods and waters with divinities : when life ran riot, and yet 
 only gave birth to beauty — all its shapes, of poetry, — all its airs, 
 the melodies of Arcady and Olympus ! The Golden Age never 
 leaves the world ; it exists still, and shall exist, till love, health, 
 poetry, are no more ; but only for the young ! 
 
 If I now dwell, though but for a moment, on this interlude 
 in a drama calling forth more masculine passions than that of 
 love, it is because I foresee that the occasion will but rarely 
 recur. If I linger on the description of Irene and her hidden 
 affection, rather than wait for circumstances to portray them 
 better than the authorV words can, it is because I foresee that 
 that loving and lovely image must continue to the last rathef 
 
THE LA^T Of tttE TRIBUNES. 63 
 
 the real destiny of such natures, by bolder figures and more 
 gorgeous colors ; a something whose presence is rather felt than 
 seen, and whose very harmony with the whole consists in its 
 retiring and subdued repose. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE ENTHUSIASTIC MAN JUDGED BY THE DISCREET MAN. 
 
 "Thou wrongest me," said Rienzi, warmly, to Adrian, aj 
 they sat alone, towards the close of a long conference; " I do 
 not play the part of a mere demagogue ; I wish not to stir 
 the great deeps in order that my lees of fortune may rise to the 
 surface. So long have I brooded over the past, that it seems 
 to me as if I had become a part of it — as if 1 had no separate 
 existence. I have coined my whole soul into one master pas- 
 sion ; and its end is the restoration of Rome." 
 
 " But by what means ? " 
 
 ** My lord ! my lord ! there is but one way to restore the 
 greatness of a people — it is an appeal to the people themselves. 
 It is not in the power of princes and barons to make a state 
 permanently glorious ; they raise themselves, but they raise not 
 the people with them. All great regenerations are the univer- 
 sal movement of the mass." 
 
 " Nay," answered Adrian, " then have we read history differ- 
 ently. To me, all great regenerations seem to have been the 
 work of the few, and tacitly accepted by the multitude. But 
 let us not dispute after the manner of the schools. Thou sayest 
 loudly that a vast crisis is at hand ; that the Good Estate 
 {buono stato) shall be established. How t where are your arms ? 
 your soldiers ? Are the nobles less stron? than heretofore? is 
 the mob more bold, more constant? Heaven knows that I 
 speak not with the prejudices of my order f I weep fur the de- 
 basement of my country ! I am a Roman, and in that name I 
 forget that I am a noble. But I tremble at the storm you w^ould 
 raise so hazardously If your insurrection succeed, it will be 
 violent : it will be purchased by blood — by the blood of all the 
 loftiest names of Rome. You will aim at a second expulsion 
 of the Tarquins ; but it will be more like a second proscrip- 
 tion of Sylla. Massacres and disorders never pave the way to 
 peace. If, on the otiier hand, you fail, the chains of Rome are 
 riveted for ever : an ineffectual struggle to escape is but an 
 excuse for additional tortures to the slave." 
 
64 RIENZI, 
 
 "And what, then, would the Lord Adrian have us do ? " said 
 Rienzi, with that peculiar and sarcastic smile which has before 
 been noted. "Shall we wait till the Colonna and Orsini quar 
 rel no more ? shall we ask the Colonna for liberty, and the 
 Orsini for justice ? My lord, we cannot appeal to the nobles 
 agauist the nobles. We must not ask them to moderate tiicir 
 power; we must restore to ourselves that power. There niny 
 be danger in the attempt, but we attempt it amongst the indnu- 
 ments of the Forum : and if we fall, we shall perish worthy (jf 
 our sires ! Ye have high descent, and sounding titles, and 
 wide lands, and you talk of your ancestral honors ! We, too, — 
 we plebeians of Rome, — we have ours ! Our fathers were free- 
 men ! Where is our heritage? not sold, not given away : but 
 stolen from us, now by fraud, now by force ; filched from us 
 in oux sleep; or wrung from us with fierce hands, amidst our 
 cries and struggles. My lord, we but ask that lawful heritage 
 to be restored to us : to us — nay, to you it is the same ; your 
 liberty, alike, is gone. Can you dwell in your father's house^ 
 without towers, and fortresses, and the bought swords of 
 bravos ? can you walk in the streets at dark without armr, anc" 
 followers? True, j(?«, a noble, may retaliate ; though zvc daro 
 not. You, in your turn, may terrify and outrage others ; but 
 does license compensate for liberty? They have pjiven you 
 pomp and power, but the safety of equal law^s were a better 
 gift. Oh, were I you — were I Stephen Colonna himself — I 
 should pant, ay, thirstily as I do now, for that free air which 
 comes not through bars and bulwarks against my fellow-citi- 
 zens, but in the open space of Heaven ; safe, because protected 
 by the silent Providence of Law, and not by the lean fears and 
 hollow-eyed suspicions which are the comrades of a hated 
 power. The tyrant thinks he is free, because he commands 
 slaves : the meanest peasant in a free state is more free than he 
 is. Oh, my lord, that you — the brave, the generous, the en- 
 '.ightened — you, almost alone amidst your order, in the knowl- 
 edge that we had a country — oh, would that you, who can 
 sympathize with our sufferings, would strike with us for their 
 redress:! " 
 
 "Thou wilt war against Stephen Colonna, my kinsman ; and 
 though I have seen him but little, nor, truth to say, esteem him 
 much, yet he is the boast of our house ; how can I join thee ?" 
 
 " His life will be safe, his possessions safe, his rank safe, 
 v/hat do we war against ? His power to do wrong to others." 
 
 "Should he discover that thou hast force beyond vvo**i^, ke 
 ,/ould be less merciful to ihee^^* 
 
THE Last op THE TrIUUNES. ^g 
 
 ** And has he not discovered that ? Do not the shouts of the 
 people tell him that I am a man whom he should fear ? Does 
 he — the cautious, the wily, the profound — does he build for- 
 tresses, and erect towers, and not see from his baitlements the 
 mighty fabric that I, too, have erected?" 
 
 *' You ! where, Rienzi ? " 
 
 "In the hearts of Rome! Does he not see?'* continued 
 Rienzi. "No, no; he—all, all his tribe are blind. Is i* 
 not so?" 
 
 " Of a certainty, my kinsman has no belief in your po\ver, 
 else he would have crushed you long ere this. Nay, it was but 
 three days ago that he said, gravely, he would rather you ad- 
 dressed the populace than the best priest in Christendom ; for 
 that other orators inflamed the crowd, and no man so stilled 
 and dispersed them as you did." 
 
 "And I called him profound ! Does not Heaven hush the 
 air most when most it prepares the storm ? Ay, my lord, I 
 understand. Stephen Colonna despises me. I have been " — 
 (here, as he continued, a deep blush mantled over his cheek) — 
 **you remember it — at his palace in my younger days, and 
 pleased him with witty tales and light apophthegms. Nay, ha ! 
 ha ! he would call me, I think, sometimes, in gay compliment, 
 his jester, his buffoon ! I have brooked his insult ; I have even 
 bowed to his applause. I would undergo the same penance, 
 stoop to the same shame, for the same motive, and in the same 
 cause. What did I desire to effect ? Can you tell me ? No \ 
 I will whisper it, then, to you : it was — the contempt of Stephen 
 Colonna. Under that contempt I was protected, till protection 
 became no longer necessary. I desired not to be thought for- 
 midable by the patricians, in order that, quietly and unsus- 
 pected, I might make my way amongst the people. I have 
 done so ; I now throw aside the mask. Face to face with 
 Stephen Cclonna, I could tell him, this very hour, that I brave 
 his anger ; that I laugh at his dungeons and armed men. But 
 if he think me the same Rienzi as of old, let him ; I can wait 
 my hour." 
 
 "Yet," said Adrian, waiving an answer to the haughty lan- 
 guage of his companion, " tell me, what dost thou ask for the 
 people, in order to avoid an appeal to their passions? Ignorant 
 and capricious as they are, thou canst not appeal to their 
 reason." 
 
 " I ask full justice and safety for all men. I will be codtented 
 
 /ith no less a compromise. I ask the nobles to dismantle their 
 
 fortresses ; to disband their armed retainer^" ; to acknowledge 
 
06 fti£:NZi, 
 
 ;io impunity for crime in high lineage ; to claim no protection 
 save in the courts of the common law." 
 
 "Vain desire!" said Adrian. "Ask what may yet be 
 granted." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " replied Rienzi, laughing bitterly, *' did T not tell 
 you it was a vain dream to ask for law and justice at the hands 
 of the great? Can you blame me, then, that 1 ask it else- 
 where?" Then, suddenly changing his tone ana manner, he 
 added with great solemnity, " Waking life hath false and vain 
 dreams ; but sleep is sometimes a mighty prophet. By sleep 
 it is that Heaven mysteriously communes with its creatures, 
 and guides and sustains its earthly agents in the path to which 
 its providence leads them on." 
 
 Adrian made no reply. This was not the first time he had 
 noted that Rienzi's strong intellect was conjoined with a deep 
 and mystical superstition. And this yet more inclined the 
 young noble, who, though sufficiently devout, yielded but little 
 to the wilder credulities of the time, to doubt the success of 
 the schemer's projects. In this he erred greatly, though his 
 error was th?t of the worldly wise. For nothing ever so inspires 
 human daring as the fond belief that it is the agent of a Di- 
 viner Wisdom. Revenge and patriotism, united in one man of 
 genius and ambition — such are the Archimedian levers, that 
 find, in fanaticism, the spot out of the world by which to 
 move the world. The prudent man may direct a state ; but it 
 is the enthusiast who regenerates it, — or ruins. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 *'WHEN THE PEOPLE SAW THIS PICTURE, EVERY ONE MAR% 
 
 VELLED.*' 
 
 Before the market-place, and at the foot of the Capitol, an 
 immense crowd was assembled. Each man sought to push 
 before his neighbor ; each struggled to gain access to one par- 
 ticular spot, round which the crowd was wedged thick and 
 dense. 
 
 "Corpo di Dio ! " said a man of huge stature, pressing on» 
 ward, like some bulky ship, casting the noisy waves right and 
 left from its prow, " this is hot work ; but for what, in the holy 
 Mother's name, do ye crowd so ? See you not, Sir Ribald, that 
 sny right arm is disabled, swathed, and bandaged, so that I can- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 6f 
 
 not help myself better than a baby ! and yet you push against 
 me as if I were an old wall ! " 
 
 *' Ah, Cecco del Vecchio ! What, man ! we must make way 
 for you ; you are too small and tender to bustle through a 
 crowd ! Come, I will protect you ! " said a dwarf of some 
 four feet high, glancing up at the giant. 
 
 "Faith," said the grim smith, looking round on the mob 
 who laughed loud at the dwarf's proffer, "we all do want pro- 
 tection, big and small. What do you laugh for, ye apes .^ Ay 
 you don't understand parables." 
 
 " And yet it is a parable we are come to gaze upon," said 
 one of the mob, with a slight sneer. 
 
 "Pleasant day to you, Signor Baroncelli," answered Cecco 
 del Vecchio ; you are a good man, and love the people ; it 
 make's one's heart smile to see you. What's all this pother 
 for.?" 
 
 "Why, the Pope's Notary hath set up a great picture in the 
 market-place, and the gapers say it relates to Rome ; so they 
 are melting their brains out, this hot day, to guess at the 
 riddle." 
 
 "Ho ! ho ! " said the smith, pushing on so vigorously that 
 he left the speaker suddenly in the rear ; "if Cola di Rienzi 
 hath aught in the matter, I would break through stone rocks 
 to get to it." 
 
 " Much good will a dead daub do us," said Baroncelli sourly, 
 and turning to his neighbors ; but no man listened to him, and 
 he, a would-be demagogue, gnawed his lip in envy. 
 
 Amidst half-awed groans and curses from the men whom he 
 jostled aside, and open objurgations and shrill cries from the 
 women, to whose robes and head-gear he showed as little re- 
 spect, the sturdy smith won his way to a space fenced round 
 by chains, in the centre of which was placed a huge picture. 
 
 " How came it hither?" cried one ; " I was first at the mar- 
 ket." 
 
 "We found it here at daybreak," said a vender of fruiii: 
 ** no one was by." 
 
 " But why do you fancy Rienzi had a hand in it?" 
 
 "Why, who else could ?" answered twenty voices. 
 
 "True! Who else!" echoed the gaunt smith. "I dare 
 be sworn the good man spent the whole night in painting it 
 himself. Blood of St. Peter ! but it is mighty fine ! What is 
 it about ! " 
 
 "That's the riddle," said a meditative fi*.h-womaii; **if I 
 could mak« k out I J$houldi 4it h^ppy/* 
 
58 RIENZI, 
 
 '•^It is something about liberty and taxes, no doubt," saij 
 Luigi, the butcher, leanin^^ over the chains. '""Ah, if Rienzi 
 were minded, every poor man would have his bit of meat ilk 
 his pot/' 
 
 " And ns much bread as he could eat," added p. pale baker. 
 
 ^'^Chut! bread and meat; everybody has that nov; ! But 
 ';vhat wine the poor folks drink ! One has no encouragement 
 (,o take pains with one's vineyard," sai'^. a vine-dresser. 
 
 *' Ho, hollo! Long life to Pandulfo di Guido ! make way 
 'or master Pandulfo ; he is a learned man ; he is a friend of the 
 l^reat Notary's ; he will tel) us all about the picture i make 
 ./ay, there, make way." 
 
 Slowly and modestly, Pandulfo di Guido, a quiet, wealthy 
 c'lnd honest man of letters, whom naught save the violence of 
 the times could have roused from his tranquil home, or his 
 studious closet, passed to the chains. He looked long and 
 hard at the picture, which was bright with new and yet moist 
 colors, and exhibited somewhat of the reviving art, which, 
 though hard and harsh in its features, was about that time 
 visible, and, carried to a far higher degree, we yet gaze upon in 
 the paintings of Perugino, who flourished during the succeed- 
 ing generation. The people pressed around the learned man, 
 with open mouths ; now turning their eyes to the picture, now 
 to Pandulfo. 
 
 *' Know you not," at length said Pandulfo, **the easy and 
 palpable meaning of this design? Behold how the painter has 
 presented to you a vast and stormy sea ; mark how its 
 waves — " 
 
 " Speak louder ! louder ! " shouted the impatient crowd. 
 
 *' Hush ! " cried those in the immediate vicinity of Pandulfo, 
 ''the worthy signor is perfectly audible ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, some of the more witty, pushing towards a stall 
 in the market-place, bore from it a rough table, from which they 
 besought Pandulfo to address the people. The pale citizen, 
 with some pain and shame, for he was no practiced spokesman, 
 was obliged to assent ; but when he cast his eyes over the vast 
 and breatjiless crowd, his own deep sympathy with their cause 
 inspired and emboldened him. A light broke from his eyes j 
 his voice swelled into power ; and his head, usually buried in 
 his breast, became erect and commanding in its air. 
 
 *' You see before you in the picture" (he began again) "a 
 mighty anr'. tempestuous sea : upon its waves you behold five 
 ships ; four of inem are already wrecks^' — their masts are 
 ^rwjQfjn, the waves ar« <!l«shin^ thrQUi^b tht tfni planks, thef 
 
tnU LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 69 
 
 are past all aid and hope : on each of these ships lies the corpse 
 of a woman. See you not, in the wan face and livid limbs, 
 how faithfully the limner hath painted the hues and loathsome- 
 ness of death ? Below each of these ships is a word that ap- 
 ples the metaphor to truth. Yonder, you see the name of 
 Carthage ; the other three are Troy, Jerusalem, and Babylon. 
 To these four is one common inscription: * To exhaustion 
 were we brought by injustice ! * Turn now your eyes to the 
 fiddle of the sea ; there you behold the fifth ship, tossed 
 iimidst the waves, her mast broken, her rudder gone, her sails 
 shivered, but not yet a wreck like the rest, though she soon niav 
 be. On her deck kneels a female, clothed in mouining ; mark 
 the woe upon her countenance, — how cunningly the artist has 
 conveyed its depth and desolation ; she stretches out her arms 
 in prayer, she implores your and Heaven's assistance. Mark 
 now the superscription: *This is Rome!' Yes, it is your 
 country that addresses you in this emblem ! " 
 
 The crowd waved to and fro, and a deep murmur crept 
 gathering over the silence which they had hitherto kept. 
 
 " Now," continued Pandulfo, *'turn your gaze to the right of 
 the picture, and you will behold the cause of the tempest ; you 
 will see why the fifth vessel is thus perilled, and her sisters are 
 thus wrecked. Mark, four different kinds of animals, who, 
 from their horrid jaws, send forth the winds and storms which 
 torture and rack the sea. The first are the lions, the wolves, 
 the bears. These, the inscription tells you, are the lawless and 
 savage signers of the state. The next are the dogs and swine ; 
 these are the evil counsellors and parasites. Thirdly, you be- 
 hold the dragons and the foxes ; and these are false judges and 
 notaries, and they who sell justice. Fourthly, in the hares, the 
 goats, the apes, that assist in creating the storm, you perceive. 
 by the inscription, the emblems of the popular thieves and hom- 
 icides, ravishers, and spoliators. Are ye bewildered still, O 
 Romans ! or have ye mastered the riddle of the picture ?" 
 
 Far in their massive palaces the Savelli and Orsini heard th^ 
 echo of the shouts that answered the question of Pandulfo. 
 
 "Are ye, then, without hope ! " resumed the scholar, as the 
 shout ceased, and hushing, with the first sound of his voice, 
 the ejaculations and speeches which each man had turned to 
 utter to his neighbor. " Are ye without hope ? Doth the pic- 
 ture, which shows your tribulation, promise you no redemp- 
 tion ? Behold, above that angry sea, the heavens open, and the 
 majesty of God descends gloriously, as to judgment : and, from 
 the rays that surround the spirit of God extend two flaming 
 
7C RIENZI, 
 
 owords, and on those swords stand, in wrath, but in deliverance^ 
 the two patron saints — the two mighty guardians of your city! 
 People of Rome, farev/ell ! the parable is finished."* 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A ROUGH SPIRIT RAISED, WHICH MAY HEREAFTER REND THE 
 
 WIZARD. 
 
 While thus animated was the scene around the Capitol, 
 within one of the apartments of the palace sat the agent and 
 prime cause of that excitement. In the company of his quiet 
 scribes, Rienzi appeared absorbed in the patient details of his 
 avocation. While the murnmr and the hum, the shout and the 
 tramp, of multitudes rolled to his chamber, he seemed not to 
 heed them, nor to rouse himself a moment from his task. With 
 the unbroken regularity of an automaton he continued to enter 
 in his large book, and with the clear and beautiful characters 
 of the period, those damning figures which taught him, better 
 than declamations, the frauds practiced on the people, and 
 armed him with that weapon of plain fact which it is so difficult 
 for abuse to parry. 
 
 " Page 2, Vol. B.," said he, in the tranquil voice of business, 
 to the clerks ; *' see there, the profits of the salt duty ; depart- 
 ment No. 3 — very well. Page 9, Vol. D.; what is the account 
 rendered by Vescobaldi the collector ? What ! twelve thou- 
 sand florins ? no more ! Unconscionable rascal !" (Here was 
 a loud shout without of * Pandulfo ! long live Pandulfo ! ') " Pas- 
 trucci, my friend, your head wanders ; you are listening to the 
 Qoise without ; please to amuse yourself with the calculation I 
 entrusted to you. Santi, what is the entry given in by Antonio 
 Tralli?" 
 
 A slight tap was heard at the door, and Pandulfo entered. 
 
 The clerks continued their labor, though they looked up 
 hastily at the pale and respectable visitor, whose name, to their 
 great astonishment, had thus become a popular cry. 
 
 *' Ah, my friend," said Rienzi, calmly enough in voice, but 
 his hands trembled with ill-suppressed emotion, " you would 
 speak with me alone, eh ? well, well, this way." Thus saying, 
 
 * M. Sismondi attributes to Rienzi a fine oration at the showing of the picture, in which 
 he thundered against the vices of the patricians. 1 he contemporary biographer of Rienzi 
 3»ys nothing of this harangue. Kut, apparently (since history has Us liberties as well as 
 fiction), M. Sismondi has thought it convenient to confound two occasions very distinct ia 
 themselves. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 7t 
 
 Ibe led the citizen into a small cabinet in the rear of the roonQ 
 of office, carefully shut the door, and then giving himself up to 
 the natural impatience of his character, seized Pandulfo by the 
 hand : "Speak ! " cried he ; "do they take the interpretation ? 
 have you made it plain and palpable enough ? has it sunk deep 
 into their souls?" 
 
 "Oh, by St. Peter! yes! " returned the citizen, whose spirits 
 Mrere elevated by his recent discovery that he, too, was an 
 orator — a luxurious pleasure for a timid man. " They swal- 
 lowed every word of the interpretation ; they are moved to the 
 marrow ; you might lead them this very hour to battle, and find 
 them heroes. As for the sturdy smith — " 
 
 " What ! Cecco del Vecchio ?" interrupted Rienzi ; " ah, his 
 heart is wrought in bronze ! What did he ?" 
 
 " Why, he caught me by the hem of my robe as I descended 
 my rostrum (oh ! would you could have seen me ! per fede I 
 had caught your mantle ! I was a second/^« .'), and said, weep- 
 ing like a child, * Ah, Signor, I am but a poor man, and of 
 little worth ; but if every drop of blood in this body were a life, 
 I would give it for my country ! " 
 
 "Brave soul," said Rienzi, with emotion ; " would Rome had 
 but fifty such ! No man hath done us more good among his 
 own class than Cecco del Vecchio." 
 
 " They feel a protection in his very size," said Pandulfo. 
 "It is something to hear such big words from such a big 
 fellow." 
 
 "Were there any voices lifted in disapprobation of the pic- 
 ture and its sentiment?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 "The time is nearly ripe, then; a few suns more, and the 
 fruit must be gathered. The Aventine, — the Lateran, — and 
 then the solitary trutnpet r* Thus saying, Rienzi, with folded 
 arms and downcast eyes, seemed sunk into a reverie. 
 
 "By the way," said Pandulfo, "I had almost forgot to tell 
 thee that the crowd would have poured themselves hither, so 
 impatient were they to see thee ; but I bade Cecco del Vecchio 
 mount the rostrum, and tell them, in his blunt way, that it 
 would be unseemly at the present time, when thou wert en- 
 gaged in the Capitol on civil and holy affairs, to rush in so 
 great a body into thy presence. Did I not right?" 
 
 "Most right, my Pandulfo." 
 
 " But Cecco del Vecchio says he must come and kiss thy 
 hand; and tlioii ni.iyst expect him here the moment he cap 
 fjscape unobserved iroin tUv crowd," 
 
2^ RIENZI. 
 
 *' He IS welcome ? '* said Rienzi, half mechanically, for he 
 was rjtill absorbed in thought. 
 
 **And, lo! here he is," — as one of the scribes announced 
 the visit of the smith. 
 
 "Let him be admitted !" said Rienzi, seating himself com- 
 posedly. 
 
 When the huge smith found himself in the presence of 
 Rienzi, it amused Fandulfo to perceive thj wonderful influ- 
 nce of mind over matter. That fierce and sturdy giant, 
 who, in all popular commotions, towered above his tribe, with 
 thews of stone, and nerves of iron, the rallying-point and 
 bulwark of the rest, stood now coloring and trembling before 
 the intellect, which (so had the eloquent spirit of Rienzi waked 
 and fanned the spark which, till then, had lain dormant in that 
 rough bosom) might almost be said to have created his own. 
 And he, indeed, who first arouses in the bondsman the sense 
 rind soul of freedom, comes as near as is permitted to man, 
 nearer than the philosopher, nearer even than the poet, to the 
 ;;reat creative attribute of God ! But, if the breast bo unedu- 
 cated, the gift may curse the giver ; and he who passes at once 
 from ihe slave to the freeman may pass as rapidly from the 
 freeman to the ruffian. 
 
 *' Approach; my friend," said Rienzi, after a moment's pause ; 
 "I know all that thou hast done, and wouldst do, for Rome ! 
 Thou art worthy of her best days, and thou art born to share 
 in their return." 
 
 The smith dropped at the feet of Rienzi, who held out his 
 hand to .aise him, which Cecco del Vecchio seized, and rev- 
 erently kissed. 
 
 'This kiss does not betray," said Rienzi, smiling; "but 
 Ise, my friend, this posture is only due to God and his saints !" 
 
 '' He is a saint who helps us at need ! " said the smith 
 
 luntly, "and that no man has done as thou hast. But when," 
 
 \e aaded, sinking his voice and fixing his eyes hard on Rienzi, 
 
 s ne may do who waits a signal to strike a blow, "when — 
 
 hen shall wc make the great effort?" 
 
 Thou hast spoken to all the brave men in thy neighbor- 
 hood ; are they well prepared?" 
 
 *' To livj or die, as Rienzi bids them !'* 
 
 **I must have the list — the number — names — houses and 
 callings, uiis light." 
 
 "Thourhait." 
 
 *' "" ich lan must sign his name oi mark with his own hand,* 
 
 ".:t .hall .;edone." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ^3 
 
 "Then, harkye ! attend Pandulfo di Guido at his house this 
 evening, at sunset. He shall instruct thee where to meet this 
 night some brave hearts ; thou art worthy to be ranked amongst 
 them. Thou wilt not fail ! " 
 
 "By the holy Stairs ! I will count every minute till then," 
 said the smith, his swarthy face lighted with pride at the 
 confidence shown him. 
 
 " Meanwhile, watch all your neighbors ; let no man flag or 
 grow faint-hearted ; none of thy friends must be branded as a 
 traitor." 
 
 *' I will cut his throat, were he my own mother's son, if I 
 find one pledged man flinch ! " said the fierce smith. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" rejoined Rienzi, with that strange laugh which 
 belonged to him ; '*a miracle ! a miracle ! The Picture speaks 
 now ! " 
 
 It was already nearly dusk when Rienzi left the Capitol. 
 The broad space before its walls was empty and deserted, and 
 wrapping his mantle closely round him, he walked musingly on. 
 
 *'l have almost climbed the height," thought he, *'and now 
 the precipice yawns before me. If I fail, what a fall ! The 
 last hope of my country falls with me. Never will a noble 
 rise against nobles. Never will another plebeian have the op- 
 portunities and the power that I have ! Rome is bound up 
 with me — with a single life. The liberties of all time are fixed 
 to a reed that a wind may uproot. But oh, Providence ! hast 
 thou not reserved and marked me for great deeds ? How, 
 step by step, have I been led on to this solemn enterprise ! 
 How has each hour prepared its successor ! And yet what 
 danger ! if the inconstant people, made cowardly by long 
 thraldom, do but waver in the crisis, I am swept away ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he raised his eyes, and lo, before him, the first 
 Star of twilight shone calmly down upon the crumbling rem- 
 . an'3 of the Tarpeian Rock. It was no favoring omen, and 
 Rienzi'" heart beat quicker as that dark and ruined mass 
 frowned thus suddenly on his gaze. 
 
 "Dread monument," thought he, "of what dark catastrophes, 
 t what unknown schemes, hast thou been the witness ! To 
 ho^v many enterprises, on which history io dumb, hast thou set 
 the seal ; How know we whether they were criminal or just.? 
 Hov/ know we whether he, thus doomed as a traitor, would 
 not, if successful, be immortalized as a deliverer ? If I fall, 
 who will write my chronicle ? One of the people ? alas ! 
 blinded and ignorant, they furnish forth no minds that can 
 appeal to posterity. One of tho patricians 1 in v/hat colore 
 
;4 RIENZI, 
 
 then shall I be painted ! No tomb will rise for me amidst the 
 wrecks ; no hand scatter flowers upon my grave ! " 
 
 Thus meditating on the verge of that mighty enterprise to 
 which he had devoted himself, Rienzi pursued his way. He 
 gained the Tiber, and paused for a few moments beside its 
 legendary stream, over which the purple and star-lit heaven 
 shone deeply down. He crossed the bridge which leads to 
 the quarter of the Trastevere, whose haughty inhabitants yet 
 boast themselves the sole true descendants of the ancient 
 Romans. Here his step grew quicker and more light ; brighter, 
 if less solemn, thoughts crowded upon his breast ; and ambi- 
 tion, lulled for a moment, left his strained and over-labored 
 mind to the reign of a softer passion. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 2IINA DI RASELLI. 
 
 ^*I TELL you, Lucia, I do not love those stuffs ; they do not 
 become me. Saw you ever so poor a dye ? — this purple, in- 
 deed ! that crimson ! Why did you let the man leave them ? 
 Let him take them elsewhere to-morrow. They may suit the 
 signoras on the other side the Tiber, who imagine everything 
 Venetian must be perfect ; but I, Lucia, / see with my own 
 eyes, and judge from my own mind." 
 
 " Ah, dear lady," said the serving-maid, " if you were, as you 
 doubtless will be, some time or other, a grand signora, how 
 worthily you would wear the honors ! Santa Cecilia ! no other 
 dame in Rome would be looked at while the Lady Nina were 
 by !" 
 
 " Would we not teach them what pomp was ? " answered 
 Nina. " Oh, what festivals would we hold ! Saw you not 
 ircm the gallery the revels given last week by the Lady Giulia 
 Savelli?" 
 
 " Ay, dgnora ; and when you walked up the hall in your sil- 
 ver and pearl tissue, there ran such a murmur through *he 
 gallery ; every one cried, ' The Savelli have entertained an 
 .ingel ! " 
 
 '* Pish ! Lucia ; no flattery, girl." 
 
 " It is naked truth, lady. But that was a revel, was itnot f 
 There was grandeur ! fifty servitors in scarlet and gold ! "^nd 
 C.|[)e music playing a" the while. The minstrels were sent Qt 
 
THE LAST or THE TRIBUNES. )§ 
 
 from Bergamo. Did not that festival please you ? Ah, I war- 
 
 r.zi.t many were the fine speeches made to you that day ! " 
 
 °'' Heigho ! no, there was one voice wanting, and all the 
 music was marred. But, girl, were / the Lady Giulia, I would 
 not have been contented with so poor a revel." 
 
 " How, poor ! Why all the nobles say it outdid the proud- 
 est marriage-feast of the Colonna. Nay, a Neapolitan who sat 
 t^ext me, and who had served under the young Queen Joanna, 
 ■ t her marriage, says that even Naples was outshone." 
 
 " ThsLt may be. I know naught of Naples ; but I know what 
 my court should have been, were I what — what I am not, and 
 may never be ! The banquet vessels should have been of gold ; 
 the cups jewelled to the brim ; not an inch of the rude pave- 
 ment should have been visible ; all should have glowed with 
 cloth of gold. The fountain in the court should have showered 
 up the perfumes of the East ; my pages should not have been 
 rough youths, blushing at their own uncouthness, but fair boys, 
 who had not told their twelfth year, culled from the daintiest 
 palaces of Rome ; and, as for the music, oh, Lucia ! each 
 musician should have worn a chaplet, and deserved it ; and he 
 who played best should have had a reward to inspire all the 
 rest — a rose from me. Saw you, too, the Lady Giulia's robe ? 
 What colors ! they might have put out the sun at noonday / 
 yellow, and blue, and orange, and scarlet ! Oh, sweet Saints I 
 but my eyes ached all the next day ! " 
 
 " Doubtless, the Lady Giulia lacks your skill in the mixture 
 Vf colors," said the complaisant waiting-woman. 
 
 "And then, too, what a mien ! no royalty in it ! She moved 
 along the hall, so that her train well-nigh tripped her every 
 moment ; and then she said, with a foolish laugh, 'These holy 
 day robes are but troublesome luxuries.' Troth, for the great 
 <here should be no holyday robes ; 'tis for myself, not for 
 others, that i would attire ! Every day should have its new 
 i:obe, more gorgeous than the last — every day should be a 
 iioiyday I " 
 
 *' Methought," said Lucia, " that the Lord Giovanni Orsini 
 seemed very devoted to my lady." 
 
 "He ! the bear!" 
 
 " Bear, he may be ! but he has a costly skin. His riches 
 are untold." 
 
 " And the fool knows not how to spend them." 
 
 "Was not that the young Lord Adrian who spoke to you just 
 by the column s, where the music played ? " 
 
 "It might be,— I forget." 
 
y6 RiEN21, 
 
 " Yet, I hear that few ladies forget when Lord Adrian di 
 Castello woos them." 
 
 " There was but one man whose company seemed to me 
 worth the recollection," answered Nina, unheeding the insinu- 
 rXion of the artful handmaid. 
 
 " And who was he ? " asked Lucia. 
 
 '* The old scholar from Avignon ! " 
 
 ' What ! he with the gray beard ? Oh, Signora ! " 
 
 *' Yes," said Nina, with a grave and sad voice ; *' when ne 
 :;poke, the scene vanished from my eyes, for he spoke to me ot 
 Him ! " 
 
 As she said this, the Signora sighed deeply, and the tears 
 gathered to her eyes. 
 
 The waiting-woman raised her lips in disdain, and her looks 
 in wonder ; but she did not dare to venture a reply. 
 
 *' Open the lattice," said Nina, after a pause, " and give me 
 yon paper. Not that, girl, but the verses sent me yesterday. 
 What ! art thou Italian, and dost thou not know, by instinct, 
 that I spoke of the rhyme of Petrarch ? " 
 
 Seated by the open casement, through which the moonlight 
 stole soft and sheen, with one lamp beside her, from which she 
 seemed to shade her eyes, though in reality she sought to hide 
 her countenance from Lucia, the young Signora appeared ab- 
 sorbed in one of those tender sonnets which then turned the 
 brains and inflamed the hearts of Italy.* 
 
 Born of an impoverished house, which, though boasting its 
 descent from a consular race of Rome, scarcely at that day 
 maintained a rank amongst the inferior order of nobility, Nina 
 di Raselli was the spoiled child — the idol and the tyrant — of 
 !'ier parents. The energetic and self-willed character of her 
 mnd made her rule v/here she should have obeyed ; and as in 
 "il r^ges dispositions can conquer custom, she had, though in a 
 .:lime and land where the young and unmarried of her sex are 
 (sually chained and fettered, assumed, and by assuming won, 
 •he prerogative of independence. She possessed, :t is true, 
 more learning and more genius than generally fell to the shar^- 
 of women in that day ; and enough of both to be deemed a 
 miracle by her parents ; she had, also, what they valued more, 
 a surpassing beauty ; and, what they feared more, an indomi- 
 table haughtiness — a haughtiness mixed with a thousand soft 
 
 * Although it is true that the love sonnets of Petrarch were not then, as now, the moi'; 
 esteemed of his works, yet it has been a great, though a common error, to represent them 
 as little known and coldly admired. Their effect was. in reality, prodigious and universal. 
 Every ballad-singer sung them in the streets, and (says Filippo VilJani), " Gravissimi 
 OCSCiAant abstinerc "— " Even the gravest could not abstain from them." 
 
THE LAST ui THE TRIBUNES. J^ 
 
 and endearing qualities where che loved ; and which, indeed, 
 where she loved, seemed to vanish. At once vain yet high- 
 minded, resolute yet impassioned, there was a gorgeous mag- 
 nificence in her very vanity and splendor, an ideality in her 
 /waywardness : her defects made a part of her brilliancy ; 
 ./ithout them she v/ould have seemed less woman ; and, knoV' 
 r.ig her^ you would have compared all women by her standard, 
 oofter qualities beside her seemed not more charming, but 
 ..n ore insipid. She had no vulgar ambition, for she had ob 
 ■:Jnately refused many alliances v/hich the daughter of Raselli 
 could scarcely have hoped to form. The untutored minds and 
 cavage power of the Roman nobles seemed to her imaginations 
 which was full o( the poetry of rank, its luxury, and its graces, 
 as something barbarous and revolting, at once to be dreaded 
 and despised. She had, therefore, passed her twentieth year 
 unmarried, but not without love. The faults, themselves, of 
 her character, elevated that ideal of love which she had formed. 
 She required some being round whom all her vainer qualities 
 could rally ; she felt that where she loved she must adore ; she 
 demanded no common idol before which to humble so strong 
 and imperious a mind. Unlike women of a gentler mould, who 
 desire, for a short period, to exercise the caprices of sweet em- 
 pire, when she loved she must cease to command ; and pride, 
 at once, be humbled to devotion. So rare were the qualities 
 Chat could attract her ; so imperiously did her haughtiness re- 
 quire that those qualities should be above her own, yet of the 
 same order ; that her love elevated its object like a god. 
 Accustomed to despise, she felt all the luxury it is to venerate ! 
 .'^i.nd if it were her lot to be united with one thus loved, her 
 iature was that which might become elevated by the nature 
 •hat it gazed on. For her beauty — Reader, shouldst thou ever 
 lo to Rome, thou wilt see in the Capitol the picture of the 
 Oumasan Sibyl, which, often copied, no copy can even faintly 
 represent. I beseech thee, mistake not this sibyl for another, 
 /or the Roman galleries abound in sibyls.* The sibyl I speak 
 of is dark, and the face has an Eastern cast : the robe and 
 wUrban, gorgeous though they be, grow dim before the rich, but 
 transparent, roses of the cheek ; the hair would be black, save 
 for that golden glow which mellows it to a hue and lustre never 
 reen but in the South, and even in the South most rare ; the 
 features, not Grecian, are yet faultless ; the mouth, the brow, 
 
 •' The sibyl re'cfred to is the well-kPov/n one b/ Domenichino. As a tnere work 08 
 crt, that by Guercino, called the Persian sibyl, in the e9.fne collcctien. is i>»rhq.n6 superior^ 
 
'^S RIENZI, 
 
 the ripe and exquisite contour, all are human and voluptuous; 
 the expression, the aspect, is something more ; the form is, 
 perhaps, too full for the perfection of loveliness, for the pro- 
 portions of sculpture, for the delicacy of Athenian models ; but 
 the luxuriant fault has a majesty. Gaze long upon that picture ; 
 it charms, yet commands the eye. While you gaze, you call 
 back five centuries. You see before you the breathing image 
 of Nina di Raselli ! 
 
 But it was not those ingenious and elaborate conceits in 
 which Petrarch, great poet though he be, has so often mistaken 
 pedantry for passion, that absorbed at that moment the atten- 
 tion of the beautiful Nina. Her eyes rested not on the page, 
 but on the garden that stretched below the casement. Over 
 the old fruit-trees and hanging vines fell the moonshine : and 
 in the centre of the green, but half-neglected sward, the waters 
 of a small and circular fountain, whose perfect proportions 
 spoke of days long passed, played and sparkled in the starlight. 
 The scene was still and beautiful ; but neither of its stillness 
 nor its beauty thought Nina : towards one, the gloomiest and 
 most rugged, spot in the whole garden, turned her gaze ; 
 there, the trees stood densely massed together, and shut from 
 view the low but heavy wall which encircled the mansion of 
 Raselli. The boughs on those trees stirred gently, but Nina 
 saw them wave ; and now from the copse emerged, slowly and 
 cautiously, a solitary figure, whose shadow threw itself, long 
 and dark, over the sward. It approached the window, and a 
 low voice breathed Nina's name. 
 
 " Quick, Lucia ! " cried she breathlessly, turning to her 
 handmaid: ''quick! the rope-ladder! it is he! he is come! 
 How slow you are ! Haste, girl, he may be discovered ! 
 There, — O joy, — O joy ! My lover ! my hero ! my Rienzi !" 
 
 "It is you ! " said Rienzi, as, now entering the chamber, he 
 wound his arms around her half-averted form, " and what is 
 night to others is day to me ! " 
 
 The first sweet moments of welcome were over; and Rienzi 
 was seated at the feet of his mistress : his head rested on her 
 knees, his face looking up to hers, their hands clasped each if 
 each. 
 
 "And for mc thou bravest these dangers!" said the lover; 
 "the shame of discovery, the wrath of thy parents ! " 
 
 "But v/hat are my perils to thine? Oh, Heaven! if my 
 father found lliee here thou wouldst die ! " 
 
 "He would think it then so great a humiliation, that thou, 
 beautiful Nina^ wb9 mi|[hut ma(cl) wuh the hau^huest {?am«9 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 79 
 
 of Rome, shouldst waste thy love on a plebeian — even though 
 the grandson of an emperor ! " 
 
 The proud heart of Nina could sympathize well with the 
 wounded pride of her lover : she detected the soreness which 
 lurked beneath his answer, carelessly as it was uttered. 
 
 "Hast thou not told me," she said, "of that great Marius, 
 who was no noble, but from whom the loftiest Colonna would 
 .ejoice to claim his descent? and do I not know in thee one 
 who shall yet eclipse the power of Marius, unsullied by his 
 vices?" 
 
 " Delicious flattery ! sweet prophet ! " said Rienzi, with a 
 melancholy smile ; " never were thy supporting promises of 
 .he future more welcome to me than now ; for to thee I will 
 f5ay what I would utter to none else : my soul half sinks beneath 
 the mighty burthen I have heaped upon it. I want new 
 courage as the dread hour approaches ; and from thy words 
 r,nd looks I drink it." 
 
 "Oh!" answered Nina, blushing as she spoke, "glorious 
 indeed the lot which I have bought by my love for thee : 
 glorious to share thy schemes, to cheer thee in doubt, to 
 whisper hope to thee in danger." 
 
 "And give grace to me in triumph!" added Rienzi 
 passionately. " Ah ! should the future ever place upon these 
 brows the laurel-wreath due to one who has saved his country, 
 what joy, what recompense to lay it at thy feet ! Perhaps, in 
 those long and solitary hours of languor and exhaustion which 
 fill up the interstices of time, — the dull space for sober thought 
 between the epochs of exciting action, — perhaps I should have 
 failed and flagged, and renounced even my dreams for Rome, 
 had they not been linked also with my dreams for thee ! had I 
 not pictured to myself the hour when my fate should elevate 
 me beyond my birth ; when thy sire would deem it no dis- 
 grace to give thee to my arms ; when thou, too, shouldst stand 
 amidst the dames of Rome, more honored, as more beautiful, 
 :han all ; and when I should see that pomp, which my own 
 soul disdains,* made dear and grateful to me because asso- 
 ciated with thee ! Yes, it is these thoughts that have inspired 
 me, when sterner ones have shrunk back appalled from the 
 spectres that surround their goal. And oh ! my Nina, sacred, 
 strong, enduring must be, indeed, the love which lives in the 
 same pure and elevated air as that which sustains my hopes of 
 liberty and fame ! " 
 
 * " Quern semper abhorrui sicut cenum" is the expression used by Rienzi, in his letter 
 to his friend at Avignon, and which was probably sincere. Men rarely act according to 
 the bias of their own tastes. 
 
So niENzi. 
 
 This was the language v/hich, more even than the vo\7S of 
 fidelity and the dear adulation which springs from the heart 'g 
 exuberance, had bound the proud and vain soul of Nina to the 
 chains that it so willingly wore. Perhaps, indeed, in the ab- 
 sence of Rienzi, her weaker nature pictured to herselt the 
 triumph '*of humbling the high-born signoras, and eclipsing 
 he barbarous magnificence of the chiefs of Rome ; but in his 
 presence, and listening to his more elevated and generous am- 
 -.inon, as yet all unsullied by one private feeling save the hope 
 >t her, her higher sympathies were enlisted with his schemes, 
 ner mind aspired to raise itself to the height of his, and she 
 vhought less of her own rise than of his glory. It was sweet 
 lo her pride to be the sole confidante of his most secret 
 thoughts, as of his most hardy undertakings ; to see bared be- 
 fore her that intricate and plotting spirit ; to be admitted even 
 to the knowledge of its doubts and weakness, as of its heroism 
 and power. 
 
 Nothing could be more contrasted than the loves of Rienzi 
 and Nina, and those of Adrian and Irene : in the latter, all 
 were the dreams, the phantasies, the extravagance, of youth :, 
 they never talked of the future ; they mingled no other as- 
 pirations with those of love. Ambition, glory, the world's- 
 high objects, were nothing to them when together ; their 
 love had swallowed up the world, and left nothing visible be- 
 neath the sun, save itself. But the passion of Nina and /ler 
 lover was that of more complicated natures and more mature 
 years : it was made up of more than a thousand feelings, each 
 naturally severed from each, but compelled into one focus by 
 the mighty concentration of love ; their talk was of the world ; 
 it was from the world that they drew the aliment which sus- 
 tained it ; it was of the future they spoke and thought ; of its 
 dreams and imagined glories they made themselves a home 
 and altar ; their love had in it more of the Intellectual than 
 that of Adrian and Irene ; it was more fitted for this 
 hard earth ; it had in it, also, more of the leaven of the 
 later and iron days, and less of poetry and the first 
 golden age. 
 
 "And must thou leave me now ? " said Nina, her cheek nc 
 more averted from his lips, nor her form from his parting em- 
 brace. "The moon is high yet; it is but a little hour thou 
 hast given me. " 
 
 " An hour ! Alas ! " said Rienzi, "it is near upon midnight; 
 our friends await me." 
 
 ** Go, then, my soul's best half ! go ; Nina shall not detain 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. 8l 
 
 thee one moment from those higher objects which make thee 
 so dear to Nina. When — when shall we meet again ! " 
 
 " Not," said Rienzi proudly, and with all his soul upon his 
 brow, ''not thus, by stealth ! no ! nor as I thus have met thee, 
 the obscure and contemned bondsman ! When next thou 
 ceest me, it shall be at the head of the sons of Rome i her 
 champion ! her restorer ! or — " said he, sinking his voice — 
 
 "There is no or!'' interrupted Nina, weaving her arms 
 round him, and catching his enthusiasm ; " thou hast uttered 
 thine own destiny !" 
 
 " One kiss more ! — farewell ! The tenth day from the mor- 
 row shines upon the restoration of Rome ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES THAT BEFEL WALTER DE MONTREAL. 
 
 It was upon that same evening, and while the earlier stars 
 yet shone over the city, that Walter de Montreal, returning, 
 alone, to the convent then associated with the church of Santa 
 Maria del Priorata (both of which belonged to the Knights of 
 the Hospital, and in the first of which Montreal had taken his 
 lodgment), paused amidst the ruins and desolation which lay 
 around his path. Though little skilled in the classic memories 
 and associations of the spot, he could not but be impressed 
 with the surrounding witnesses of departed empire ; the vast 
 skeleton, as it were, of the dead giantess. 
 
 "Now," thought he, as he gazed around upon the roofless 
 columns and shattered walls, everywhere visible, over which 
 the starlight shone, ghastly and transparent, backed by the 
 frowning and embattled fortresses of the Frangipani, half hid 
 by t] e dark foliage that sprung up amidst the very fanes and 
 palaces of old — Nature exulting over the frailer Art ; "now," 
 thought he, " bookmen would be inspired by this scene with 
 fantastic and dreaming visions of the past. But to me these 
 monuments of high ambition and royal splendor create only 
 images of the future. Rome may yet be, with her seven- 
 hilled diadem, as Rome has been before, the prize of the 
 strongest hand and the boldest warrior, — revived, not by her 
 own degenerate sons, but the infused blood of a new race, 
 William the Bastard could scarce have found the hardy Eng- 
 lishers so easy a conquest as Walter the Well-born may find 
 these eunuch Romans. And which conquest were the more 
 
RIEN2I, 
 
 glorious, the barbarous isle, or the Metropolis of the World ? 
 Short step from the general to the podesta, sliorter step froiVi 
 the podesta to the king ! " 
 
 While thus revolving his wild, yet not altogetlier chimerical, 
 ambition, n, quick, light step was heard amidst the long herb- 
 age, and, looking up. Montreal perceived the figure of a tall 
 Tcmale descending from that part of the hill then covered by 
 fnany convents, towuds th^ base of the Aventine. She sup- 
 ported her steps with a long staft, and moved with such elas- 
 ticity and erectness, that n -w, as her face became visible by the 
 starlight, it was surpri'^ing to perceive that it was the face of 
 one advanced in years — a harsh, proud countenance, withered 
 and deeply wrinkled, but not without a certain regularity o'" 
 outline. 
 
 " Merciful Virgin ! " cried Montreal, starting back as that 
 face gleamed upon him : " is it possible ? It is she ! it is — " 
 
 He sprung forward, and stood right before the olc! woman, 
 who seemed equally surprised, though more dismayed, at the 
 sight of Montreal. 
 
 *' I have sought thee for years," said the Knight, first break- 
 ing the silence ; "years, long years; thy conscience can tell 
 thee why." 
 
 *"' Mine^ man of blood!" cried the female, trembling with 
 rage or fear ; " darest thou talk of conscience ? Thou^ the dis- 
 honorer — the robber — the professed homicide ! Thou, disgrace 
 to knighthood and to birth ! Thou^ with the cross of chastity 
 and of peace upon thy breast ! Thou talk of conscience, 
 hypocrite ! — thou? " 
 
 " Lady, lady ! " said Montreal deprecatingly, and almost 
 quailing beneath the fiery passion of that feeble woman, ** I have 
 sinned against thee and thine. But remember all my excuses! — 
 early love — fatal obstacles — rash vow — irresistible tempta- 
 tion ! Perhaps," he added, in a more haughty tone, ** perhaps, 
 yet, I may have the power to atone my error, and wring, with 
 mailed hand, from the successor of St. Peter, who hath power 
 to loose as to bind — " 
 
 "Perjured and abandoned ! " interrupted the female ; "dost; 
 thou dream that violence can purchase absolution, or that thou 
 canst ever atone the past ? — a noble name disgraced, a father's 
 broken heart and dying curse ! Yes, that curse, I hear it now ! 
 it rings upon me thrillingly, as when I watched the expiring 
 clay ! it cleaves to thee ; it pursues thee ; it shall, pierce thee 
 through thy corselet ; it shall smite thee in the meridian of thy 
 power! Genius wasted, ambition blasted, penitence deferred; 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 83 
 
 a life of brawls, and a death of shame — thy destruction the off- 
 spring of thy crime ! To this, to this, an old man's curse hath 
 doomed thee ! And thou art uoomed !" 
 
 These words were rather shrieked than spoken : and the 
 flashing eye, the lifted hand, the dilated form of the speaker ; 
 the hour, the solitude of the ruins around — all conspired to 
 give to the fearful execration the character of prophecy. The 
 warrier, against whose undaunted breast a hundred spears had 
 shivered in vain, fell appalled and humbled to the ground. 
 He seized the hem of his fierce denouncer's robe, and cried, in 
 a choked and hollow voice, " Spare me ! spare me ! " 
 
 " Spare thee ! " said the unrelenting crone ; *' hast thou ever 
 spared man in thy hatred, or woman in thy lust? Ah, grovel 
 in the dust ! crouch — crouch ! wild beast as thou art I whose 
 sleek skin and beautiful hues have taught the unwary to be 
 blind to the talons that rend, and the grinders that devour; 
 crouch, that the foot of the old and impotent may spurn thee ! " 
 
 " Hag ! " cried Montreal, in the reaction of sudden fury and 
 maddened pride, springing up to the full height of his stature. 
 **Hag! thou hast passed the limits to which, remembering who 
 thou art, my forbearance gave thee license. I had well-nigh 
 forgot that thou hadst assumed my part — / am the Accuser ! 
 Woman ! the boy ! shrink not ! equivocate not ! lie not I thou 
 wert the thief ! " 
 
 "I was. Thou taughtest me the lesson how to steal a — " 
 
 " Render — restore him ! " interrupted Montreal, stamping 
 on the ground with such force that the splinters of the marble 
 fragments on which he stood shivered under his armed heel. 
 
 The woman little heeded a violence at which the fiercest 
 warrior of Italy might have trembled ; but she did not make 
 an immediate answer. The character of her countenance 
 altered from passion into an expression of grave, intent, and 
 melancholy thought. At length she replied to Montreal, whose 
 hand had wandered to his dagger-hilt, with the instinct of long 
 habit, whenever enraged or thwarted, rather than from any 
 design of blood ; which, stern and vindictive as he was, he 
 would have been incapable of forming against any woman, — 
 much less against the one then before him. 
 
 " Walter de Montreal," said she, in a voice so calm that it 
 almost sounded like that of compassion, ** the boy, I think, 
 has never known brother or sister : the only child of a once 
 haughty and lordly race, on both sides, though now on both 
 dishonored— nay, why so impad^fit? thou wju %^^\\ icafn ^h« 
 worst — the boy is dc«4 i "* 
 
84 RIENZI, 
 
 ** Dead ! " repeated Montreal, recoiling and growing pale ; 
 "dead! No, no — say not that ! He has a mother, — you know 
 t\e has ! — a fond, meekhearted, anxious, hoping mother ! No j 
 no, he is not dead I " 
 
 " Thou canst feel, then, for r. mother ! " said the old woman, 
 seemin^^ly touched by the tone of the Provenpal. "Yet, be- 
 think thee ; is it not better that the grave should save him from 
 a life of riot, of bloodshed, and crime? Better to sleep with 
 God than to wake with the fiendc ! " 
 
 *' Dead ! " echoed Montreal ; " dead ! the pretty one ! — so 
 young ! those eyes — the mother's eyes — closed so soon ! " 
 
 " Hast thou aught else to say? Thy sight scares my very 
 womanhood from my soul ! Let mc be gone." 
 
 " Dead I May I believe thee? or dost thou mock me? 
 Thou hast uttered /Ay curse, hearken to my warning : If thou 
 hast lied in this, thy last hour shall dismay thee, and thy death- 
 bed shall be the death-bed of despair ! " 
 
 *'Thy lips," replied the female, with a scornful smile, "are 
 better adapted for lewd vows to unhappy maidens, than for the 
 denunciations which sound solemn only when coming from the 
 good. Farewell I " 
 
 " Stay I inexorable woman ! stay ! Where sleeps he ? 
 Masses shall be sung ! priests shall pray ! The sins of the 
 father shall not be visited on that young head ! " 
 
 "At Florence!" returned the woman hastily. "But no 
 stone records the departed ! The dead boy had no name ! " 
 
 Waiting for no further questionings, the woman now passed 
 on, — pursued her way ; and the long herbage, and the winding 
 descent, soon snatched her ill-omened apparition from the 
 desolate landscape. 
 
 Montreal, thus alone, sunk with a deep and heavy sigh upon 
 the ground, covered his face with his hands, and burst into an 
 agony of grief ; his chest heaved, his whole frame trembled, 
 and he wept and sobbed aloud, with all the fearful vehemence 
 of a man whose passions are strong and fierce, but to whom the 
 violence of grief alone is novel and unfamiliar. 
 
 He remained thus, prostrate and unmanned, for a consider- 
 able time, growing slowly and gradually more calm as tears 
 relieved his emotion ; and, at length, rather indulging a gloomy 
 ..everie than a passionate grief. The moon was high and the 
 hour late when he arcr:-, and then few traces of the past ex- 
 citement remained upon his countenance; for Walter de Mon- 
 treal wnsnot of that mould in which woe can force asettlement, 
 or 10 which any aifliction can bxia^ the continued r.nd habitual 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. S$ 
 
 melancholy that darkens those who feel more enduringly, 
 though with emotions less stormy. His were the elements 
 of the true Franc character, though carried to excess : his 
 sternest and his deepest qualities were mingled with fickleness 
 and caprice ; his profound sagacity often frustrated by a 
 whim ; his towering ambition deserted for some frivolous temp- 
 tation ; and his elastic, sanguine, and high-spirited nature, 
 faithful only to the desire of military glory, to the poetry of a 
 daring and stormy life, and to the susceptil^ilities of that tender 
 passion without whose colorings no portrait of chivalry is com 
 plete, and in which he was capable of a sentiment, a tenderness, 
 i'nd a loyal devotion, which could hardly have been supposed 
 compatible with his reckless levity and his undisciplined 
 career. 
 
 "Well," said he, as he rose slowly, folded his mantle round 
 him, and resumed his way, " it was not for myself I grieved 
 thus. But the pang is past, and the worst is known. Now, 
 then, back to those things tliat never die — restless projects and 
 daring schemes. That hag's curse keeps my blood cold still, 
 and this solitude has something in it weird and awful. Ha \ 
 what sudden light is that ? " 
 
 The light which caught Montreal's eye broke forth almost 
 like a star, scarcely larger, indeed, but more red and intense in 
 its ray. Of itself it was nothing uncommon, and might have 
 shone either from convent or cottage. But it streamed from a 
 part of the Aventine which contained no habitations of the 
 living, but only the empty ruins and shattered porticoes of which 
 even the names and memories of the ancient inhabitants were 
 dead. Aware of this, Montreal felt a slight awe (as the beam 
 threw its steady light over the dreary landscape) ; for he was 
 not without the knightly superstitions of the age, and it was 
 now the witching hour consecrated to ghost and spirit. Buf 
 fear, whether of this world or the next, could not long damn: 
 the mind of the hardy freebooter ; and after a short hesitatiolu 
 he resolved to make digression from his way^ and ascertain the 
 cause of the phenomenon. Unconsciously the martial tread 
 of the barbarian passed over the site of the famed, or infamous, 
 Temple of Isis, which had once witnessed those wildest orgies 
 commemorated by Juvenal ; and came at last to a thick and 
 dark copse, from an opening in the ^.entre of which gleamed 
 the mysterious light. Penetrating the gloomy foliage, the Knight 
 now found himself before a large ruin, gray and roofless, from 
 within which came, indistinct and muffled, the sound of voices. 
 ^Through a rent in the wall, forming a kind of casement, ai^ 
 
86 RlENZl. 
 
 about ten feet from the ground, the light now broke over th^ 
 matted and rank soil, embedded, as it were, in vast masses oi 
 shade, and streaming through a mouldering portico hard at 
 hand. The Provencal stood, though he knew it not, on the 
 very place once consecrated by the Temple : the Portico and 
 the Library of Liberty (the first public library instituted in 
 Rome). The wall of the ruin was covered with innumerable 
 creepers and wild brushwood, and it required but little agility 
 on the part of Montreal, by the help of these, to raise himself 
 to the height of the aperture, and, concealed by the luxuriant 
 foliage, to gaze within. He saw a table lighted with tapers, in 
 the centre of which was a crucifix ; a dagger, unsheathed ; an 
 open scroll, which the event proved to be of sacred character ; 
 and a brazen bowl. About a hundred men, in cloaks, and with 
 black vizards, stood motionless around ; and one, taller than 
 the rest, without disguise or mask — whose pale brow and stern 
 features seemed by that light yet paler and yet more stern — 
 appeared to be concluding some address to his companions. 
 
 *' Yes," said he, " in the church of the Lateran I will make 
 the last appeal to the people. Supported by the Vicar of the 
 Pope, myself an officer of the Pontiff, it will be seen that 
 Religion and Liberty — the heroes and the martyrs — are united 
 in one cause. After that time, words are idle : action must be- 
 gin. By this crucifix I pledge my faith, on this blade I devote 
 my life, to the regeneration of Rome ! And you (then no need 
 for mask or mantle !), when the solitary trump is heard, when 
 the solitary horseman is seen, you swear to rally round the 
 standard of the Republic, and resist — with heart and hand, 
 with life and soul, in defiance of death, and in hope of redemp- 
 tion — the arms of the oppressor ! " 
 
 " We swear ! we swear ! " exclaimed every voice : and crowd- 
 ing toward cross and weapon, the tapers were obscured by the 
 intervening throng, and Montreal could not perceive the cere- 
 mony, nor hear the muttered formula of the oath : but he could 
 guess that the rite then common to conspiracies — and which 
 required each cons/trator to shed some drops of his own blood, 
 in token that life itself was devoted to the enterprise — had not 
 been omitted, when, the group again receding, the same figure 
 as before had addressed the meeting, holding on high the bowl 
 with both hands, — while from the left arm, which was bared, 
 the blood weltered slowly, and trickled, drop by drop, upon 
 the ground, — said, in a solemn voice and upturned eyes : 
 
 *' Amidst the ruins of thy temple, O Liberty ! we, Romans, 
 dedicate to thee this libation ! We, befriended and inspired 
 
JHE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 8; 
 
 by no unreal and fabled idols, but by the Lord of Hosts, and 
 Him who, descending to earth, appealed not to emperors and to 
 princes, but to the fisherman and the peasant, — giving to the 
 lowly and the poor the mission of Revelation." Then turning 
 suddenly to his companions, as his features, singularly varying 
 in their character and expression, brightened, from solemn 
 awe, into a martial and kindling enthusiasm, he cried aloud, 
 *' Death to the Tyranny ! Life to the Republic ! " The effect 
 of the transition was startling. Each man, as by an involun- 
 tary and irresistible impulse, laid his hand upon his sword, as 
 ne echoed the sentiment : some, indeed, drew forth their blades, 
 as if for instant action. 
 
 " I have seen enow : they will break up anon," said Montreal 
 io himself : " and I would rather face an army of thousands, 
 than even half a dozen enthusiasts, so enflamed, and I thus 
 detected." And, with this thought he dropped on the ground, 
 and glided away, as once again, through the still midnight air, 
 broke upon his ear the muffled shout, '* Death to the 
 Tyranny ! Life to the Republic ! " 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 "Ogni Lascivia, ogni male, nulla giustizia, nullo freno. Non c'era piu 
 remedia, ogni persona periva. Allora Cola di Rienzi," etc. — Fiia di Cola 
 di Kienzi, lib. i. chap. 2. 
 
 •'Every kind of lewdness, every form of evil; no justice, no restraint. 
 Remedy there was none ; perdition fell on all. Then Cola di Rienzi/' etc. 
 Life of Cola di Rienzi, 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 •/?HE knight of PROVENCE, AND HIS PROPOSAL. 
 
 It was nearly noon as Adrian entered the gates of the palace 
 of Stephen Colonna. The palaces of the nobles were not then as 
 we see them now, receptacles for the immortal canvas of Italian, 
 and the imperishable sculpture of Grecian, Art ; but still tq 
 
88 RIENZf, 
 
 this day are retained the massive walls, and barred windows, 
 and spacious courts, which at that time protected their rude re- 
 tainers. High above the gates rose a lofty and solid tower, 
 whose height commanded a wide view of the mutilated remains 
 of Rome ; the gate itself was adorned and strengthened on 
 cither side by columns of granite, whose Doric capitals be- 
 rayed the sacrilege that had torn them from one of the many 
 .emples that had formerly crowded the sacred Foruo. From 
 he same spoils came, too, the vast fragments of travertine* 
 vhich made the walls of the outer court. So common at that 
 :ay were these barbarous appropriations of the most precious 
 nonuments of art, that the columns and domes of earlier Rome 
 v''ere regarded by all classes but as quarries, from which every 
 nan was free to gather the materials, whether for his castle or 
 his cottage, — a wantonness of outrage far greater than the 
 Goths', to whom a later age would fain have attributed all the 
 disgrace, and which, more perhaps than even heavier offences, 
 excited the classical indignation of Petrarch, and made him 
 sympathize with Rienzi in his hopes of Rome. Still may you 
 see the churches of that, or even earlier, dates, of the most 
 shapeless architecture, built on the nites, and from the marbles, 
 consecrating (rather than consecrated by) the names of Venus, 
 of Jupiter, of Minerva. The palace of the Prince of the Orsini, 
 duke of Gravina, is yet reared above the graceful arches, still 
 visible, of the theatre of Marcellus; then a fortress of the 
 Savelli. 
 
 As Adrian passed the court, a heavy wagon blocked up 
 the way, laden with huge marbles, dug from the unexhausted 
 mine of the Golden House of Nero ; they were intended for 
 an additional tower, by which Stephen Colonna proposed yet 
 more to strengthen the tasteless and barbarous edifice in 
 vvhich the old noble maintained the dignity of outraging the law. 
 
 The friend cf Petrarch and the pupil of Rienzi sighed deeply 
 
 .iS he passed this vehicle of new spoliations, and as a pillar of 
 
 ' uted alabaster, rolling carelessly from the wagon, fell with a 
 
 oud crash upon the pavement. At the foot of the stairs 
 
 grouped some dozen of the bandits whom the old Colonna en- 
 
 rertained : they were playing at dice upon an ancient tomb, 
 
 he clear and deep inscription on which (so different from the 
 
 slovenly character of the later empire) bespoke it a memorial 
 
 of the most powerful age of Rome, and vvhich now empty even 
 
 of ashes, and upset, served for a tabic to these foreign savages, 
 
 'nd was strewn, even at thai early hour, with fragments of 
 
 ♦*uat u,ad flasks of wine. They ixarcely stirred, they scarcely 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. $9 
 
 looked up, as the young noble passed them ; and their fierce 
 oaths and loud ejaculations, uttered in a northern patois^ 
 grated harsh upon his ear as he mounted, with a slow step, 
 the lofty and unclean stairs. He came into a vast ante-cham- 
 ber, which was half filled with the higher class of the patrician's 
 retainers ; so^ne five or six pages, chosen from the inferior no- 
 blesse, congregated by a narrow and deep sunk casement, were 
 discussing the grave matters of gallantry and intrigue ; three 
 petty chieftains of the band below, with their corselets donned, 
 and their swords and casques beside them, were sitting, stolid 
 and silent, at a table in the middle of the room, and might 
 have been taken for automatons, save for the solemn regularity 
 with which they ever and anon lifted to their moustachioed lips 
 their several goblets, and then, with a complacent grunt, re-set- 
 tled to their contemplations. Striking was the contrast which 
 their northern phlegm presented to a crowd of Italian clients, 
 and petitioners, and parasites, who walked restlessly to and fro, 
 talking loudly to each other, with all the vehement gestures and 
 varying physiognomy of southern vivacity. There was a gen- 
 eral stir and sensation as Adrian broke upon this miscellaneous 
 company. The bandit captains nodded their heads mechanic- 
 ally ; the pages bowed, and admired the fashion of his plume 
 and hose ; the clients, and petitioners, and parasites, crowded 
 round him, each with a separate request for interest with his 
 potent kinsman. Great need had Adrian of his wonted urban- 
 ity and address, in extricating himself from their grasp ; and 
 painfully did he win, at last, the low and narrow door, at which 
 stood a tall servitor, who admitted or rejected the applicants, 
 according to his interest or caprice. 
 
 "Is the Baron alone. ^" asked Adrian. 
 
 ** Why, no, my lord ; a foreign signor is with him — but to 
 you he is of course visible." 
 
 *' Well, you may admit me. I would inquire of his health." 
 
 The servitor opened the door — through whose aperture 
 peered many a jealous and wistful eye — and consigned Adrian 
 to the guidance of a page, who, older and of greater esteem 
 than the loiterers in the ante-room was the especial henchman 
 of the Lord of the Castle. Passing another, but empty cham- 
 ber, vast and dreary, Adrian found himself in a small cabinet, 
 and in the presence of his kinsman. 
 
 Before a table bearing the implements of writing sate the old 
 Colonna ; a rol)e of ricli furs and velvet hung loose upon his 
 tall nnd stately frame ; from a round skull-cap, of comforting 
 warmth and crimson hue, a few gray locks descended, and 
 
go RlENZtp 
 
 mixed with a long and reverent beard The countenance of the 
 aged noble, who bad long passed his eigluieth year, still re- 
 tained the traces of a comeliness for which in earlier man- 
 hood he was remarkable. His eyes, if deep sunken, were still 
 keen and lively^ and sparkled with all the fire of youth; his 
 mouth curved upward in a pleasant, though half-satiric, smib .; 
 and his appearance on the whole was prepossessing and core." 
 manding, indicating rather tlie higii blood, the shrewd wit, and 
 the gallant valor of the patrician, than his craft, hypocrisy, anc? 
 habitual but disdainful spirit of oppression. 
 
 Stephen Colonna, without being absolutely a hero, was ir.-a 
 deed far braver than most of the Romans, though he held fast 
 to the Italian maxim, never to fight an enemy while it is possible 
 to cheat him. Two faults, however, marred the effect of hi^ 
 sagacity : a supreme insolence of disposition, and a profound 
 belief in the lights of his experience. He was incapable of 
 analogy. What had never happened in his time, he was perfect- 
 ly persuaded never could happen. Thus, though generally 
 esteemed an able diplomatist, he had the cunning of the in- 
 triguant, and not the providence of a statesman. If, however, 
 pride made him arrogant in prosperity, it supported him in 
 misfortune. And in the earlier vicissitudes of a life which had 
 partly been consumed in exile, he had developed many noble 
 qualities of fortitude, endurance, and real greatness of soul ; 
 which showed that his failings were rather acquired by circum- 
 stance than derived from nature. His numerous and high 
 born race were proud of their chief ; and with justice ; for he 
 was the ablest and most honored, not only of the direct branch of 
 the Colonna, but also, perhaps, of all the more powerful barons. 
 
 Seated at the same table with Stephen Colonna was a mar 
 of noble presence, of about three or four and thirty years of age 
 in whom Adrian instantly recognized Walter de Montreal. Thir 
 celebrated knight was scarcely of the personal appearance which 
 might have corresponded with the terror his name generally 
 excited. His face was handsome, almost to the extreme of 
 womanish delicacy. His fair hair waved long and freely over 
 a white and unwrinkled forehead : the life of a camp and the 
 suns of Italy had but little embrowned his clear and healthful 
 complexion, which retained mucli of the bloom of yout!i„ His 
 features were aquilmc and regular; his eyes, of a light hazel, 
 were large, bright, and penetrating ; and a short, but curled 
 beard and moustachio, trimmed with soldicr-like precision, and 
 very little darker than the hair, gave indeed a martial expression 
 to his comely countenance, but rather the expre^sip^ which r ^eht 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 9t 
 
 have suited the hero of courts and tournaments, than the chief 
 of a brigand's camp. The aspect, manner, and bearing, of the 
 Provencal were those which captivate rather than awe ; blend- 
 ing, as they did, a certain military frankness with the easy 
 and graceful dignity of one conscious of gentle birth, and ac<. 
 customed to mix, on equal terms, with the great and noble, 
 His form happily contrasted and elevated the character oC .. 
 countenance which required strength and stature to free its un- 
 common beauty from the charge of effeminacy, being of grea 
 height and remarkable muscular power, without the least 
 approach to clumsy and unwieldy bulk : it erred, indeed, rather 
 to the side of leanness than flesh, — at once robust and slender. 
 But the chief personal distinction of this warrior, the most 
 ledoubted lance of Italy, was an air and carriage of chivalric 
 and heroic grace, greatly set off at this time by his splendid 
 dress, which was of brown velvet sown with pearls, over which 
 hung the surcoat worn by the Knight of the Hospital, whereon 
 was wrought, in white, the eight-pointed cross that made the 
 badge of his order. The Knight's attitude was that of earnest 
 conversation, bending slightly forward towards the Colonna, 
 and resting both his hands — which (according to the usual dis- 
 tinction of the old Norman race * from whom, though born in 
 Provence, Montreal boasted his descent) were small and delicate, 
 the fingers being covered with jewels, as was the fashion of the 
 day — upon the golden hilt of an enormous sword, on the sheath 
 of which was elaborately wrought the silver lilies that made the 
 device of the Provencal Brotherhood of Jerusalem. 
 
 '* Good, morrow, fair kinsman ! " said Stephen. "Seat thy- 
 self, I pray ; and know in this knightly visitor the celebrated 
 Sieur de Montreal." 
 
 " All, my lord," said Montreal, smiling, as he saluted Adrian ; 
 '''and how is my lady at home ?" 
 
 ** You mistake, Sir Knight," quoth Stephen ; " my young 
 'dnsman is not yet married : 'faith, as Pope Boniface remarked 
 when he lay stretched on a sick bed, and his confessor talked 
 to him about Abraham's bosom, * that is a pleasure the greater 
 tor being deferred.' " 
 
 " The Signor will pardon my mistake," returned Mon- 
 treal. 
 
 "But not," said Adrian, "the neglect of Sir Walter in not 
 ascertaining the fact in person. My thanks to him, noble kins- 
 
 _ * Small hands and feet, however disproportioned to rfie rest of the person, were at that 
 time deemed no less a distinction of the well-born than they have been in a more refined 
 age. Many readers will remember the pain occasioned to Petrarch by his tight shoes. Th© 
 supposed beauty of this peculiarity is more derived from the feudal than £he classic tim^ 
 
92 RIENZ!, 
 
 man, are greater than you vveet of ; and he promised to visit me^ 
 that he might receive them at leisure." 
 
 "I assure you, Signor," answered Montreal, "that I have 
 not forgotten the invitation ; but so weighty hitherto have been 
 my affairs at Rome, that I have been obliged to parley with my 
 impatience to better our acquaintance." 
 
 "Oh, ye knew each other before?" said Stephen. **And 
 how?" 
 
 " My lord, there is a damsel in the case ! " replied Montreal. 
 ** Excuse my silence." 
 
 "Ah, Adrian, Adrian ! when will you learn my continence !" 
 said Stephen, solemnly stroking his gray beard. "What an 
 example I set you ! But a truce to this light conversation, — 
 let us resume our theme. You must know, Adrian, that it is 
 to the brave band of my guest I am indebted for those valiant 
 gentlemen below, who keep Rome so quiet, though my poor 
 habitation so noisy. He has called to proffer more assistance, 
 if need be ; and to advise me on the affairs of Northern Italy. 
 Continue, I pray thee, Sir Knight ; I have no disguises from 
 my kinsman." 
 
 "Thou seest," said Montreal, fixing his penetrating eyes on 
 Adrian, "thou seest, doubtless, my lord, that Italy at this 
 moment presents to us a remarkable spectacle. It is a contest 
 between two opposing powers, which shall destroy the other. 
 The one power is that of the unruly and turbulent people — a 
 power which they call * Liberty'; the other power is that of 
 the chiefs and princes — a power which they more appropriately 
 call 'Order.' Between these parties the cities of Italy are 
 divided. In Florence, in Genoa, in Pisa, for instance, is es- 
 tablished a Free State — a Republic, God wot ! and a more 
 riotous, unhappy state of government cannot well be imagined." 
 
 "That is perfectly true," quoth Stephen; "they banished 
 my own first cousin from Genoa." 
 
 " A perpetual strife in short," continued Montreal, " be 
 tween the great families ; an alternation of prosecutions, and 
 confiscations, and banishments : to-day the Guelfs proscribe 
 the Ghibellines ; to-morrow the Ghil3ellines drive out the 
 Guelfs. This may be liberty, but it is the liberty of the 
 strong against the weak. In the other cities, as Milan, as 
 Verona, as Bologna, the people are under the rule of one man, 
 who calls himself a prince, and whom his enemies call a tyrant. 
 Having more force than any other citizen, he preserves a firm 
 government ; having more constant demand on his intellect and 
 energies than the other citizens, he also preserves a wise one; 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 9^ 
 
 These two orders of government are enlisted against each 
 other : whenever the people in the one rebel against theii 
 prince, the people of the other — that is, the free States— send 
 arms and money to their assistance." 
 
 " You hear, Adrian, how wicked those last are," quoth 
 Stephen. 
 
 *' Now it seems to me," continued Montreal, ''that this con- 
 test must end some time or other. All Italy must become re- 
 publican or monarchical. It is easy to predict which will be 
 the result." 
 
 " Yes, Liberty must conquer in the end ! " said Adrian 
 warmly. 
 
 " Pardon me, young lord ; my opinion is entirely the re- 
 verse. You perceive that these republics are commercial, are 
 traders ; they esteem wealth, they despise valor, they cultivate 
 ail trades save that of the armorer. Accordingly, how do 
 they maintain themselves in war? By their own citizens? 
 Not a v.'hit of it ! Either they send to some foreign chief, 
 and promiscj if he grant them his protection, the principality 
 of the city for five or ten years in return ; or else they bor- 
 row from some hardy adventurer, like myself, as many troops 
 as they can afford to pay for. Is it not so, Lord Adrian?" 
 
 Adrian nodded his reluctant assent. 
 
 *' Well, then, it is the fault of the foreign chief if he do 
 not make his power permanent ; as has been already done in 
 States once free by the Visconti and the Scala : or else it is 
 the fault of the ca.ptain of the mercenaries if he do not con- 
 vert his brigands into senators, and himself into a king. These 
 are events so natural, that one day or other they will occur 
 throughout all Italy. And all Italy will then become mo- 
 narchical. Now it seems to me the interest of all the powerful 
 families — your own, at Rome, as that of the Visconti at Milan — 
 to expedite this epoch, and to check, while you yet may with 
 ea^e, that rebellious contagion amongst the people which is 
 now rapidly spreading, and which ends in the fever of license 
 to them, but in the corruption of death to you. In these free 
 States, the nobles are the first to suffer : first your priviliges, 
 then your property, are swept away. Nay, in Florence, as ye 
 well know, my lords, no noble is even capable of holding the 
 meanest office in the State ! "' 
 
 *' Villains ! " said Colonna,, "they violate the first law of 
 nature ! " 
 
 "At this moment,'" resumed \fonlreal, who, engrossed with 
 k\% «wb,)^f:t. lit^% b«fdf^ <He ioterruptions he received from the 
 
94 RIENZI, 
 
 holy indignation of the Baron: "at this moment, there are 
 many — the wisest, perhaps, in the free States — who desire to 
 renew the old Lombard leagues, in defence of their common free- 
 dom everywhere, and against whosoever shall aspire to be prince 
 Fortunately, the deadly jealousies between these merchan*- 
 States, the base plebeian jealousies, more of trade than of glory, 
 interpose at present an irresistible obstacle to this design ; and 
 Florence, the most stirring and the most esteemed of all, is 
 happily so reduced by reverses of commerce as to be utterly 
 unable to follow out so great an undertaking. Now, then, is 
 the time for us, my lords ; while these obstacles are so great for 
 our foes, now is the time for us to form and cement a counter- 
 league between all the princes of Italy. To you, noble Stephen, 
 I have come as your rank demands, — alone, of all the barons 
 of Rome, — to propose to you this honorable union. Observe 
 what advantages it proffers to your house. The popes have 
 abandoned Rome forever ; there is no counterpoise to your 
 ambition ; there need be none to your power. You see before 
 you the examples of Visconti and Taddeodi Pepoli. You may 
 found in Rome, the first city of Italy, a supreme and un- 
 controlled principality, subjugate utterly your weaker rivals, — 
 the Savelli, the Malatesta, the Orsini, — and leave to your sons' 
 sons an hereditary kingdom that may aspire once more, per- 
 haps, to the empire of the world." 
 
 Stephen shaded his face with his hands as he answered : 
 *' But this, noble Montreal, requires means — money and men." 
 
 *' Of the last you can command from me enow ; my small 
 company, the best disciplined, can (whenever I please) swell 
 to the most numerous in Italy : in the first, noble Baron, the 
 rich House of Colonna cannot fail ; and even a mortgage 
 Dn its vast estates may be well repaid when you have possessed 
 yourselves of the whole revenues of Rome. You see," con- 
 tinued Montreal, turning to Adrian, in whose youth he ex- 
 pected a more warm ally than in his hoary kinsman : " you 
 see, at a glance, how feasible is this project, and what a mighty 
 field it opens to your House." 
 
 ** Sir Walter de Montreal," said Adrian, rising from his 
 seat, and giving vent to the indignation he had with difficulty 
 suppressed, **I grieve much that, beneath the roof of the first 
 citizen of Rome, a stranger should attempt thus calmly, and 
 without interruption, to excite the ambition of emulating the 
 execrated celebrity of a Visconti or a Pepoli. Speak, my 
 lord! (turning to Stephen) - speak, noble kinsman! and tell 
 Ihii Knighi of Pr9v«fif.et that if by « Colonnft the ancient 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 95 
 
 grandeur of Rome cannot be restored, it shall not be, at least, 
 by a Colonna that her last wrecks of liberty shall be swept 
 a.vay." 
 
 " How now, Adrian ! how now, sweet kinsman ! " said 
 Stephen, thus suddenly appealed to, "calm thyself, I pry thee. 
 Noble Sir Walter, he is young — young, and hasty — he means 
 not to offend thee," 
 
 "Of that I am persuaded," returned Montreal coldly, but 
 with great and courteous command of temper. " He speaks 
 from the impulse of the moment — a praiseworthy fault in 
 youth. It was mine at his age, and many a time have I nearly 
 lost my life for the rashness. Nay, Signor, nay ! touch not 
 your sword so meaninr;ly, as if you fancied I intimated a 
 :hrCcit ; far from me such presumption. I have learned suf- 
 Bcicnt caution, believe me, in the wars, not wantonly to draw 
 against me a blade which I have seen wielded against such 
 odds." 
 
 Touched, despite himself, by the courtesy of the Knight, 
 and the allusion to a scene in which, perhaps, his life had been 
 preserved by Montreal, Adrian extended his hand to the latter. 
 
 " I v/as to blame for my haste," said he frankly ; *' but 
 know, by my very heat," he added more gravely, " that your 
 ;)roject will find no friends among the Colonna. Nay, in the 
 presence of my noble kinsman, I dare to tell you, that could even 
 his higli sanction lend itself to such a scheme, the best hearts 
 of his house would desert him ; and I myself, his kinsman, 
 would man yonder castle against so unnatural an ambition ! " 
 
 A slight and scarce perceptible cloud passed over Montreal** 
 countenance at these words ; and he bit his lip ere he replied : 
 
 " Yet if the Orsini be less scrupulous, their first exertion of 
 power would be heard in the crashing house of the Colonna." 
 
 *' Know you," returned Adrian, that one of our mottoes is 
 this haughty address to the Romans, * If we fall, ye fall also ' ? 
 And better that fate, than a rise upon the wrecks of our native 
 city." 
 
 " Well, well, well ! " said Montreal, reseating himself, " I see 
 that I must leave Rome to herself ; the League must thrive 
 without her aid. I did but jest touching the Orsini, for they 
 have not the power that would make their efforts safe. Let us 
 sweep, then, our past conference from our recollection. It is 
 the nineteenth, I think. Lord Colonna, on which you propose 
 to repair to Corneto, with your friends and retainers, and on 
 which you have invited my attendance ?" 
 
 " It is on that day, Sir Knight," replied the Baron, evidently 
 
^e RIENZI, 
 
 much relieved by the turn the conversation had assumed. 
 "The fact is that we have been so charged with indifference to 
 the interests of the good people, that I strain a point in this 
 expedition to contradict the assertion ; and we propose, there- 
 fore, to escort and protect, against the robbers of the road, a 
 convoy of corn to Corneto. In truth, I may add another 
 reason, besides fear of the robbers, that makes me desire as 
 numerous a train as possible. I wish to show my enemies, and 
 the people generally, the solid and growing power of iny house 
 the display of such an armed band as I hope to levy will be '. 
 magnificent occasion to strike awe into the riotous and refrac- 
 tory. Adrian, you will collect your servitors, I trust, on tha^ 
 day ; we would not be without you." 
 
 *' And as we ride along, fair signor," said Montreal, inclm- 
 ing to Adrian, " we will find at least one subject on which we 
 can agree : all brave men and true knights have one common 
 topic, — and its name is Woman. You must make me ac- 
 quainted with the names of the fairest dames of Rome ; and vve 
 will discuss old adventures in the Parliament of Love, and hope 
 for new. By the v;ay, I suppose, Lord Adrian, you, with the 
 rest of your countrymen, are Petrarch-stricken?" 
 
 ** Do you not share our enthusiasm ? Slur not so your gallan- 
 try, I pray you,'* 
 
 " Come, we must not again disagree ; but, by my halidame 
 I think one troubadour roundel worth all that Petrarch ever 
 wrote. He has but borrowed from our knightly poesy, to dis- 
 guise it like a carpet coxcomb." 
 
 " Well," said Adrian gaily, " for every line of the trouba- 
 dours that you quote I will cite you another. I will forgive 
 you for injustice to Petrarch, if you are just to the trouba- 
 dours." 
 
 " Just ! " cried Montreal, with real enthusiasm : " I am of 
 the land, nay, the very blood, of the troubadour ! But we 
 grow too light for your noble kinsman ; and it is time for me 
 to bid you, for the present, farewell. My Lord Colonna, peace 
 be with you ; farewell, Sir Adrian, brother mine in knighthood, — 
 remember your challenge." 
 
 And with an easy and careless grace the Knight of St. John 
 took his leave. The old Baron, making a dumb sign of excuse 
 to Adrian, followed Montreal into the adjoining room. 
 
 " Sir Knight ! " said he, *' Sir Knight ! " as he closed the door 
 upon Adrian, and then drew Montreal to the recess of the 
 casement, "a word in your ear. Think not I slight your offer, 
 *^ut these young men must be managed , the plot is great, no* 
 
 I 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 97 
 
 ble, grateful to my heart, but it requires time and caution. I 
 
 have many of my house, scrupulous as yon hot-skull, to win 
 over ; the way is pleasant, but must be sounded well and care- 
 fully ; you understand ? " 
 
 From under his bent brows Montreal darted one keen glance 
 at Stephen, and then answered : 
 
 " My friendship for you dictated my offer. The League may 
 stand without the Colonna ; beware a time when the Colonna 
 cannot stand without the League. My lord, look v/ell around 
 you ; there are more freemen — ay, bold and stirring ones, too — 
 in Rome, than you imagine. Beware Rienzi 1 Adieu, we 
 meet soon again." 
 
 Thus saying, Montreal departed, soliloquizing as he passed 
 with his careless step through the crowded ante-room : 
 
 *' I shall fail here ! these caitiff nobles have neither the cour- 
 age to be great, nor the wisdom to be honest. Let them fall ! 
 I may find an adventurer from the people, an adventurer like 
 myself, worth them all." 
 
 No sooner had Stephen returned to Adrian than he flung his 
 arms affectionately round his ward, who was preparing his 
 pride for some sharp rebuke for his petulance. 
 
 *' Nobly feigned, admirable, admirable !" cried the Baron; 
 "you have learned the true art of a statesman at the Empe- 
 ror's court. I always thought you would, always said it. You 
 saw the dilemma I was in, thus taken by surprise by that bar- 
 barian s mad scheme ; afraid to refuse, more afraid to accept. 
 You extricated me with consummate address : that passion, so 
 natural to your age, was a famous feint ; drew off the attack ; 
 gave me time to breathe ; allowed me to play with the savage. 
 But we must not offend him, you know : all my retainers would 
 desert me, or sell me to the Orsini, or cut my throat, if he but 
 held up his finger. Oh ! it was admirably managed, Adrian, 
 admirably ! " 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! ** said Adrian, with some difficulty re- 
 covering the breath which his astonishment had taken away, 
 "you do not think of embracing that black proposition ? " 
 
 " Think of it I no, indeed I " said Stephen^ throwing himself 
 back on his chair. " V/hy, do you not know my age, boy? 
 Hard on my ninetieth year, I should be a fool indeed tc throw 
 myself into such a whirl of turbulence and agitation. I want 
 want to keep what I have, not risk it by grasping more. Am I 
 rot the beloved of the Pope ? shall I hazard his excommunica- 
 tion ? Am I not the most powerful of the nobles? should I be 
 more if I were a kinp- ^ At my age to talk to me of such stuff [ 
 
^S feiEi^zt, 
 
 the man*s an idiot. Besides," added the old man, sinking his 
 voice, and looking fearfully round, *'if I were a king my sons 
 might poison me for the succession. They are good lads, 
 Adrian, very ! But such a temptation ! I would not throw it 
 in their way ; these gray hairs have experience ! Tyrants 
 don't die a natural death ; no, no ! Plague on the Knight, say 
 I ; he has already cast me into a cold sweat." 
 
 Adrian gazed on the working features of the old man, whose 
 selfishness thus preserved him from crime. He listened to his 
 concluding words, full of the dark truth of the times ; and as 
 the high and pure ambition of Rienzi flashed upon him in con- 
 trast, he felt that he could not blame its fervor, or wonder at its 
 excess. 
 
 "And then, too," resumed the Baron, speaking more deliber- 
 ately as he recovered his self-possession, "this man, by way of 
 a warning, shows me, at a glance, his whole ignorance of the 
 state. What think you ? he has mingled with the mob, and 
 taken their rank breath for power ; yes, he thinks words are 
 soldiers, and bade me — me, Stephen Colonna — beware — of 
 whom, think you ? No, you will never guess ! of that speech- 
 maker, Rienzi ! my own old jesting guest ! Ha i ha ! ha ! the 
 ignorance of these barbarians ! ha ! ha ! ha ! " and the old 
 man laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. 
 
 " Yet many of the nobles fear that same Rienzi," said Adrian 
 gravely, 
 
 "Ah ! let them ! let them ! they have not our experience, 
 our knowledge of the world, Adrian. Tut, man, when did decla- 
 mation ever overthrow castles, and conquer soldiery ? I like 
 Rienzi to harangue the mob about old Rome, and such stuff ; 
 it gives them something to think of and prate about, and so all 
 their fierceness evaporates in words ; they might burn a house 
 if they did not hear a speech. But, now I am on that score, I 
 must own the pedant has grown impudent in his new otifice ; 
 here, here, I received this paper ere I rose to-day. I hear a 
 similar insolence has been shown to all the nobles. Read it, 
 will you," and the Colonna put a scroll into his kinsman's 
 hand. 
 
 " I have received the like," said Adrian, glancing at it. 
 " It is a request of Rienzi's to attend at the Church of St. John 
 of Lateran, to hear explained the inscription on a Table just 
 discovered. It bears, he saith, the most intimate connection 
 with the welfare and state of Rome." 
 
 "Very entertaining, I dare to say, to professors and book- 
 men. Pardon me, kinsman ; I forgot your taste for these 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 99 
 
 things ; and my son, Gianni, too, shares your fantasy. Well, 
 well ! it is innocent enough ! Go ; the man talks well." 
 
 " Will you not attend too ? " 
 
 " I, my dear boy — I ! " said the old man Colonna, opening 
 his eyes in such astonishment that Adrian could not help laugh- 
 ing at the simplicity of his own question. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW, AND THE DOUBT, 
 
 As Adrian turned from the palace of his guardian and bent 
 his way in the direction of the Forum, he came somewhat un- 
 expectedly upon Raimond, Bishop of Orvietto, who, mounted 
 upon a low palfrey, and accompanied by some three or four of his 
 waiting-men, halted abruptly when he recognized the young 
 noble. 
 
 " Ah, my son ! it is seldom that I see thee : how fares it with 
 thee ? well ? So, so ! I rejoice to hear it. Alas ! what a state 
 of society is ours, when compared to the tranquil pleasures of 
 Avignon ! There all men who, like us, are fond of the same 
 pursuits, the same studies, delicire musarum^ hum ! hum ! (the 
 Bishop was proud of an occasional quotation, right or wrong), 
 are brought easily and naturally together. But here we scarce- 
 ly dare stir out of our houses, save upon great occasions. But 
 talking of great occasions and the Muses reminds me of our 
 good Rienzi's invitation to the Lateran : of course, you will at- 
 tend ; 'tis a mighty knotty piece of Latin he proposes to solve; 
 so I hear, at least ; very interesting to us, my son, very." 
 
 " It is to-morrow," answered Adrian. "Yes, assuredly; I 
 will be there." 
 
 *' And, harkye, my son," said the Bishop, resting his hand 
 affectionately on Adrian's shoulder, " I have reason to hope 
 that he will remind our poor citizens of the Jubilee for the 
 year Fifty, and stir them towards clearing the road of the 
 brigands : a necessary injunction, and one to be heeded time- 
 ously ; for who will come here for absolution when he stands 
 a chance of rushing unannealed upon purgatory by the way ? 
 You have heard Rienzi, — ay ? quite a Cicero — ay ! Well, 
 Heaven bless you, my son ! you will not fail ?'* 
 
 ** Nay, not I." 
 
 ^ V«t it«y I ft wor4 with ^ou ; just suggest to all whom yo« 
 
roO RIENZI, 
 
 may meet the advisability of a full meeting ; it looks well foi 
 the city to show respect to letters." 
 
 " To say nothing of the Jubilee/' :idded Adrian, smiling. 
 
 " Ah, to say nothing of the Jubilee — very good ! Adieu for 
 the present ! " And the Bishop, resettling himself on his sad- 
 dle, ambled solemnly on to visit his various friends, and press 
 them to the meeting. 
 
 Meanv/hile Adrian continued his course till he had passed 
 the Capitol, the Arch of Severus, the crumbling colunins of 
 the fane of Jupiter, and found himself amidst the long grass, 
 the whispering reeds, and the neglected vines, that \/ave over 
 the now-vanished pomp of the Golden Hou^e of Nero. Seat- 
 ing himself on a fallen pillar, by that spot where the traveller de- 
 scends to the (so called) Baths of Livia, he looked impatiently 
 to the sun, as to blame it for the slowness of its march- 
 
 Not long, however, had he to wait before a light step was 
 heard crushing the fragrant grass ; and presently through the 
 arching vines gleamed a face that might well have seemed the 
 nymph, the goddess of the scene. 
 
 " My beautiful ! my Irene ! how shall I thank thee ? " 
 
 It was long before the delighted lover suffered himself to ob- 
 serve upon Irene's face a sadness that did not usually cloud it 
 in his presence. Her voice, too, trembled ; her words seemed 
 constrained and cold. 
 
 " Have I offended thee ? " he asked ; " or what less misfor- 
 tune hath occurred ! " 
 
 Irene raised her eyes to her lover's, and said, looking at him 
 earnestly, *' Tell me, my lord, in sober and simple truth, tell 
 me, would it grieve thee much were this to be our last 
 meeting ?" 
 
 Paler than the marble at his feet grew the dark cheek of 
 Adrian. It was some moments ere he could reply, and he did 
 so then with a forced smile and a quivering lip. 
 
 " Jest not so, Irene ! Last ! that is not a word for us ! " 
 
 **But hear me, my lord — " 
 
 " Why so cold ? Call me Adrian ! — friend ! — lover I or be 
 dumb ! " 
 
 *' Well, then, my soul's soul ! my all of hope ! my life's 
 life I " exclaimed Irene passionately, ** hear me ! I fear that 
 we stand at this moment upon some gulf whose depth I seenot^ 
 but which may divide us forever ! Thou knowest the real 
 nature of my brother, and dost not misread him as many do. 
 Long has he nldnncdi, and .schemed, and cotnmuned with him- 
 Iflf, knd, feeling hU way amidst the people, prepared the patli 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. lOf 
 
 to some great design. But now — (thou wilt not betray ; thou 
 wilt not injure him ? he is thy friend I) " 
 
 " And thy brother ! I would give my life for his ! Say on! " 
 
 *'But now, then," resumed Irene, "the time for that enter- 
 prise, whatever it be, is coming fast. I know not of its exact 
 nature, but I know that it is against the nobles — against thy 
 order — against thy house itself ! If it succeed, — oh, Adrian ! 
 thou thyself mayst not be free from danger ; and my name, at 
 least, will be coupled with the name of thy foes. If it fail, 
 my brother, my bold brother, is swept away ! He will fall a 
 victim to revenge or justice, call it as you will. Your kinsman 
 may be his judge — his executioner ; and I — even if I should yet 
 live to mourn over the boast and glory of my humble line — could 
 I permit myself to love, to see, one in whose veins flowed the 
 blood of his destroyer ? Oh ! I am wretched, wretched ! 
 these thoughts make me well-nigh mad ! " and, wringing her 
 hands bitterly, Irene sobbed aloud. 
 
 Adrian himself was struck forcibly by the picture thus pre- 
 sented to him, although the alternative it embraced had often 
 before forced itself dimly on his mind. It was true, however, 
 that, not seeing the schemes of Rienzi backed by any physical 
 power, and never yet having witnessed the mighty force of 
 a moral revolution, he did not conceive that any rise to which 
 he might instigate the people could be permanently successful: 
 and, as for his punishment, in that city, where all justice was 
 the slave of interest, Adrian knew himself powerful enough to 
 obtain forgiveness even for the greatest of all crimes — armed 
 insurrection against the nobles. As these thoughts recurred 
 to him, he gained the courage to console and cheer Irene. 
 But his efforts were only partially successful. Awakened by 
 her fears to that consideration of the future which hitherto 
 she had forgotten, Irene, for the first time, seemed deaf to the 
 uharmer's voice. 
 
 "Alas ! " said she sadly, "even at the best, what can this 
 .ove, that we have so blindly encouraged, what can it end in ? 
 Thou must not wed with one like me ; and I ! how foolish I 
 have been ! " 
 
 " Recall thy senses then, Irene," said Adrian proudly, part- 
 Jy perhaps in anger, partly in his experience of the sex. 
 " Love another, and more wisely, if thou wilt ; cancel thy 
 vows with me, and continue to think it a crime to love, and a 
 folly to be true ! " 
 
 " Cruel ! " said Irene falteringly, and in her turn alarmed 
 ** Dost thou speak in earnest ? " 
 
I02 RIENZr, ' 
 
 ** Tell me, ere I answer you, tell me this : come death, comd 
 anguish, come a whole life of sorrow, as the end of this love, 
 wouldst thou yet repent that thou hast loved ? If so, thou 
 knowest not the love that I feel for thee." 
 
 "Never! never can I repent!" said Irene, falling upon 
 Adrian's neck ; '* forgive me ! " 
 
 " But is there, in truth," said Adrian, a little while after this 
 lover-like quarrel and reconciliation, "is there, in truth, so 
 marked a difference between thy brother's past and his present 
 bearing ? Hov/ knowest thou that the time for action is so 
 near ?" 
 
 " Because now he sits closeted whole nights with all ranks of 
 men ; he shuts up his books, he reads no more ; but, when 
 alone, walks to and fro his chamber, muttering to himself. 
 Sometimes he pauses before the calendar, which of late he has 
 fixed with his own hand against the wall, and passes his finger 
 over the letters, till he comes to some chosen date, and then he 
 plays with his sword and smiles. But two nights since, arms, 
 too, in great number were brought to the house ; and I heard 
 the chief of the men who brought them — a grim giant, known 
 well amongst the people — say, as he wiped his brow, * These 
 will see work soon ! ' " 
 
 "Arms? Are you sure of that?" said Adrian anxiously. 
 " Nay, then, there is more in these schemes than I imagined ! 
 But (observing Irene's gaze bent fearfully on him as his voice 
 changed, he added, more gaily) — but come what may, believe 
 me, my beautiful ! my adored ! that while I live, thy brother 
 shall not suffer from the wrath he may provoke, nor I, though 
 he forget our ancient friendship cease to love thee less." 
 
 '* Signora ! Signora ! child ! it is time ! we must go ! " said 
 the shrill voice of Benedetta, now peering through the foliage 
 *' The working-men pass home this way ; I see them approach" 
 ing. 
 
 The lovers parted ; for the first time the serpent had pene- 
 trated into their Eden ; they had conversed, they had thoughtj 
 ©f other things than Love. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SITUATION OF A POPULAR PATRICIAN IN TIMES OF POPU- 
 LAR DISCONTENT. SCENE OF THE LATERAN. 
 
 The situation of a patrician who honestly loves the people 
 iSy in those evil times when power oppresses and freedom 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I03 
 
 Struggles, — when the two divisions of men are wrestling against 
 each other, — the most irksome and perplexing that destiny 
 can possibly contrive. Shall he take part with the nobles? he 
 betrays his conscience ! With the people ? he deserts his 
 friends. But that consequence of the last alternative is not 
 the sole, nor, perhaps, to a strong mind, the most severe. All 
 men are swayed and chained by public opinion ; it is the public 
 judge ; but public opinion is not the same for all ranks. The 
 public opinion that excites or deters the plebeian is the opinion 
 of the plebeians, — of those whom he sees, and meets, and 
 knows ; of those with whom he is brought in contact ; those 
 with whom he has mixed from childhood ; those whose praises 
 are daily heard ; whose censure frowns upon him with every hour.* 
 So, also, the public opinion of the great is the opinion of their 
 equals, — of those whom birth and accident cast forever in their 
 way. This distinction is full of important practical deduce 
 tions ; it is one which, more than most maxims, should nevei 
 be forgotten by a politician who desires to be profound. It is> 
 then, an ordeal terrible to pass, which few plebeians ever pass> 
 which it is therefore unjust to expect patricians to cross unfal- 
 teringly ; the ordeal of opposing the public opinion which 
 exists for them. They cannot help doubting their own judg- 
 ment ; they cannot help thinking the voice of wisdom or of 
 virtue speaks in those sounds which have been deemed oracles 
 from their cradle. In the tribunal of Sectarian Prejudice they 
 imagine they recognize the court of the universal Conscience. 
 Another powerful antidote to the activity of a patrician so 
 placed, is in the certainty that to the last the motives of such 
 activity will be alike misconstrued by the aristocracy he deserts 
 and the people he joins. It seems so unnatural in a man to 
 fly in the face of his own order, that the world is willing to sup- 
 pose any clue to the mystery save that of honest conviction 
 or lofty patriotism, " Ambition ! " says one. *' Disappoint- 
 ment ! " cries another. *' Some private grudge ! "hints a third. 
 " Mob-courting vanity !" sneers a fourth. The people admire 
 at first, but suspect afterwards. The moment he thwarts a 
 popular wish there is no redemption for him ; he is accused of 
 having acted the hypocrite — of having worn the sheep's fleece : 
 
 * It is the same in still smaller divisions. The public opinion for lawyers is that of law- 
 yers ; of soldiers, that of the army ; of scholars, it is that of men of literature and science. 
 And to the susceptible amongst the latter, the hostile criticism of learning has been more 
 stinging than the severest moral censures of the vulgar. Manyfa man has done a great act: 
 or composed a great work, solely to please the two or three persons constantly present to 
 him. Their voice was his public opinion. I'he public opinion that operated on Bishop, the 
 rr-rderer, was the opinion of the Burkers. his comrades. Did that condemn him ? No! 
 1> . knew no other public opinion till he came to be hanged and caught the loathing eye% 
 gnd heard the hissing exeoations, ©f the crowd below his gibbet. 
 
104 RIENZI, 
 
 and now, say tliey, ** See ! the wolfs teeth peep out ? *' Is Tie 
 
 familiar with the people ? it is cajolery ! Is he distant? it ia 
 pride ! What, then, sustains a man in such a situation, followmg 
 his own conscience, with his eyes open to all the perils of the 
 path r Away with the cant of public opinion ; away with the 
 poor delusion of posthumous justice ; he will offend the first, 
 he will never obtain the last. What sustains him ? His owy 
 SOUL ! A man thoroughly great has a certam contempt for 
 his kind while he aids them : their weal or woe are all their 
 applause, their blame, are nothing to him. He walks forth from 
 the circle of birth and habit ; he is deaf to the little motives ot 
 little men. High, through the widest space his orbit may de- 
 scribe, he holds on his course to guide or to enlighten ; but the 
 noises below reach him not ! Until the wheel is broken; until 
 the dark void swallow up the star, it makes melody night and 
 day, to his own ear : thirsting for no sound from the earth it 
 illumines, anxious for no companionship in the path through 
 which it rolls, conscious of its own glory, and contented, there- 
 fore, to be alo7ie ! 
 
 But minds of this order areTaTe. All ages cannot produce 
 them. They are exceptions to the ordinary and human virtue, 
 which is influenced and regulated by external circumstance. 
 At a time when to be merely susceptible to the voice of fame 
 was a great pre-eminence in moral energies over the rest of 
 mankind, it would be impossible that any one should ever have 
 formed the conception of that more refined and metaphysical 
 sentiment, that purer excitement to high deeds, that glory in 
 one's own heart, which is so immeasurably above the desire of 
 a renown that lackeys the heels of others. In fact, before v/e 
 can dispense with the world, we must, by a long and sever 
 novitiate ; by the probation of much thought, and much sor 
 row, by deep and sad conviction of the vanity of all that the 
 world can give us, have raised ourselves — not iw the fervor oi 
 an hour, but habitually — above the world : an abstraction — ar. 
 idealism — which, in our wise age, how few even of the wisest 
 can attain ! Yet, till we are thus fortunate, we know not the 
 true divinity of contemplation, nor the all-sufficing mightiness 
 of conscience ; nor can we retreat with solemn footsteps into 
 that Holy of Holies in our own souls, wherein we know, and 
 feel, how much our nature is capable of the self-existence of a 
 God ! 
 
 But to return to the tilings and thoughts of earth. Those 
 considerations, and those links of circumstance, which in a 
 similar situation have changed so many honest and courageous 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 105 
 
 minds, changed also the mind of Adrian. He felt in a false 
 position. His reason and conscience shared in the schemes of 
 Rienzi, and his natural hardihood and love of enterprise would 
 have led him actively to share the danger of their execution. 
 But this, all his associations, his friendships, his private and 
 household ties, loudly forbade. Against his order, against his 
 iiouse, against the companions of his youth, how could he plot 
 secretly, or act sternly? By the goal to which he was impelled 
 by patriotism, stood hypocrisy and ingratitude. Who would 
 relieve him the honest champion of his country who was a 
 traitor to his friends ? Thus, indeed, 
 
 ** The native hue of resolution 
 Was sickled o'er with the pale cast of thought ^ '* 
 
 And he who should have been by nature a leader of the time 
 became only its spectator. Yet Adrian endeavored to console 
 himself for his present passiveness in a conviction of the policy 
 of his conduct. He who takes no share in the commencement 
 of civil revolutions can often become, with the most effect, a 
 mediator between the passions and the parties subsequently 
 formed. Perhaps, under Adrian's circumstances, delay was 
 really the part of a prudent statesman ; the very position which 
 cripples at the first, often gives authority before the end. Clear 
 from the excesses, and saved from the jealousies, of rival fac- 
 tions, all men are willing to look with complaisance and respect 
 to a new actor in a turbulent drama ; his moderation may make 
 him trusted by the people ; his rank enable him to be a fitting 
 mediator with the nobles ; and thus the qualities that would 
 ha^e rendered him a martyr at one period of the revolution, 
 raise him perhaps into a saviour at another. 
 
 Silent, therefore, and passive, Adrian waited the progress of 
 events. If the projects of Rienzi failed, he might by that in- 
 activity the better preserve the people from new chains, and 
 their champion from death. If those projects succeeded, he 
 might equally save his house from the popular wrath, and, ad- 
 vocating liberty, check disorder. Such, at least, were his hopes ; 
 and thus did the Italian sagacity and caution of his character 
 ::ontrol and pacify the enthusiasm of youth and courage. 
 
 The sun shone calm and cloudless upon the vast concourse 
 gathered before the broad space that surrounds the Church of 
 St. John of Lateran. Partly by curiosity, partly by the desire of 
 the Bishop of Orvietto, partly because it was an occasion in 
 which they could display the pomp of their retinues, many of 
 the principal Barons of Rome had gathered to this spot, 
 
I06 RIENZI, 
 
 On one of the steps ascending to the church, with his mantle 
 folded round him, stood Walter de Montreal, gazing on the vari- 
 ous parties that, one after another, swept through the lane which 
 the soldiers of the Church preserved unimpeded, in the middle 
 of the crowd, for the access of the principal nobles. He 
 watched with interest, though with his usual carelessness of air 
 and roving glance, the different marks and looks of welcome 
 given by the populace to the different personages of note. Ban- 
 ners and pennons preceded each signor, and, as they waved 
 aloft, tlie witticisms or nicknames — the brief words of praise or 
 censure, that imply so much — which passed to and fro among 
 that lively crowd, were treasured carefully in his recollection. 
 
 " Make way, there ! way for my Lord Martino Orsini — 
 Baron di Porto ! " 
 
 " Peace, minion ! draw back ! way for the Signor Adrian 
 Colonna, Baron di Castello, and Knight of the Empire." 
 
 And at those two rival shouts, you saw waving on high the 
 golden bear of the Orsini, with the motto, "Beware my em- 
 brace ! " and the solitary column on an azure ground, of the 
 Colonna, with Adrian's especial device, ** Sad, but strong." 
 The train of Martino Orsini was much more numerous than 
 that of Adrian, which last consisted but of ten servitors. But 
 Adrian's men attracted far greater admiration amongst the 
 crowd, and pleased more the experienced eye of the warlike 
 Knight of St. John. Their arms were polished like mirrors ; 
 their height was to an inch the same ; their march was regular 
 and sedate ; their mien erect ; they looked neither to the right 
 nor left ; they betrayed that ineffable discipline — that harmony 
 of order — which Adrian had learned to impart to his men dur- 
 ing his own apprenticeship of arms. But the disorderly train of 
 the Lord of Porto was composed of men of all heights. Their 
 arms were ill-polished and ill-fashioned, and they pressed con- 
 fusedly on each other ; thej; laughed and spoke aloud ; and in 
 iheir mien and bearing expressed all the insolence of men who 
 despised alike the master they served and the people they awed. 
 The two bands coming unexpectedly on each other through 
 this narrow defile, the jealousy of the two houses presently de- 
 clared itself. Each pressed forward for the precedence ; and, 
 as the quiet regularity of Adrian's train, and even its compac- 
 paucity of numbers, enabled it to pass before the servitors of 
 his rival, the populace set up a loud shout, " A Colonna for- 
 ever ! " " Let the Bear dance after the Column ! " 
 
 " On, ye knaves ! " said Orsini aloud to his men. " How 
 h*ve ye suffered this affront.?" And passing himself to the 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 16j^ 
 
 head of his men, he would have advanced through the midst of 
 his rival's train, had not a tall guard, in the Pope's livery, 
 placed his baton in the way. 
 
 "Pardon, my lord ! we have the Vicar's express commands 
 to suffer no struggling of the different trains one with an- 
 other." 
 
 "Knave ! dost thou bandy words with me ?" said the fierce 
 Orsini ; and with his sword he clove the baton in two. 
 
 "In the Vicar's name, I command you to fall back ! '* said 
 the sturdy guard, now placing his huge bulk in the very front 
 of the noble's path. 
 
 "It is Cecco del Vecchio !" cried those of the populace who 
 were near enough to perceive the interruption and its cause. 
 
 "Ay," said one, " the good Vicar has put many of the stout- 
 est fellows in the Pope's livery, in order the better to keep 
 peace. He could have chosen none better than Cecco." 
 
 " But he must not fall ! " cried another, as Orsini, glaring on 
 the smith, drew back his sword as if to plunge it through his 
 bosom. 
 
 " Shame ! shame ! shall the Pope be thus insulted in his own 
 city?" cried several voices. "Down with the sacrilegious — 
 down ! " And, as if by a preconcerted plan, a whole body of 
 the mob broke at once through the lane, and swept like a tor- 
 rent over Orsini and his jostled and ill-assorted train. Orsini 
 himself was thrown on the ground with violence, and trampled 
 upon by a hundred footsteps ; his men, huddled and struggling 
 as much against themselves as against the mob, were scattered 
 and overset ; and when, by a great effort of the guards, headed 
 by the smith himself, order was again restored and the line re- 
 formed, Orsini, well-nigh choked with his rage and humiliation, 
 and greatly bruised by the rude assaults he had received, 
 could scarcely stir from the ground. The officers of the Pope 
 raised him, and, when he was on his legs, he looked wildly 
 I around for his sword, which, falling from his hand, had been 
 ' kicked amongst the crowd, and seeing it not, he said, between 
 his ground teeth, to Cecco del Vecchio : 
 
 " Fellow, thy neck shall answer this outrage, or may Goc 
 desert me!" and passed along through the space; while a 
 half-suppressed and exultant hoot from the bystanders followed 
 his path. 
 
 " Way there I " cried the smith, " for the Lord Martino di 
 Porto, and may all the people know that he has threatened to 
 take my life for the discharge of my duty in obedience to the 
 Pope's Vicar I " 
 
I08 RIENZI, 
 
 "He dare not ! " shouted out a thousand voices ; the people 
 can protect their own ! " 
 
 This scene had not been lost on the Proven9al, who well 
 knew how to construe the wind by the direction of straws, and 
 saw at once, by the boldness of the populace, that they them- 
 selves were conscious of a coining tempest. " Par Dieu" said 
 he, as he saluted Adrian, who, gravely, and without looking 
 behind, had now won the steps of the church, "yon tall fellow 
 has a brave heart, and many friends, too. What think you," he 
 added, in a low whisper, " is not this scene a proof that the 
 nobles are less safe than they wot of?" 
 
 " The beast begins to kick against the spur, Sir Knight," 
 answered Adrian ; *' a wise horseman should, in such a case, 
 take care how he pull the rein too tight, lest the beast should 
 rear, and he be overthrown ; yet that is the policy thou wouldst 
 recommend." 
 
 " You mistake," returned Montreal ; " my wish was to give 
 Rome one sovereign instead of many tyrants ; but hark ! what 
 means that bell?" 
 
 '* The ceremony is about to begin," answered Adrian. " Shall 
 we enter the church together ?" 
 
 Seldom had a temple consecrated to God witnessed so 
 singular a spectacle as that which now animated the solemn 
 space of the Lateran. 
 
 In the centre of the church seats were raised in an amphi- 
 theatre, at the far end of which was a scaffolding, a little higher 
 than the rest ; below this spot, but high enough to be in sight 
 of all the concourse, was placed a vast table of iron, on which 
 was graven an ancient inscription, and bearing in its centre a 
 clear and prominent device, presently to be explained. 
 
 The seats were covered with cloth and rich tapestry. In the 
 rear of the church was drawn a purple curtain. Around the 
 amphitheatre were the officers of the Church, in the party-col' 
 ored liveries of the Pope. To the right of the scaffold sate 
 Raimond, Bishop of Orvietto, in his robes of state. On the 
 benches round him you saw all the marked personages of Rome: 
 the judges, the men of letters, the nobles, from the lofty rank 
 of the Savelli to the inferior grade of a Raselli. The space be- 
 yond the amphitheatre was filled with people, who now poured 
 fast in, stream after stream ; all the while rang, clear and loud, 
 the great bell of the church. 
 
 At length, as Adrian and Montreal seated themselves at r. 
 little distance from Raimond, the bell suddenly ceased, the 
 murmurs of the people were stilled, the purple curtain was 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. IO9 
 
 Withdrawn, and Rienzi came forth with slow and majestic 
 steps. He came, but not in his usual sombre and plain attire. 
 Over his broad breast he wore a vest of dazzling whiteness ; ? 
 long robe, in the ample fashion of the toga, descended to his 
 feet and swept the floor. On his head he wore a fold of white 
 cloth, in the centre of which shone a golden crown. But the 
 crown was divided, or cloven, as it were, by the mystic orna- 
 ment of a silver sword, which, attracting the universal atten- 
 tion, testified at once that this strange garb was worn, not from 
 fhe vanity of display, but for the sake of presenting to the con- 
 course — in tlie person of the citizen — a type and emblem of 
 (hat state of the city on which he was about to descant. 
 
 " Faith !" whispered one of the old nobles to his neighbor, 
 'the plebeian assumes it bravely." 
 
 " It will be rare sport," said a second. " I trust the good 
 man will put some jests in his discourse." 
 
 " What showman's tricks are these ?" said a third. 
 
 *' He is certainly crazed ! " said a fourth, 
 
 " How handsome he is ! " said the women mixed with the 
 populace. 
 
 "This is a, man who has learned the people by heart," ob- 
 served Montreal to Adrian. ** He knows he must speak to the 
 eye, in order to win the mind : a knave, a wise knave ! " 
 
 And now Rienzi had ascended the scaffold ; and as he looked 
 long and steadfastly around the meeting, the high and thought, 
 ful repose of his majestic countenance, its deep and solemn 
 gravity, hushed all the murmurs, and made its effect equally 
 felt by the sneering nobles as the impatient populace. 
 
 " Signors of Rome," said he at length, **and ye, friends and 
 
 citizens, you have heard why we are met together this day ; 
 
 '".nd, you, my Lord Bishop of Orvietto, — and ye, fellow-laborers 
 
 with me in the field of letters, ye, too, are aware that it is upon 
 
 ome matter relative to that ancient Rome, the rise and the 
 
 decline of whose past power and glories we have spent our 
 
 outh in endeavoring to comprehend. But this, believe me, is 
 
 ;.o vain enigma of erudition, useful but to the studious, — re- 
 
 -^rring but to the dead. Let the past perish ! Let darkness 
 
 Jiroud it I — let it sleep forever over the crumbling temples and 
 
 desolate tombs of its forgotten sons, — if it cannot afford us, 
 
 from its disburied secrets, a guide for the present and the 
 
 future. What, my lords, ye have thought that it was for the 
 
 sake of antiquity alone that we have wasted our nights and days 
 
 in studying what antiquity can teach us ! You are mistaken ; 
 
 it is nothing to know wh*t w« h#vf bcem «pJ**« i% i^ wuh th« 
 
no KIENZT, 
 
 desire of knowing that which we ought to be. Our ancestorg 
 are mere dust and ashes, save when they speak to our poster- 
 ity ; and then their voices resound, not from the earth below, 
 but the heaven above. There is an eloquence in Memory, be- 
 cause it is the nurse of Hope. There is a sanctity in the Past, 
 but only because of the chronicles it retains, — chronicles of 
 the progress of mankind, — stepping-stones in civilization, in 
 liberty, and in knowledge. Our fathers forbid us to recede, 
 they teach us what is our rightful heritage ; they bid us reclaim, 
 they bid us augment that heritage, — preserve their virtues, and 
 avoid their errors. These are the true uses of the past. Like 
 the sacred edifice in which we are, it is a tomb upon which to 
 rear a temple. I see that you marvel at this long beginning ; 
 ye look to each other — ye ask to what it tends. Behold this 
 broad plate of iron ; upon it is graven an inscription but 
 lately disinterred from the heaps of stone and ruin, which, — 
 O shame to Rome ! — were once the palaces of empire, and the 
 arches of triumphant power. The device in the centre of the 
 table, which you behold, conveys the act of the Roman Sena- 
 tors, who are conferring upon Vespasian the imperial authori- 
 ty. It is this inscription which I have invited you to hear read ! 
 It specifies the very terms and limits of the authority thus con- 
 ferred. To the Emperor was confided the power of making 
 laws and alliances with whatsoever nation, of increasing or 
 of diminishing the limits of towns and districts ; of — mark 
 this, my lords I — exalting men to the rank of dukes and kings, — 
 ay, and of deposing and degrading them ; of making cities 
 and of unmaking ; in short of all the attributes of imperial 
 power. Yes, to that Emperor was confided this vast authority; 
 but by whom ? Heed, listen, I pray you — let not a word be 
 Irst ; by whom, I say ? By the Roman Senate ! What was 
 the Roman Senate ? The representative of the Roman 
 People! " 
 
 "I knew he would come to that!" said the smith, who 
 stood at the door with his fellows, but to whose ear, clear and 
 distinct, rolled the silver voice of Rienzi. 
 
 " Brave fellow ! and this, too, in the hearing of the lords ! ** 
 
 " Ay, you see what the people were ; and we should never 
 have known this but for him." 
 
 ** Peace, fellows ! " said the officer to those of the crowd 
 from whom came these whispered sentences. ^ 
 
 Rie^nzi continued : *' Yes, it is the people who inixusted this 
 powof — to the people, therefore, it belongs!" Did the 
 ARUjjht^ EmpetQt Arrogate the Grf^wni' Could he assume th« 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. Ill 
 
 authority of himself? Was it bom with him ? Did he derive 
 it, my Lord Barons, from the possession of towered castles — 
 of lofty lineage ? No ! all-powerful as he was, he had no right 
 to one atom of that power, save from the voice and trust of 
 the Roman people. Such, O my countrymen ! such was, even 
 at that day, when Liberty was but the shadow of her former 
 self, — such was the acknowledged prerogative of your fathers ! 
 All power was the r;ift of the people. What have ye to give 
 now ? Who, who, I say, — what single person, what petty 
 chief, asks you for the authority he assumes ? His senate is 
 his sword ; his chart of license is written, not with ink, but 
 blood. The people ! there is no people ! Oh ! would to God 
 that we might disentomb the spirit of the Past as easily as her 
 records ! " 
 
 " If I were your kinsman," whispered Montreal to Adrian, 
 " I would give this man short breathing-time between his pero- 
 ration and confession." 
 
 "What is your Emperor?" continued Rienzi ; " a stranger! 
 What the great head of your Church ? an exile ! Ye are 
 without your lawful chiefs ; and why ? Because ye are 
 not without your law-defying tyrants ! The license of your 
 nobles, their discords, their dissensions, have driven our Holy 
 Father from the heritage of St. Peter ; they have bathed your 
 streets in your own blood ; they have wasted the wealth of 
 your labors on private quarrels and the maintenance of hire- 
 ling rufhans ! Your forces are exhausted against yourselves. 
 You have made a mockery of your country, once the mistress 
 of the world. You have steeped her lips in gall ; ye have set 
 a crown of thorns upon her head ! What, my lords ! " cried 
 he, turning sharply round towards the Savelli and Orsini, who, 
 endeavoring to shake off the thrill which the fiery eloquence of 
 Rienzi had stricken to their hearts, now, by contemptuous 
 gestures and scornful smiles, testified the displeasure they dit. 
 not dare loudly to utter in the presence of the Vicar and the 
 people. " What ! even while I speak— not the sanctity of this 
 place restrains you ! I am an humble man — a citizen of Rome ; 
 but I have this distinction : I have raised against myself many 
 foes and scoffers for that which I have done for Rome. I am 
 hated, because I love my country ; I am despised, because I 
 would exalt her. I retaliate — I shall be avenged. Three trai- 
 tors in your own palaces shall betray you ; their names are- 
 Luxury, Envy, and Dissension ! " 
 
 *' There he had them on the hip ! " 
 
 ** Ha I ha ! by the Holy Cross, that was good ! " 
 
112 RIENZl, 
 
 " I would go to the hangman for such another keen stroke as 
 that." 
 
 "It is a shame if 7£/^ are cowards, when one man is thus 
 brave," said the smith. 
 
 *'This is the man we have always wanted ! '* 
 
 *' Silence ! " prochiimed the officer. 
 
 *' O Romans !" resunied Rienzi passionately; "awake! I 
 conjr.re vou ! Let this memorial of your former power — your 
 ancient liberties — sink deep into your souls. In a propitious 
 rjour, if ye seize it — in an evil one, if ye suffer the golden on 
 portunity to escape — has this record of the past been unfolded 
 to your eyes. Recollect that the Jubilee appioaches." 
 
 The Bishop of Orvietto smiled, and bowed npprovingly ; the 
 people, the citizens, the inferior nobles, noted well those signs 
 of encouragement ; and, to their minds, the Pope himself, in 
 the person of his Vicar, looked benignly on the daring of 
 Rienzi. 
 
 "The Jubilee approaches ; the eyes of all Christendom will 
 be directed hither. Here, where, from ail quarters of the globe, 
 men come for peace, shall they find discord ? seeking absolu- 
 tion, shall they perceive but crime? In the centre of God's 
 dominion, shall they weep at your weakness ? in the seat of the 
 martyred saints, shall they shudder at your vices ? in the foun- 
 tain and source of Christ's law, shall they find all law unknown ? 
 You were the glory of the world; will you be its by-word? 
 You were its example; will you be its warning? Rise, while 
 it is yet time ! clear your roads from the bandits that infest 
 them ! your walls from the hirelings that they harbor ! Banish 
 these civil discords, or the men — how proud, how great, soever — 
 who maintain them ! Pluck the scales from the hand of 
 Fraud ! the sword from the hand of Violence ! The balance 
 and the sword are the ancient attributes of Justice ! — restore 
 them to her again ! This be your high task ; these be your 
 great ends ! — Deem any man who opposes them a traitor to his 
 country. Gain a victory greater than those of the Caesars — ?. 
 victory over yourselves ! Let the pilgrims of the wo»-ld behold 
 the resurrection of Rome ! Make one epoch of the Jubilee of 
 Religion and the Restoration of Law! Lay the sacrifice of 
 your vanquished passions — the first fruits of your renovated 
 liberties — upon the very altar that these walls contain ! and 
 never ! oh, never ! since the world began, shall men have made 
 a more grateful offering to their God 1 " 
 
 So intense was the sensation these words created in the 
 audience ; so breathless and overpowered did they Uave the 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. II5 
 
 souls which they took by storm ; that Rienzi had descended 
 the scaffold, and already disappeared behind the curtain from 
 which he had emerged, ere the crowd were fully aware that he 
 had ceased. 
 
 The singularity of this sudden apparition — robed in myste- 
 rious splendor, and vanishing the moment its errand was ful- 
 filled — gave additional effect to the words it had uttered. The 
 whole character of that bold address became invested with a 
 something preternatural and inspired ; to the minds of the vul- 
 gar the mortal was converted into the oracle ; and, marvelling 
 at the unhesitating courage with which their idol had rebuked 
 and conjured the haughty barons, — each of whom they re- 
 garded in the light of sanctioned executioners, whose anger 
 could be made manifest at once by the gibbet or the axe, — the 
 people could not but superstitiously imagine that nothing less 
 than authority from above could have gifted their leader with 
 such hardihood, and preserved him from the danger it incurred. 
 In fact, it was in this very courage of Rienzi that his 
 safety consisted ; he was placed in those circumstances where 
 audacity is prudence. Had he been less bold, the nobles would 
 have been more severe ; but so great a license of speech in an 
 officer of the Holy See, they naturally imagined was not unau- 
 thorized by the assent of the Pope, as well as by the approba- 
 tion of the people. Those who did not (like Stephen Colonna) 
 despise words as wind, shrank back from the task of punishing 
 one whose voice might be the mere echo of the wishes of the 
 pontiff. The dissensions of the nobles among each other were 
 no less favorable to Rienzi. He attacked a body, the members 
 of which had no union. 
 
 "It is not my duty to slay him ! " said one. 
 
 "I am not the representative of the barons!" said 
 another. 
 
 *' If Stephen Colonna heeds him not, it would be absurd, as 
 well as dangerous, in a meaner man to make himself the cham- 
 pion of the order ! '* said a third. 
 
 Then Colonna smiled approval when Rienzi denounced an 
 Orsini ; an O^sini laughed aloud when the eloquence burst over 
 a Colonna. The lesser nobles were well pleased to hear attacks 
 upon both : while, on the other hand, the Bishop, by the long 
 impunity of Rienzi, had taken courage to sanction the conduct 
 of his fellow-officer. He affected, indeed, at times, to blame 
 the excess of his fervor, but it was always accompanied by the 
 praises of his honesty ; and the approbation of the Pope's Vicar 
 confirmed the impression of the nobles as to the approbation 
 
114 RIENZr, 
 
 of the Pope. Thus from the very rashness of his enthusiasnj 
 had grown his security and success. 
 
 Still, however, when the barons had a little recovered from 
 the stupor into which Rienzi had cast them, they looked round 
 to each other ; and their looks confessed their sense of the 
 insolence of the orator, and the affront offered to themselves. 
 
 ^' Per fede ! " quoth Reginaldo di Orsini, " this is past bear- 
 ing ; the plebeian has gone too far ! " J 
 
 " Look at the populace below ! how they murmur and gape ;. 
 and how their eyes sparkle ; and what looks they bend at us!" 
 said Luca di Savellito his mortal enemy, Castruccio Malatesta; 
 the sense of a common danger united in one moment, but only 
 for EL moment, the enmity of years. 
 
 " Diavolo ! " muttered Raselli (Nina's father) to a baron, 
 equally poor, ** but the clerk has truth in his lips. 'Tis a pity 
 he is not noble." 
 
 " What a clever brain marred ! " said a Florentine merchant. 
 "That man might be something if he were sufficiently rich." 
 
 Adrian and Montreal were silent : the first seemed lost in 
 thought; the last was watching the various effects produced 
 upon the audience. 
 
 " Silence ! " proclaimed the officers. " Silence, for my Lord 
 Vicar." 
 
 At this announcement every eye turned to Raimond, who, 
 rising with much clerical importance, thus addressed the 
 assembly : 
 
 ** Although, Barons and Citizens of Rome, my well-beloved 
 flock, and children, I, no more than yourselves, anticipated the 
 exact nature of the address ye have just heard ; and albeit I 
 cannot feel unalloyed contentment at the manner, nor, I niay 
 say, at the whole matter of that fervent exhortation ; ir/ (laying 
 great emphasis on the last word), I cannot suffer you to depart 
 without adding to the prayers of our Holy Father's servant, 
 those, also, of his Holiness's spiritual representative. It is 
 true ! the Jubilee approaches ! The Jubilee approaches ; and 
 jret our roads, even to the gates of Rome, are infested with 
 murderous and godless ruffians ! What pilgrim can venture 
 across the Apennines to worship at the altars of St. Peter? 
 The Jubilee approaches : what scandal shall it be to Rome if 
 these shrines be without pilgrims ! if the timid recoil from, if 
 the bold fall victims to, the dangers of the way ! Wherefore, 
 I pray you all, citizens and chiefs alike, — I pray you all to lay 
 aside those unhappy dissensions which have so long consumed 
 the strength of our sacred city , and, uniting with each othei 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. Ilg 
 
 in the ties of amity and brotherhood, to form a blessed league 
 against the marauders of the road. I see amongst you, my 
 lords, many of the boasts and pillars of the state ; but, alas ! 
 I think with grief and dismay on the causeless and idle hatred 
 that has grown up between you ! — a scandal to our city, and re- 
 flecting, let me add, my lords, no honor on your faith as Chris- 
 tians, nor on your dignity as defenders of the Church." 
 
 Amongst the inferior nobles; along the seats of the judges 
 and the men of letters ; through the vast concourse of the peo- 
 ple — ran a loud murmur of approbation at these words. The 
 greater barons looked proudly, but not contemptuously, at the 
 countenance of the prelate, and preserved a strict and unre- 
 vealing silence. 
 
 " In this holy spot," continued the Bishop, "let me beseech 
 you to bury those fruitless animosities which have already cost 
 enough of blood and treasure ; and let us quit these walls with 
 one common determination to evince our courage and display 
 our chivalry only against our universal foes — those ruffians who 
 lay waste our .fields, and infest our public ways ; the foes alike 
 of the people we should protect, and the God whom we should 
 serve ! " 
 
 The Bishop resumed his seat ; the nobles looked at each 
 other without reply ; the people began to whisper loudly 
 among themselves ; when, after a short pause, Adrian di Cas- 
 tello rose. 
 
 " Pardon me, my lords, and you, reverend father, if I, inex- 
 perienced in years and of little mark or dignity amongst you, 
 presume to be the first to embrace the proposal we have just 
 heard. Willingly do I renounce all ancient cause of enmity 
 with any of my compeers. Fortunately for me, my long ab- 
 sence from Rome has swept from my remembrance the feuds 
 and rivalries familiar to my early youth ; and in this noble 
 conclave I see but one man (glancing at Martino di Porto, 
 who sat sullenly looking down) against whom I have, at any 
 time, deemed it a duty to draw my sword ; the gage that I 
 once cast to that noble is yet, I rejoice to think, unredeemed. 
 I withdraw it. Henceforth my only foes shall be the foes of 
 Rome ! " 
 
 " Nobly spoken ! " said the Bishop, aloud. 
 " And," continued Adrian, casting down his glove amongst 
 the nobles, "I throw, my lords, the gage, thus resumed, 
 amongst you all^ in cliallenge to A wider rivalry, and a more 
 noble field. I "i^ivite any Uian to V'i'e with me in the «eal that 
 4i« *H^4 %h^^^ tft restore traftquiUuy to our rotds» tnd order to 
 
Il6 RIENZI, 
 
 our State. It is a contest in which, if I be vanquished with 
 reluctance, I will yield the prize without envy. In ten days 
 from this time, reverend Father, I will raise forty horsemen-at- 
 arms, ready to obey whatever orders shall be agreed upon for 
 the security of the Roman vState. And you, O Romans, dis- 
 miss, I pray you, from your minds, tliose eloquent invectives 
 against your fellow-citizens which ye have lately heard. All 
 of us, of what rank soever, may have shared in the excesses of 
 these unhappy times ; let us endeavor, not to avenge nor to 
 imitate, but to reform and to unite. And may the people 
 Hereafter find, that the true boast of a patrician is, that his 
 power the better enables him to serve his country." 
 
 "Brave words !" quoth the smith sneeringly. 
 
 "If they were all like him ! " said the smith's neighbor. 
 
 " He has helped the nobles out of a dilemma," said Pandulfo. 
 
 "He has shown gray wit under young hairs," said an aged 
 Malatesta. 
 
 "You have turned the tide, but not stemmed it, noble 
 Adrian," whispered the ever-boding Montreal, as, amidst the 
 murmurs of the general approbation, the young Colonna re- 
 sumed his seat. 
 
 "How mean you?" said Adrian. 
 
 "That your soft words, like all patrician conciliations, have 
 come too late." 
 
 Not another noble stirred, though they felt, perhaps, dis- 
 posed to join in the general feeling of amnesty, and appeared, 
 by signs and whispers, to applaud the speech of Adrian. They 
 were too habituated to the ungracefulness of an unlettered 
 pride, to bow themselves to address conciliating language 
 either to the people or their foes. And Raimond, glancing 
 round, and not willing that their unseemly silence should be 
 long remarked, rose at once, to give it the best construction i"^ 
 his power. 
 
 '*My son, thou hast spoken as a patriot and a Christian ; by 
 the approving silence of your peers we all feel that they share 
 your sentiments. Break we up the meeting ; its end is ob- 
 tained. The manner of our proceeding against the leagued 
 robbers of the road requires maturer consideration elsewhere. 
 This day shall be an epoch in our history." 
 
 "It shall," quoth Cecco del Vecchio gruffly, between his 
 teeth. 
 
 "Children^ my 1 lessing uj^3on you all!'' concludcu the 
 Vicar, sprc.idiiig his arms. 
 
 And m * fev' 44*jiaute? morft th; rowd poured itom tht 
 
TME LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ttf 
 
 church. The different : ervitors and flag-bearers ranged them- 
 selves on the steps without, each train anxious for their 
 master's precedence ; and the nobles, gravely collecting in 
 small knots, in the which was no mixture of rival blood, fol- 
 lowed the crowd down the aisles. Soon rose again the din, 
 and the noise, and the wrangling, and the oaths, of the hostile 
 bands, as, with pain and labor, the Vicar's officers marshalled 
 them in ''order most disorderly " 
 
 But so true were Montreal's words to Adrian, that the popr- 
 lace already half forgot the young noble's generous appeal, 
 and were only bitterly commenting on the ungracious silence 
 of his brother lords. What, too, to them was this crusade 
 against the robbers of the road? They blamed the good 
 Bishop for not saying boldly to the nobles : " Ve are the first 
 robbers we must march against ! " The popular discontents 
 had gone far beyond palliatives ; they had arrived at that 
 point when the people longed less for reform than change 
 There are times when a revolution cannot be warded off ; it 
 must come — come alike by resistance or by concession. Woe 
 to that race in v/hich a revolution produces no fruits ! in 
 which the thunderbolt smites the high place, but does not 
 purify the air I To suffer in vain is often the lot of the noblesi 
 individuals : but when a People suffer in vain, let them curse 
 themselves ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE AMBITIOUS CITIZEN, AND THE AMBITIOUS SOLDIER. 
 
 The Bishop of Orvietto lingered last, to confer with Rienzl, 
 who awaited him in the recesses of the Lateran. Raimond 
 had the penetration not to be seduced into believing that the 
 Jate scene could effect any reformation amongst the nobles, hea* 
 their divisions, or lead them actively against the infestors of the 
 Campagna. But, as he detailed to Rienzi all that had occurred 
 "ubsequent to the departure of that hero of the scene, he »-ou- 
 cluded with saying : 
 
 "You will perceive from this, one good result v»^ill be pro- 
 duced : the first armed dissension — the first fray among the 
 nobles — will seem like a breach of promise ; and, to the people 
 and to the Pope, a reasonable excuse for despairing of all 
 amendment amongst the Barons — an excuse which will sanction 
 xhe efforts of the first, and the approval of the last." 
 
 *'For such a fray we shall net long wait." answered Rienzi, 
 
"I believe the prophecy," answered Raimond, smiling; ^'at 
 present all runs well. Go you with us homeward ?" 
 
 " Nay, I think it better to tarry Iicrc till the crowd is en- 
 tirely dispersed ; for if they were to sec me, in their present 
 excitement, they might insist on some rash and hasty enter- 
 prise. Besides, my lord," added Rienzi, *Svith an ignorant 
 people, however honest and enthusiastic, this rule must be 
 rigidly observed — stale not your presence by custom. Neve. 
 may men like me, who have no external rank, appear amongst 
 the crowd, save on those occasions when the mind is itself 
 a rank." 
 
 "That is true, as you have no train," answered Raimond, 
 thinking of his own well-liveried menials. ''Adieu, then! we 
 shall meet soon." 
 
 *'Ay, at Philippi, my lord. Reverend Father, your bless- 
 ing ^ " 
 
 It was some time subsequent to this conference that Rienzi 
 
 quitted the sacred edifice. As he stood on the steps of the 
 church — now silent and deserted — the hour that precedes the 
 brief twilight of the South lent its magic to the view. There 
 he beheld the sweeping arches of the mighty Aqueduct extend- 
 ing far along the scene, and backed by the distant and purpled 
 hills. Before, to the right, rose the gate which took its Roman 
 name from the Coelian Mount, at whose declivity it yet stands. 
 Beyond, from the height of the steps, he saw the villages scat- 
 tered through the gray Campagna, whitening in the sloped sun ; 
 and in the furthest distance the mountain shadows began to 
 darken over the roofs of the ancient Tusculum, and the second 
 Alban* city, which yet rises, in desolate neglect, above the van- 
 ished palaces of Pompey and Domitian. 
 
 The Roman stood absorbed and motionless for some moments, 
 gazing on the scene, and inhaling the sweet balm of the mellow 
 air. It was the soft spring-time — the season of flowers, and 
 green leaves, and whispering winds — the pastoral May of Italia' 
 poets : but hushed was the voice of song on the banks of the 
 Tiber ; the reeds gave music no more. From the sacred 
 Mount in which Saturn held his home, the Dryad and the 
 Nymph, and Italy's native Sylvan, were gone forever. Rienzi's 
 original nature — its enthusiasm ; its veneration for the past ; 
 its love of the beautiful and the great ; that very attachment 
 to the graces and pomp which give so floric^, a character to the 
 harsh realities of life, and which power afterwards too luxuri- 
 
 * The first Alba — the Alba Longa — whose origin Fable ascribes to Ascaniiis, was de- 
 Jtr«yed by Tulliis Hostilius. The second Alba, or modern Albano, was erected on thc 
 plain below the ancient town, a little before th« time of Mero* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 11^ 
 
 antly developed ; the exuberance of thoughts and fancies, 
 which poured itself from his lips in so brilliant and inexhausti- 
 ble a flood — all bespoke those intellectual and imaginative 
 biasses, which, in calmer times, might have raised him in 
 literature to a more indisputable eminence than that to which 
 action can ever lead ; and something of such consciousnesa 
 crossed his spirit at that moment. 
 
 " Happier had it been for me," thought he, " had I never 
 looked out from my own heart upon the world. I had all 
 within me that makes contentment of the present, because I 
 had that which can make me forget the present. I had the 
 power to repeople — to create the legends and dreams of old; 
 the divine faculty of verse, in which the beautiful superfluities 
 of the heart can pour themselves — these v/ere mine ! Petrarch 
 chose wisely for himself ! To address the world, but from 
 without the world ; to persuade ; to excite ; to command — for 
 these are the aim and glory of ambition : but to shun its tu- 
 mult, and its toil ! His the quiet cell which he fills with the 
 shapes of beauty ; the solitude, from which he can banish the 
 evil times whereon we are fallen, but in which he can dream 
 back the great hearts and the glorious epochs of the past. For 
 me — to what cares I am wedded ! to what labors I am bound ! 
 what instruments I must use ! what disguises I must assume ! 
 to tricks and artifice I must bow my pride ! base are my ene- 
 mies ; uncertain my friends, and verily, in this struggle with 
 blinded and mean men, the soul itself becomes warped and 
 dwarfish. Patient and darkling, the Means creep through 
 caves and the soiling mire, to gain at last the light which is the 
 End." 
 
 In these reflections there was a truth, the whole gloom and 
 sadness of which the Roman had not yet experienced. How- 
 ever august be the object we propose to ourselves, every less 
 worthy path we take to insure it distorts the mental sight of 
 our ambition ; and the means by degrees abase the end to 
 their own standard. This is the true misfortune of a man 
 nobler than his age — that the instrumcHts he must use soil him- 
 self : half he reforms his times ; but half, too, the times wilj 
 corrupt the reformer. His own craft undermines his safety ; 
 the people, whom he himself accustoms to a false excitement, 
 perpetually crave it ; and when their ruler ceases to seduce 
 their fancy, he falls their victim. The reform he makes by 
 these means is hollow and momentary ; it is swept away with 
 himself : it was but the trick, the show, the wasted genius of a 
 nonjuror ; the curtain falls — the magic is pv^r — the cup and 
 
120 RIENZI, 
 
 balls are kicked aside. Better one slow step in enlightenment— 
 which being made by the reason of a whole people, cannot 
 recede — than these sudden flashes in the depth of the general 
 night, which the darkness, by contrast doubly dark, swallows 
 up everlastingly again. 
 
 As slowly and musingly Rienzi turned to quit the church, he 
 felt a light touch upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Fair evening to you, Sir Scholar," said a frank voice. 
 
 **To you I return the courtesy," answered Rienzi, gazing 
 upon the person who thus suddenly accosted him, and in whose 
 white cross and martial bearing the reader recognizes the 
 Knight of St. John. 
 
 "You know me not, I think?" said Montreal; "but that 
 matters little, we may easily commence our acquaintance ; for 
 me, indeed, I am fortunate enough to have made myself already 
 acquainted with you." 
 
 '* Possibly we have met elsewhere, at the house of one of 
 those nobles to whose rank you seem to belong ? " 
 
 " Belong ! no not exactly ! " returned Montreal proudly. 
 ** High-born and great as your magnates deem themselves, I 
 would not, while the mountains can yield one free spot for my 
 footstep, change my place in the world's many grades for theirs. 
 To the brave there is but one sort of plebeian, and that is the 
 coward. But you, sage Rienzi," continued the knight, in a 
 gayer tone, " I have seen in more stirring scenes than the hall 
 of a Roman Baron." 
 
 Rienzi glanced keenly at Montreal, who met his eye with an 
 open brow. 
 
 "Yes!" resumed the Knight; "but let us walk on ; suffer 
 me for a few moments to be your companion. Yes ! I have 
 listened to you — the other eve, when you addressed the popu^ 
 lace, and to-day, when you rebuked the nobles; and at mid- 
 night, too, not long since, when (your ear, fair sir ! — lower, it is 
 a secret !) — at midnight, too, when you administered the oath 
 of brotherhood to the bold conspirators, on the ruined Aven- 
 tine ! " 
 
 As he concluded the Knight drew himself aside to watch^ 
 upon Rienzi's countenance, the effect which hrs words might 
 produce. 
 
 A slight tremor passed over the frame of the conspirator—' 
 for so, unless the conspiracy succeed, would Rienzi be termed, 
 by others than Montreal ; he turned abruptly around to con- 
 front the Knight, and placed his hand involuntarily on his 
 sword, but presently relinquished the grasp. 
 
THE LAST OF xHE TRIBUNES. 12* 
 
 " Ha ! " said the Roman slowly, *' if this be true, fall Rome \ 
 There is treason even among the free ! " 
 
 *' No treason, brave sir ! " answered Montreal ; " I possess 
 thy secret, but none have betrayed it to me." 
 
 ** And is it as friend or foe that thou hast learned it ? " 
 
 " That as it may be," returned Montreal carelessly. 
 ** Enough, at present, that I could send thee to the gibbet, if I 
 said but the v/ord, to sho\/ my power to be thy foe ; enough 
 that I have not done it, to prove my disposition to be thy 
 friend." 
 
 *' Thou mistakest, stranger ! that man does not live who 
 could shed my blood in the streets of Rome ! The gibbet ! 
 Little dost thou know of the power which surrounds Rienzi." 
 
 These words were said with some scorn and bitterness ; but, 
 after a moment's pause, Rienzi resumed more calmly : 
 
 *' By the cross on thy mantle thou belongest to one of the 
 proudest orders of knighthood : thou art a foreigner and a 
 cavalier. What generous sympathy can convert thee into a 
 friend of the Roman people ? " 
 
 " Cola di Rienzi," returned Montreal, " the sympathies that 
 unite us are those that unite all men, who, by their own efforts, 
 rise above the herd. True, I was born noble, but powerless 
 and poor : at my beck now move, from city to city, the armed 
 instruments of authority ; my breath is the law of thousands. 
 This empire I have not inherited ; I won it by a cool brain and 
 a fearless arm. Know me for Walter de Montreal ; is it not a 
 name that speaks a spirit kindred to thine own ? Is not ambi- 
 tion a common sentiment between us ? I do not marshal sol- 
 diers for gain only, though men have termed me avaricious • 
 nor butcher peasants for the love of blood, though men have 
 called me cruel. Arms and wealth are the sinews of power ; 
 it is power that I desire ; thou, bold Rienzi, strugglest thou 
 not for the same ? Is it the rank breath of the garlic-chewing 
 mob : is it the whispered envy of schoolmen ; is it the hollow 
 mouthing of boys who call thee patriot and freeman — words to 
 trick the ear — that will content thee ? These are but ///y instru- 
 ments Xo power. Have I spoken truly ?" 
 
 Whatever distaste Rienzi might conceive at this speech, he 
 masked effectually. " Certes," said he, " it would be in vain, 
 renowned captain, to deny that I seek but that power of which 
 thou speakest. But what union can there be between the am- 
 bition of a Roman citizen and the leader of paid armies that 
 take their cuise only according to their hire — to-dav, fight for 
 liMcrty in Fiorenge j to-inoirpw, tor tyranny in Bologna? Par 
 
S99 RTENZI, 
 
 don my frankness ; for in this age that is deemed no disgrace 
 which I impute to thy armies. Valor and generalship are held 
 to consecrate any cause they distinguish ; and he who is the 
 master of princes may be well honored by them as their 
 equal." 
 
 ** We are entering into a les« deserted quarter of the town," 
 ^aid the Knight: "is there no secret place — no Aventine — in 
 •Jiis direction, where we can confer ? " 
 [ " Hush ! " replied Rienzi, cautiously looking round. " I 
 ) thank thee, noble Montreal, for the hint ; nor may it be well 
 ior us to be seen together. Wilt thou deign to follow me to 
 my home, by the Palatine Bridge ?* there we can converse un- 
 disturbed and secure." 
 
 '* Be it so," said Montreal, falling back. 
 
 With a quick and hurried step Rienzi passed through the 
 town, in which, wherever he was discovered, the scattered 
 citizens saluted him with marked respect ; and turning through 
 a labyrinth of dark alleys, as if to shun the more public thor- 
 oughfares, arrived at length at a broad space near the river. 
 The first stars of night shone down on the ancient temple of 
 Fortuna Virilis, which the chances of time had already converted 
 into the Church of St. Mary of Egypt ; and facing the twice- 
 hallowed edifice stood the house of Rienzi. 
 
 *' It is a fair omen to have my mansion facing the ancient 
 Temple of Fortune," said Rienzi, smiling, as Montreal fol- 
 lowed the Roman into the chamber I have already de- 
 scribed. 
 
 " Yet Valor need never pray to Fortune," said the Knight ; 
 '* the first commands the last." 
 
 Long was the conference between these two men, the most 
 enterprising of their age. Meanwhile, let me make the reader 
 somewhat better acquainted with the character and designs of 
 Montreal than the hurry of events has yet permitted him to 
 become. 
 
 Walter de Montreal, generally known in the chronicles of 
 Italy by the designation of Fra Moreale, had passed into Italy, 
 a bold adventurer, worthy to become a successor of those rov- 
 ing Normans (from one of the most eminent of whom, by the 
 mother's side, he claimed descent) who had formerly played so 
 strange a part in the chivalric errantry of Europe, — realizing 
 
 * The picturesque ruins shown at this day as having once been the habitation of the 
 celebrated Cola di Rien/i wevfr icjni; asserted by the aiuii]u;(rians to have belonged to an- 
 )ther Cola or Nicola. 1 believe, hnwevcr. thr dispute h.is hecn lately decided ; and, in» 
 ieed, no one but an anti iimry. anr" that a Koinun one, coiild suppose that there WCrc |WQ 
 Colas to whom the inscription on \.t\^ hou§« wov'tl apply. 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. I23 
 
 the fables of Amadis and Palmerin (each knight in himself a 
 host), winning territories and oversetting thrones ; acknowl- 
 edging no laws save those of knighthood ; never confounding 
 themselves with the tribe amongst which they settled ; incap- 
 able of becoming citizens, and scarcely contented with aspiring 
 to become kings. At that time Italy was the India of all those 
 well-born and penniless adventurers who, like Montreal, had 
 inflamed their imagination by the ballads and legends of the 
 Roberts and the Godfreys of old ; who had trained themselves 
 from youth to manage the barb, and bear, through the heats of 
 summer, the weight of arms ; and who, passing into an effem- 
 inate and distracted land, had only to exhibit bravery in order to 
 command wealth. It was considered no disgrace for some 
 powerful chieftain to collect together a band of these hardy 
 aliens ; to subsist amidst the mountains on booty and pillage ; 
 to make war upon tyrant or republic, as interest suggested, and 
 to sell, at enormous stipends, the immunities of peace. Some- 
 times they hired themselves to one State to protect it against 
 the other, and the next year beheld them in the field against 
 their former employers. These bands of Northern stipendiaries 
 assumed, therefore, a civile c.z well as a military importance ; 
 they were ao indispensable to the safety of one State as they 
 were destructive to the securit}' of all. But five years before 
 the Florentine Republic had hired the services of a celebrated 
 leader of these foreign coldiers, — Gualticr, Duke of Athens. By 
 acclamation the people themselves had elected that warrior to 
 the state of prince, or tyrant, of their State ; before the 
 year was completed they revolted against his cruelties, or 
 rather against his exactions, — for, despite all the boasts of 
 their historians, they felt an attack on their purses more 
 deeply than an assault on their liberties, — they had chased him 
 from their city, and once more proclaimed themselves a repub- 
 lic The bravest and most favored of the soldiers of the Duke 
 of Athens had been Walter dc Montreal ; he had shared the rise 
 and the downfall of his chief. Amongst popular commotions, 
 the acute and observant mind of the Knight of St. John had 
 learned no mean civil experience ; he had learned to sound a 
 people; to know how far they would endure ; to construe the 
 signs of revolution ; to be a reader of the times. After the 
 downfall of the Duke of Athens, as a Free Companion, in other 
 words a Freebooter, Montreal had augmented, under the 
 fierce Werner, his riches and his renown. At present witliout 
 employment worthy his spirit of enterprise and intrigue, the 
 disordered and chiefless state of Rome had attracted hira 
 
1^4 RIEN2I, 
 
 thither. In the league he had proposed to Colonna ; in the 
 suggestions he had made to the vanity of that Signor, his own 
 object was to render his services indispensable — to constitute 
 himself the head of the soldiery whom his proposed designs 
 would render necessary to the ambition of the Colonna, could 
 it be excited ; and in the vastness of his hardy genius for enter- 
 prise, he probably foresaw that the command of such a force 
 would be, in reality, the command of Rome ; a counter-revolu- 
 tion might easily unseat the Colonna and elect himself to the 
 principality. It had sometimes been the custom of Roman, as 
 of other Italian States, to prefer for a chief magistrate, under 
 the title of Fodesta, a foreigner to a native. And Montreal 
 hoped that he might possibly become to Rome what the Duke 
 of Athens had been to Florence — an ambition he knew well 
 enough to be above the gentleman of Provence, but not above 
 the leader of an army. But, as we have already seen, his 
 sagacity perceived at once that he could not move the aged 
 head of the patricians to those hardy and perilous measures 
 which were necessary to the attainment of supreme power. 
 Contented with his present station, and taught moderation by 
 his age and his past reverses, Stephen Colonna was not the 
 man to risk a scaffold from the hope to gain a throne. The 
 contempt which the old patrician professed for the people and 
 their idol also taught the deep-thinking Montreal that, if the 
 Colonna possessed not the ambition, neither did he possess the 
 policy, requisite for empire. The Knight found his caution 
 against Rienzi in vain, and he turned to Rienzi himself. Little 
 cared the Knight of St. John which party were uppermost — 
 prince or people — so that his own objects were attained ; in 
 fact, he had studied the humors of a people, not in order to 
 serve, but to rule them ; and, believing all men actuated by r. 
 similar ambition, he imagined that, whether a demagogue or 
 a patrician reigned, the people were equally to be victims, and 
 that the cry of "Order" on the one hand, or of " Liberty" 
 on the other, was but the mere pretext by which the energy of 
 one man sought to justify his ambition over the herd. Deem- 
 ing himself one of the most honorable spirits of his age, he 
 believed in no honor which he was unable to feel ; and, sceptic 
 in virtue, was therefore credulous of vice. 
 
 But the boldness of his own nature inclined him, perhaps, 
 .ather to the adventurous Rienzi than to the self-complacent 
 Colonna ; and he considered that to the safety of the first he 
 and his armed minions might be even more necessary than to 
 that of the last. At present his mai'^ object was to learn from 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 125 
 
 Rienzi the exact strength which he possessed, and how far he 
 was prepared for any actual revolt. 
 
 The acute Roman took care, on the one hand, how he be- 
 trayed to the Knight more than he yet knew, or he disgusted 
 him by apparent reserve on the other. Crafty as Montreal 
 was, he possessed not that wonderful art of mastering others 
 which was so pre-eminently the gift of the eloquent and pro- 
 found Rienzi, and the difference between the grades of their 
 intellect was visible in their present conference. 
 
 "I see," said Rienzi, "that amidst all the events which 
 have lately smiled upon my ambition, none is so favorable as that 
 which assures me of your countenance and friendship. In 
 truth, I require some armed reliance. Would you believe it, 
 our friends, so bold in private meetings, yet shrink from a 
 public explosion. They fear not the patricians, but the 
 soldiery of the patricians ; for it is the remarkable feature in 
 the Italian courage, that they have no terror for each other, 
 but the casque and sword of a foreign hireling make them quail 
 like deer." 
 
 ** They will welcome gladly, then, the assurance that such 
 hirelings shall be in their service, not against them ; and as 
 many as you desire for the revolution, so many shall you 
 receive." 
 
 *'But the pay and the conditions," said Rienzi, with his dry, 
 sarcastic smile. " How shall we arrange the first, and what 
 shall we hold to be the second ? " 
 
 " That is an affair easily concluded," replied Montreal 
 " For me, to tell you frankly, the glory and excitement of so 
 great a revolution would alone suffice. I like to feel myself 
 necessary to the completion of high events. For my men it is 
 otherwise. Your first act will be to seize the revenues of the 
 State. Well, whatever they amount to, the product of the first 
 year, great or small, shall be divided amongst us. You the 
 one half, I and my men the other half." 
 
 " It is much," said Rienzi gravely, and as if in calculation, 
 " but Rome cannot purchase her liberties too dearly. So be it 
 then decided." 
 
 "Amen ! And now, then, what is your force? for these 
 eighty or a hundred signors of the Aventine — worthy men, 
 doubtless — scarce suffice for a revolt ! " 
 
 Gazing cautiously round the room, the Roman placed his 
 hand on Mont rami's arm : 
 
 " Betwet'n you and me, it requires time to cement it. We shall 
 be «nabi€ co «Ur Uiese five weeks* I have too rashly anticipa- 
 
126 RIENZI, L 
 
 ted the period. The corn is indeed cut, but I must now, 
 by private adjuration and address, bind up the scattered 
 sheaves." 
 
 ** Five weeks," repeated Montreal, "that is far longer than I 
 anticipated." 
 
 "What I desire," continued Rienzi, fixing his searching eyes 
 upon Montreal, "is that, in the mean while, we should preserve 
 a profound calm, we should remove every suspicion. I shall 
 bury myself in my studies, and convoke no more meetings." 
 
 " Well—" 
 
 "And for yourself, noble Knight, might I venture to dictate, 
 I would pray you to mix with the nobles: to profess for me 
 and for the people the profoundest contempt : and to contrib- 
 ute to rock them yet more in the cradle of their false security. 
 Meanwhile, you could quietly withdraw as many of the armed 
 mercenaries is you influence from Rome, and leave the nobles 
 without the'jronly defenders. Collecting these hardy warriors in 
 the recesses of the mountains, a day's march from hence, we may 
 be able to summon them at need, and they shall appear at our 
 gates, and in the midst of our rising — hailed as deliverers by 
 the nobles, but in reality allies of the people. In the confu- 
 sion ?,nd despair of our enemies at discovering their mistake, 
 thev A^ill fly from the city." 
 
 And its revenues and its empire will become the appanage 
 of the hardy soldier and the intriguing demagogue ! " cried 
 Montreal, with a laugh. 
 
 " Sir Knight, the division shall be equal." 
 
 "Agreed!" 
 
 "And now, noble Montreal, a flask of our best vintage 5** 
 said Rienzi, changing his tone. 
 
 "You know the Proven9als," answered Montreal gayly. 
 
 The wine was brought, the conversation became free and 
 familiar, and Montreal, whose craft was acquired, and whose 
 frankness was natural, unwittingly committed his secret projects 
 and ambition more nakedly to Rienzi than he had designed to 
 do. They parted apparently the best of friends. 
 
 " By the way," said Rienzi, as they drained the last goblet, 
 "Stephen Colonna betakes him to Corneto, with a convoy of 
 corn, on the 19th. Will it not be as well if you join him ? You 
 can take that opportunity to whisper discontent to the merce- 
 naries that accompany him on his mission^ and induce them td 
 our plan." 
 
 " I thought of that before)** returned M«*»iH:eAl ; it ihtU bt 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRlBUKES. J2^ 
 
 " 'His barb, and his sword. 
 
 And his lady, the peerless. 
 Are ail that are prized 
 By Orlando the fearless. 
 
 ** Success to the Norman, 
 The darling of story : 
 His glory is pleasure — 
 His pleasure is glory.' '* 
 
 Chanting this rude ditty as he resumed his mantle, tli 
 Knight waved his hand to Rienzi, and departed. 
 
 Rienzi watched the receding form of his guest with an ex- 
 pression of hate and fear upon his countenance. *'Give that 
 man the power," he muttered, "and he may be a second 
 Totila. '" Methinks I see, in his griping and ferocious nature, 
 through all the gloss of its gayety and knightly grace, the very 
 personification of our old Gothic foes. I trust I have lulled 
 him ! Verily, two suns could no more blaze in one hemisphere 
 than Walter de Montreal and Cola di Rienzi live in the same 
 city. The star-seers tell us that we feel a secret and uncontroll- 
 able antipathy to those whose astral influences destine them 
 to work us evil ; such antipathy do I feel for yon fair-faced 
 homicide. Cross not my path, Montreal 1 cross not my path ! " 
 
 With this soliloquy Rienzi turned within, and, retiring to his 
 apartraenc, was seen no more that night. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PROCESSION OF THE BARONS. — THE BEGINNING OF THE 
 
 END. 
 
 It was the morning of the 19th of May, the air was brisk and 
 clear, and the sun, which had just risen, shone cherrily upon 
 the glittering casques and spears of a gallant procession of 
 armed horsemen, sweeping through the long and principal 
 street of Rome. The neighing of the horses, the ringing of 
 the hoofs, the dazzle of the armor, and the tossing to and fro 
 of the standards, adorned with the proud insignia of the Colonna, 
 presented one of the gay and brilliant spectacles peculiar to 
 the Middle Ages. 
 
 At the head of the troop, on a stout palfrey, rode Stephen 
 Colonna. At his riglit was the Knight of Provence, curbing, 
 with an easy hand, a slight but fiery steed of the Arab race; 
 
 • Innocent VI., some years afterwards, proclaimed Montreal to be worse than Totila» 
 
t28 RI£N2t, 
 
 behind him followed two squires, the one leading his war-horse, 
 the other bearing his lance and helmet. At the left of Stephen 
 Colonna rode Adrian, grave and silent, and replying only b) 
 nion()syllal)les to the gay bavardagef)f the Kniglit of Provence 
 \ considerable number of the Mi^wer o( the Komnn noMe. 
 ollowed the old Baron ; and the train was closed by a seiriec 
 iroop of foreign horsemen, completely armed. 
 
 'i'here was no crowd m the street ; the citizens looked wl h 
 
 seeming apathy at the procession from their lialf-closed shops. 
 
 Have these Romans no passion for shows?" asked Mont- 
 
 .eal ; " if they could be more easily amused «liCy would be 
 
 more easily governed." 
 
 " Oh, Rienzi, and such buffoons, amuse them. We do bet- 
 ter, — we terrify ! " replied Stephen. 
 
 "What sing3 the troubadour, Lord Adrian?" said MontreaL 
 
 * Smiles, false smiles, should form the school 
 For those who rise, and those who rule : 
 The brave they trick, the fair subdue, 
 Kings deceive, and Sta'es undo, 
 ' Smiles, false smiles 1 
 
 •Frowns, true frowns, ourselves betray, 
 The brave arouse, the fair dismay, 
 
 Sting the pride, which blood must healt 
 Mix the bowl, and point the steel. 
 
 Frowns, true frowns ! ' 
 
 * The lay is of France, Signer ; yet methinks it brings its 
 wisdom from Italy ; for the serpent smile is your countrymen's 
 orcper distinction, and the frown ill becomes them." 
 
 " Sir Knight," replied Adrian sharply, and incensed at the 
 taunt, " you foreigners have taught us how to frown — a virtue 
 sometimes." 
 
 " But not wisdom unless the hand could maintain what the 
 t)row menaced," returned Montreal, with haughtiness ; for he 
 nad much of the Fianc vivacity which often overcame his 
 orudence ; and he had conceived a secret pique against Adrian 
 since the^r interview at Stephen's palace. 
 
 " Sir Knight." answered Adrian, coloring, "our conversation 
 may lead to warmer words than I would desire to have with 
 one v.'ho has rendered me so gallant a service." 
 
 " Nay, then, let us go back to the troubadours," said Mont 
 real indifferently. "Forgive me if I do not think highly, in 
 general, of Italian honor, or Italian valor ; your valor I ac- 
 knowledge, for I have witnessed it, and valor and honor go 
 io^ether, — let that suffice ! '* 
 
•tnt lAST of THE TRIBUNES. t&§ 
 
 As Adrian was about to answer, his eye fell suddenly on the 
 burly form of Cecco del Vecchio, who was leaning his bare 
 and brawny arms over his anvil, and gazing, with a smile, upon 
 the group. There was something in that smile which turned 
 the current of Adrian's thoughts, and which he could not con- 
 template without an unaccountable misgiving. 
 
 *' A strong villain, that," said Montreal, also eyeing the 
 smith. " I should like to enlist him. Fellow ! " cried he aloud, 
 "you have an arm that were as fit to wield the sword as to> 
 fashion it. Desert your anvil, and follow the fortunes of Fra 
 Moreale ! '* 
 
 The smith nodded his head. ** Signor Cavalier," said he 
 gravely, "we poor men have no passion for war; we want not 
 to kill others : we desire only ourselves to live, — if you will 
 let us ! " 
 
 " By the Holy Mother, a slavish answer ! But you Romans" — 
 
 *' Are slaves ! " interrupted the smith, turning away to the 
 interior of his forge. 
 
 " The dog is mutinous ! " said the old Colonna. And as the 
 band swept on, the rude foreigners, encouraged by their leaders, 
 had each some taunt or jest, uttered in a barbarous attempt at 
 the southern patois^ for the lazy giant, as he again appeared in 
 front of his forge, leaning on his anvil as before, and betraying 
 no sign of attention to his insulters, save by a heightened glow 
 of his swarthy visage ; and so the gallant procession passed 
 through the streets, and quitted the Eternal City. 
 
 There was a long interval of deep silence — of general calm — 
 throughout the whole of Rome : the shops were still but half- 
 opened ; no man betook himself to his business ; it was like 
 the commencement of some holyday, when indolence precedes 
 enjoyment. 
 
 About noon a few small knots of men might be seen scattered 
 about the streets, whispering to each other, but soon dispersing ; 
 and every now and then a single passenger, generally habited 
 in the long robes used by the men of letters, or in the more 
 sombre garb of monks, passed hurriedly up the street towards 
 the Church of St. Mary of Egypt, once the temple of Fortune. 
 Then, again, all was solitary and deserted. Suddenly, there 
 was heard the sound of a sitigle trumpet ! It swelled — it gathered 
 on the ear. Cecco del Vecchio looked up from his anvil ! A 
 solitary horseman paced slowly by the forge, and wound a long, 
 loud blast of the trumpet suspended round his neck, as he passed 
 through the middle of the street. Then might you see a 
 crowd, suddenly, and as by maa;ic, appear emerging from every 
 
#30 RIEN^I, 
 
 corner ; the street became thronged with multitudes ; but it 
 was only by the tramp of their feet, and an indistinct and low 
 murmur, that they broke the silence. Again the horsemnn 
 wound his trump, and when the note ceased, he cried aloud : 
 *' Friends and Romans ! to-morrow, at dawn of day let each 
 man fi d himself unarmed, before the church of St. An<;elo. 
 Cola ci nienzi convenes the Romans to provide for the good 
 state of Rome." A shout, that seemed to shake the bases of 
 the seven hills, broke forth at the end of this brief exhortation ; 
 tlie horseman rode slowly on, and the crowd followed. This 
 was the commencement of the Revolution ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CONSPIRATOR BECOMES THE MAGISTRATE. 
 
 At midnight, when the rest of the city seemed hushed in 
 rest, lights were streaming from the windows of the church of 
 St. Angelo. Breaking from its echoing aisles, the long and sol» 
 emn notes of sacred music stole at frequent intervals upon the 
 air. Rienzi was praying within the church ; thirty masses con- 
 sumed the hours from night till morn, and all the sanction of 
 religion was invoked to consecrate the enterprise of Liberty/** 
 The sun had long risen, and the crowd had long been assem- 
 bled before the church door, and in vast streams along every 
 street that led to it, v/hen the bell of the church tolled out long 
 and merrily ; and as it ceased, the voices of the choristers 
 within chanted the following hymn, in which v/ere somewhat 
 strikingly, though barbarously, blended, the spirit of the classic 
 patriotism with the fervor of religious zeal : 
 
 THE ROMAN HYMN OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Let the mountains exult around ! f 
 On her seven-hill'd throne renown'd, 
 Once more old Rome is crown 'd ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 * In fact, T rpprehend that if ever the life of Cola di Rienzi shall be written by a hand 
 'vortiiy of the t'asic, it will be shoivn that a strong religious feelinf[ was blended ivith 
 the political enthusiasvt of the people ^ the religious feeling of a premattire and crude 
 reformation, the legacy of Arnold of Brescia. It was not, however, one excited against 
 »he priests, but favored by them. The principal conventual orders declared for the Rev- 
 olution. 
 
 f'Exultent in circuito Vestro Monies," etc. — Let the mountains exult around 1 So 
 ktC'ins Rienzi'i letter to the Senate and Roman people, preserved by Hocsemius. 
 
The last of the tribunes. 131 
 
 Sing out, O Vale and Wave ! 
 Look up from each laurel'd grave, 
 Bright dust of the deathless brave ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 Pale Vision, what art thou? — Lo, 
 
 From Time's dark deeps, 
 
 Like a Wind, It sweeps, 
 Like a Wind, when the tempests blow , 
 
 A shadowy form — as a giant ghost — 
 It stands in the midst of the armed host ! 
 The dead man's shroud on Its awful limbs : 
 And the gloom of Its presence the daylight dims: 
 And the trembling world looks on aghast — 
 All hail to the Soul of the Mighty Past! 
 
 Hail ! all hail ! 
 
 As we speak — as we hallow — It moves, It breathes ; 
 From its clouded crest bud the laurel wreaths — 
 As a Sun that leaps up from the arms of Night, 
 The Shadow takes shape and the gloom takes light. 
 
 Hail! all hail! 
 
 The Soul of the Past, again 
 
 To its ancient home 
 
 In the hearts of Rome, 
 Hath coiBe to resume its reign ! 
 
 O Fame, with a prophet's voice, 
 
 Bid the ends of the Earth rejoice ! 
 
 Wherever the Proud are Strong, 
 
 And Right is oppress'd by wrong ; — 
 
 Wherever the day dim shines 
 
 Through the cell where the captive pines ;— 
 
 Go forth, with a trumpet's sound ! 
 
 And tell to the Nations round — 
 
 On the Hills which the Heroes trod — 
 
 In the shrines of the saints of God — 
 
 In the Caesars' hall, and the Martyrs' prison — 
 
 That the slumber is broke, and the Sleeper arisen ! 
 
 That the reign of the Goth and the Vandal is o'er : 
 
 And Earth feels the tread of The Roman once more. 
 
 As the hymn ended, the gate of the church opened ; the 
 crowd gave way on either side, and, preceded by three of the 
 young nobles of the inferior order, bearing standards of alle- 
 gorical design, depicting the triumph of Libert}^ Justice, and 
 Concord, forth issued Rienzi, clad in complete armor, the hel- 
 met alone excepted. His face was pale with watching and 
 intense excitement, but stern, grave, and solemnly composed ; 
 and its expr^issioii so repelled any vociferous and vulgar burst 
 q( feeling, tkat (ho«c wh» l^cheJd it hu«hed the shout pn t,h<^it 
 
13J RIENZI, 
 
 lips, and stilled, by a simultaneous cry of reproof, the gratula« 
 tions of the crowd behind. Side by side with Rienzi moved 
 Raimond, Bishop of Orvietto ; and behind, marching two by 
 two, followed a hundred men-at-arms. In complete silence 
 the procession began its way, until, as it approached the Capi- 
 tol, the awe of the crowd gradually vanished, and thousands 
 upon thousands of voices rent the air with shouts of exultation 
 and joy. 
 
 Arrived at the foot of the great staircase, which then made 
 the principal ascent to the square of the Capitol, the procession 
 halted ; and as the crowd filled up that vast space in front — 
 adorned and hallowed by many of the most majestic columns 
 of the temples of old — Rienzi addressed the Populace, whom 
 he had suddenly elevated into a People. 
 
 He depicted forcibly the servitude and misery of the citizens, 
 the utter absence of all law, the want even of common security 
 to life and property. He declared that, undaunted by the 
 peril he incurred, he devoted Iiis life to the regeneration of 
 their common country ; and he solemnly appealed to the peo- 
 ple to assist the enterprise, and at once to sanction and consoli- 
 date the Revolution by an established code of law and a Con- 
 stitutional Assembly. He then ordered the chart and outline 
 of the Constitution he proposed to be read by the Herald to 
 the multitude. 
 
 It created, or rather revived, with new privileges and pow- 
 ers, a representative Assembly of Councillors. It proclaimed, 
 as its first law, one that seems simple enough to our happier 
 times, but never hitherto executed at Rome : Every wilful 
 homicide, of whatever rank, was to be punished by death. It 
 enacted, that no private noble or citizen should be suffered to 
 maintain fortifications and garrisons in the city or the country ; 
 that the gates and brid-^es of the State should be under the 
 control of whomsoever should be elected Chief Magistrate. It 
 forbade all harbor of brigands, mercenaries, and robbers, on 
 payment of a thousand marks of silver, and it made the barons 
 who possessed the neighboring territories responsible for the 
 safety of the roads, and the transport of merchandise. It took 
 under the protection of the State the widow and the orphan. It 
 appointed, in each of the quarters of the city, an armed militia, 
 whom tlie tolling of the bell of the Capitol, at any hour, was to 
 assemble to the protection of the State. It ordained, that in 
 each harbor of the coast a vessel should be stationed for the 
 safeguard of commerce. It decreed the sum of one hundred 
 rJenns to the heirs of tvery man who died In the defence oi 
 
fHE LASt OF THE TRIBUNES *3^ 
 
 Rome ; and it devoted the public revenues to the service and 
 protection of the State. 
 
 Such, moderate at once and effectual, was the outline of the 
 New Constitution ; and it may amuse the reader to consider 
 how great must have been the previous disorders of the city, 
 when the common and elementary provisions of civilization 
 and security irvade the character of the code proposed, and the 
 limit of a popular revolution. 
 
 The most rapturous shouts followed this sketch of the New 
 Constitution ; and, amidst the clamor, up rose the huge form 
 of Cecco del Vecchio. Despite his condition, he was a man of 
 great importance at the present crisis : his zeal and his cour- 
 age, and perhaps still more, his brute passion and stubborn 
 prejudice, had made him popular. The lower order of me- 
 chanics looked to him as their head and representative ; out, 
 then, he spake loud and fearlessly, — speaking well, because his 
 mind was full of what he had to say. 
 
 "Countrymen and citizens! This New Constitution meets 
 with your approbation — so it ought. But what are good laws, 
 if we do not have good men to execute them ? Who can exe- 
 cute a law so well as the man who designs it ? If you ask me 
 to give you a notion how to make a good shield, and my no- 
 tion pleases you, would you ask me or another smith to make 
 it for you? If you ask another, he may make a good shield, 
 but it would not be the same as that which I should have 
 made, and the description of which contented you. Cola di 
 Rienzi has proposed a Code of Law that shall be our shield. 
 Who should see that the shield become what he proposes, but 
 Cola di Rienzi ? Romans ! I suggest that Cola di Rienzi be 
 intrusted by the people with the authority, by whatsoever name 
 he pleases, of carrying the New Constitution into effect ; and 
 whatever be the means, we, the People, will bear him harmless." 
 
 "Long life to Rienzi! long live Cecco del Vecchio! He 
 hath spoken well ! none but the Law-maker shall be the 
 Governor I " 
 
 Such were the acclamations which greeted the ambitious 
 heart of the Scholar. The voice of the people invested him 
 with the supreme power. He had created a Commonwealth— 
 to become, if he desired it, a Despot. 
 
134 RIENZI, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LOOKING AFTER THE HALTER WHEN THE MARE IS STOLEN. 
 
 While such were the events at Rome, a servitor of Stephen 
 Colonna was already on his way to Corneto. The astonish- 
 ment with which the old Baron received the intelligence may 
 be easily imagined. He lost not a moment in convening his 
 troop ; and while in all the bustle of departure the Knight of 
 St. John abruptly entered his presence. His mien had lost its 
 usual frank composure. 
 
 *' How is this } " said he hastily : "a revolt? Rienzi sove- 
 reign of Rome ? Can the news be believed ? " 
 
 *' It is too true ! " said Colonna, with a bitter smile. " Where 
 shall we hang him on our return ?" 
 
 " Talk not so wildly. Sir Baron," replied Montreal discourt- 
 eously ; " Rienzi is stronger than you think for. I know what 
 men are, and you only know what noblemen are ! Where is 
 your kinsman, Adrian ? " 
 
 '* He is here, noble Montreal," said Stephen, shrugging his 
 shoulders, with a half-disdainful smile at the rebuke, which he 
 thought it more prudent not to resent ; he is here ! — see him 
 enter ! " 
 
 " You have heard the news ? " exclaimed Montreal, 
 
 " I have." 
 
 ^* And despise the revolution ? " 
 
 " I fear it ! " 
 
 " Then you have some sense in you. But this is none of my 
 Rffair : I will not interrupt your consultations. Adieu for the 
 present ! " and, ere Stephen could prevent him, the Knight 
 had quitted the chamber. 
 
 "What means this demagogue ?" Montreal muttered to him- 
 self. ''Would he trick me? Has he got rid of my presence 
 in order to monopolize all the profit of the enterprise ? I fear 
 me so ! — the cunning Roman I We Northern warriors could 
 never compete with the intellect of these Italians but for their 
 cowardice. But what shall be done ? I have already bid Ro- 
 dolf communicate with the brigands, and they are on the eve 
 of departure from their present lord. Well ! let it be so ! 
 Better that I should first break the power of the Barons, and 
 then make my own terms, sword in hand, with the plebeian. 
 And if I fail in this, — sweet Adeline ! I shall see thee again !— 
 that is some comfort ! And Louis of Hungary will bid high 
 for the arm and brain of Walter de Montreal. What, ho i Ro* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 135 
 
 dolf ! ** he exclaimed aloud, as the sturdy form of the trooper, 
 half-armed and half-intoxicated, reeled along the courtyard. 
 *' Knave ! art thou drunk at this hour <* " 
 
 ** Drunk or sober," answered Rodolf, bending low, ** I am at 
 thy bidding." 
 
 "Well said ! Are thy friends ripe for the saddle?" 
 
 " Eighty of them, already tired of idleness and the dull air 
 of Rome, will fly wherever Sir Walter de Montreal wishes." 
 
 " Hasten, then, bid them mount ; we go not hence with the 
 Colonna ; we leave while they are yet talking ! Bid my squires 
 attend me ! " 
 
 And when Stephen Colonna was settling himself on his pal- 
 frey, he heard, for the first time, that the Knight of Provence, 
 Rodolf the trooper, and eighty of the stipendiaries, had already 
 departed, — whither, none knew. 
 
 ** To precede us to Rome ! gallant barbarian ! " said Colonna. 
 ** Sirs, on!" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE ATTACK — THE RETREAT — THE ELECTION — AND THE 
 
 ADHESION. 
 
 Arriving at Rome, the company of the Colonna found the 
 gates barred, and the walls manned. Stephen bade aavance 
 his trumpeters, with one of his captains, imperiously to demand 
 admittance. 
 
 "We have orders," replied the chief of the town-guard, *'to 
 admit none who bear arms, flags, or trumpets. Let the Lords 
 Colonna dismiss their train, and they are welcome." 
 
 " Whose are these insolent mandates?" asked the captain. 
 
 " Those of the Lord Bishop of Orvietto and Cola di Rienzi, 
 joint protectors of the Buono Stato."* 
 
 The captain of the Colonna returned to his chief with these 
 tidings. The rage of Stephen was indescribable. " Go back," 
 he cried, as soon as he could summon voice, " and say that, if 
 the gates are not forthwith opened to me and mine, the blood 
 of the plebeians be on their own head. As for Raimond, 
 Vicars of the Pope have high spiritual authority, none tempo- 
 ^ral. Let him prescribe a fast, and he shall be obeyed ; but, 
 for the ra%h Rienzi, say that Stej)hen Colnnna will seek him in 
 the Capitol to-morrow, for the purpose of throwing him out of 
 jhe highest window." 
 
 ♦ Good Estate. 
 
3136 RIENZI, 
 
 These messages the envoy failed not to deliver. 
 
 The captain of the Romans was equally stern in his reply. 
 
 *' Declare to your lord," said he, " that Rome holds him and 
 his as rebels and traitors ; and that the moment you regain 
 your troop, our archers receive our command to draw their 
 bows — in the name of the Pope, the City, and the Liberator." 
 
 This threat was executed to the letter; and ere the old 
 Baron had time to draw up his men in the best array, the gates 
 were thrown open, and a well-armed, if undisciplined, multi- 
 tude poured forth, with fierce shouts, clashing their arms, and 
 advancing the azure banners of the Roman State. So desper- 
 ate their charge, and so great their numbers, that the barons, 
 after a short and tumultuous conflict, were driven back, and 
 chased by their pursuers for more than a mile from the walls 
 of the city. 
 
 As soon as the barons recovered their disorder and dismay, 
 a hasty council was held, at which various and contradictory 
 opinions were loudly urged. Some were for departing on the 
 instant to Palestrina, which belonged to the Colonna, and 
 possessed an almost inaccessible fortress. Others were for 
 dispersing, and entering peaceably, and in detached parties, 
 through the other gates. Stephen Colonna — himself incensed 
 and disturbed from his usual self-command — was unable to 
 preserve his authority; Luca di Savelli, * a timid, though 
 treacherous and subtle man, already turned his horse's head, 
 and summoned his men to follow him to his castle in Ro- 
 magna, when the old Colonna bethought himself of a method 
 by which to keep his band from a disunion that he had the 
 sense to perceive would prove fatal to the common cause. He 
 proposed that they should at once repair to Palestrina, and 
 there fortify themselves ; while one of the chiefs should be 
 selected to enter Rome alone, and apparently submissive, to 
 -jxamine the strength of Rienzi ; and with the discretionary 
 power to resist if possible, or to make tke best terms he could 
 for the admission of the rest. 
 
 " And who," asked Savelli sneeringly, " will undertake this 
 dangerous mission ? Who, unarmed and alone, will expose 
 himself to the rage of the fiercest populace of Italy, and the 
 caprice of a demagogue in the first flush of his power ? '* 
 
 The barons and the captains looked at each other in silence. 
 Savelli laughed. 
 
 Hitherto Adrian had taken no part in the conference, and 
 
 * The more correct orthography were Liica di Savello, but thc Qtl^ in the text is prO» 
 
 served as more familiar to the English reader. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 137 
 
 but little in the previous contest. He now came to the sup- 
 port of his kinsman, 
 
 "Signors ! " said he, " I will undertake this mission, but on 
 mine own account, independently of yours — free to act as I may 
 think best, for the dignity of a Roman noble, and the interests 
 Df a Roman citizen ; free to raise my standard on mine own 
 tower, or to yield fealty to the new estate." 
 
 " Well said ! " cried the old Colonna hastily. " Heaven forbid 
 we should enter Rome as foes, if to enter it as friends be yet 
 allowed us ! What say ye, gentles ? " 
 
 *' A more worthy choice could not be selected," said Savelli ; 
 " but I should scarce deem it possible that a Colonna could 
 think there was an option between resistance and fealty to this 
 upstart revolution." 
 
 " Of that, signor, I will judge for myself ; if you demand 
 an agent for yourselves, choose another. I announce to ye 
 frankly, that I have seen enough of other States to think the 
 recent condition of Rome demanded some redress. Whether 
 Rienzi and Raimond be worthy of the task they have assumed, 
 I know not." 
 
 Savelli was silent. The old Colonna seized the word. 
 
 " To Palestrina, then ! Are ye all agreed on this ? At the 
 worst, or at the best, we should not be divided ! On this con- 
 dition alone I hazard the safety of my kinsman ! " 
 
 The barons murmured a little among themselves ; the expe- 
 diency of Stephen's proposition was evident, and they at 
 length assented to it. 
 
 Adrian saw them depart, and then, attended only by his 
 'squire, slowly rode towards a more distant entrance into the 
 city. On arriving at the gates, his name was demanded ; he 
 gave it freely. 
 
 ** Enter, my lord," said the warder, "our orders were to 
 admit all that came unarmed and unattended. But to the Lord 
 Adrian di Castello, alone, we had a special injunction to give 
 the honors due to a citizen and a friend." 
 
 Adrian, a little touched by this implied recollection of 
 friendship, now rode through a long line of armed citizens, 
 who saluted him respectfully as he passed, and, as he returned 
 the salutation with courtesy, a loud and approving shout fol- 
 lowed his horse's steps. 
 
 So, save by one attendant, alone, and in peace, the young 
 patrician proceeded leisurely through the long streets, empty 
 and deserted, — for nearly one-half of the inhabitants were 
 assembled at the walls, and nearly the other half were engage^ 
 
138 RIENZI, 
 
 in a rnore peaceful duty, — until penetrating the interior, the 
 wide and elevated space of the Capitol broke upon his sight. 
 The sun was slowly setting over an immense multitude that 
 overspread the spot, and high above a scaffold raised in the 
 centre shone, to the western ray, the great Gonfalon of Rome, 
 studded with silver stars. 
 
 Adrian reined in his steed. "This," thought he," is scarcely 
 the hour thus publicly to confer with Rienzi ; yet fain would 
 I, mingled with the crowd, judge how far his power is sup- 
 ported, and in what manner it is borne." Musing a little, he 
 withdrew into one of the obscurer streets, then wholly deserted, 
 surrendered his horse to his 'squire, and, borrowing of the 
 latter his morion and long mantle, passed to one of the more 
 private entrances of the Capitol, and, enveloped in his cloak, 
 stood — one of the crowd — intent upon all that followed. 
 
 " And what," he asked of a plainly dressed citizen, " is the 
 cause of this assembly ?" 
 
 " Heard you not the proclamation ?" returned the other in 
 some surprise. " Do you not know that the Council of the 
 City and the Guilds of the Artisans have passed a vote to 
 proffer to Rienzi the title of King of Rome ?" 
 
 The Knight of the Emperor to whom belonged that august 
 dignity drew back in dismay. 
 
 "And," resumed the citizen, " this assembly of all the lesser 
 barons, councillors, and artificers is convened to hear the 
 answer." 
 
 " Of course it will be assent ? " 
 
 " I know not — there are strange rumors ; hitherto the Lib- 
 erator has concealed his sentiments." 
 
 At that instant a loud flourish of martial music announced 
 the approach of Rienzi. The crowd tumultuously divided, and 
 presently, from the Palace of the Capitol to the scaffold, passed 
 Rienzi, still in complete armor, save the helmet, and with him, 
 in all the pomp of his episcopal robes, Raimond of Orvietto. 
 
 As soon as Rienzi had ascended the platform, and was thus 
 made visible to the whole concourse, no words can suffice to 
 paint the enthusiasm of the scene — the shouts, the gestures, 
 the tears, the sobs, the wild laughter, in which the sympathy 
 of those lively and susceptible children of the South broke 
 forth. The windows and balconies of the Palace were thronged 
 with the wives and daucrhters of the lesser barons and more 
 opulent citizens; and Adrian, with a slight start, beheld 
 amongst them, pale, agitated, tearful, the lovely face of his 
 (rene — ^ face that evei> thus would have outshone all present^ 
 
tHE LAST Of THE TRIBUNES. 13^ 
 
 but for one by her side, whose beauty the emotion of the hour 
 only served to embellish. The dark, large, and flashing eyes 
 of Nina di Raselli, just bedewed, were fixed proudly on the 
 hero of her choice : and pride, even more than joy, gave a 
 richer carnation to her cheek, and the presence of a queen to 
 her noble and rounded form. The setting sun poured its full 
 glory over the spot ; the bared heads ; the animated faces of 
 the crowd ; the gray and vast mass of the Capitol ; and, not 
 far from the side of Rienzi, it brought into a strange and start- 
 ling light the sculptured form of a colossal Lion of Basalt,* 
 which gave its name to a staircase leading to the Capitol. It 
 was an old Egyptian relic, vast, worn, and grim ; some symbol 
 of a vanished creed, to whose face the sculptor had imparted some- 
 thing of the aspect of the human countenance. And this pro- 
 ducing the effect probably sought, gave at all times a mystic, 
 preternatural, and fearful expression to the stern features, and 
 to that solemn and hushed repose, which is so peculiarly the 
 secret of Egyptian sculpture. The awe which this colossal 
 and frowning image was calculated to convey was felt yet more 
 deeply by the vulgar, because ** the Staircase of the Lion " was 
 the wonted place of the state executions, as of the state cere- 
 monies. And seldom did the stoutest citizen forget to cross 
 himself, or feel unchilled with a certain terror, whenever, pass- 
 ing by the place, he caught, suddenly fixed upon him, the stony 
 gaze and ominous grin of that old monster from the cities of 
 the Nile. 
 
 It was some minutes before the feelings of the assembly al- 
 lowed Rienzi to be heard. But when, at length, the last shout 
 closed with a simultaneous cry of ''Long live Rienzi! De- 
 liverer and king of Rome ! " he raised his hand impatiently, and 
 the curiosity of the crowd procured a sudden silence. 
 
 "Deliverer of Rome, my countrymen !" said he. "Yes I 
 change not that title. I am too ambitious to be a king ! Pre- 
 serve your obedience to your Pontiff — your allegiance to your 
 Emperor — but be faithful to your own liberties. Ye have a 
 right to your ancient constitution ; but that constitution needed 
 not a king. Emulous of the name of Brutus, I am above the 
 titles of a Tarquin ! Romans, awake ! awake ! be inspired 
 with a nobler love of liberty than that which, /f it dethrones 
 the tyrant of to-day, would madly risk the danger of tyranny 
 
 * The existent Capitol is very different from the building at the time of Rienzi ; and the 
 reader must not suppose that the present staircase, designed by Michael Angelo, at the base 
 of which are two marble lions, removed by Pius IV, from the Church of St. Stephen del 
 Cacco, was the staircase of the Lion of Basalt, which bears so stern a connection with tbc 
 history of Rienzi. That mute witness of dark deeds is no more* 
 
140 ftlENz!, 
 
 for to-morrow! Rome wants still a liberator — never att 
 usurper ! Take away yon bauble ! " 
 
 There was a pause ; the crowd weredeeply affected, but they 
 uttered no shouts ; they looked anxiously for a reply from 
 their councillors, or popular leaders. 
 
 " Signor," said Pandulfo di Guido, who was one of the 
 
 Caporioni, " your answer is worthy of your fame. But in 
 
 order to enforce the law, Rome must endow you with a legal 
 
 title — if not that of King, deign to accept that of Dictator or of 
 
 )Consul." 
 
 ) " Long live the Consul Rienzi ! " cried several voices. 
 1 Rienzi waved his hand for silence. 
 
 • *' Pandulfo di Guido ! and you, honored Councillors of 
 *Rome ! such title is at once too august for my merits, and too 
 inapplicable to my functions. I am one of the people — the 
 people are my charge ; the nobles can protect themselves. 
 Dictator and consul are the appellations of patricians. No," 
 he continued after a short pause, " if ye deem it necessary, for 
 the preservation of order, that your fellow-citizen should be 
 intrusted with a formal title and a recognized power, be it so ; 
 but let it be such as may attest the nature of our new institu- 
 tions, the wisdom of the people, and the moderation of their 
 leaders. Once, my countrymen, the people elected, for the 
 protectors of their rights and the guardians of their freedom, 
 certain officers responsible to the people, chosen from the 
 people, provident /or the people. Their power was great, but 
 it was delegated : a dignity, but a trust. The name of these 
 officers was that of Tribune. Such is the title that conceded, 
 not by clamor alone, but in the full Parliament of the people, 
 and accompanied dy such Parliament, ruling wM such Parlia- 
 ment, — such is the title I will gratefully accept." * 
 
 The speech, the sentiments of Rienzi, were rendered far 
 more impressive by a manner of earnest and deep sincerity ; 
 and some of the Romans, despite their corruption, felt a mo- 
 mentary exultation in the forbearance of their chief. " Long 
 live the Tribune of Rome ! " was shouted, but less loud than 
 the cry of " Live the King ! " and the vulgar almost thought 
 the revolution was incomplete, because the loftier title was not 
 assumed. To a degenerate and embruted people, liberty 
 
 * Gibbon and Sismondi alike (neither of whom appears to have consulted with much at- 
 tention the original documents preserved by Hocsemius) say nothing of the Representa- 
 tive Parliament, which it was almost Rienzi's first public act to institute or model. Six 
 days from the memorable 19th of May he addressed the people of Viterbo in a letter yet 
 extant. He summons them to elect and send two syndics, or ambassadors, to the general 
 Parliament, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 241 
 
 seems too plain a thing, if unadorned by the pomp of the very 
 despotism they would dethrone. Revenge is their desire rather 
 than Release ; and the greater the new power they create, the 
 greater seems their revenge against the old. Still all that was 
 most respected, intelligent, and powerful amongst the assembly 
 were delighted at a temperance which they foresaw would free 
 Rome from a thousand dangers, whether from the Emperor or 
 the Pontiff. And their delight was yet increased when Rienzi 
 added, as soon as returning silence permitted : "And since 
 we have been equal laborers in the same cause, whatever 
 honors be awarded to me should be extended also to the Vicar 
 of the Pope, Raimond, Lord Bishop of Orvietto. Remember, 
 that both Church and State are properly the rulers of the 
 people, only because their benefactors. Long live the first 
 Vicar of a Pope that was ever also the Liberator of a State." 
 
 Whether or not Rienzi was only actuated by patriotism in 
 his moderation, certain it is, that his sagacity was at least equal 
 to his virtue ; and perhaps nothing could have cemented the 
 revolution more strongly than thus obtaining for a colleague 
 the Vicar and Representative of the Pontifical power : it bor- 
 rowed, for the time, the sanction of the Pope himself — thus 
 made to share the responsibility of the revolution, without 
 monopolizing the power of the State. 
 
 While the crowd hailed the proposition of Rienzi ; while 
 their shouts yet filled the air ; while Raimond, somewhat taken 
 by surprise, sought by signs and gestures to convey at once his 
 gratitude and his humility, the Tribune-Elect, casting his eyes 
 around, perceived many hitherto attracted by curiosity, and 
 whom, from their rank and weight, it was desirable to secure in 
 the first heat of the public enthusiasm. Accordingly, as soon 
 as Raimond had uttered a short and pompous harangue, in 
 which his eager acceptance of the honor proposed him was 
 ludicrously contrasted by his embarrassed desire not to involve 
 himself or the Pope in any untoward consequences that might 
 ensue, Rienzi motioned to two heralds that stood behind upop 
 the platform, and one of these advancing, proclaimed : *' That 
 as it was desirable that all hitherto neuter should now profess 
 themselves friends or foes, so they were invited to take at once 
 the oath of obedience to the laws, and subscription to the 
 Buono Stato." 
 
 So great was the popular fervor, and so much had it been re- 
 fined and deepened in its tone by the addresses of Rienzi, that 
 even the most indifferent had caught the contagion : and no 
 m«» Jiked %p h« «««n shrinking from the rest ! so that the most 
 
142 RIENZI, 
 
 neutral, knowing themselves the most marked, were the most 
 entrapped into allegiance to the Biiono Stato. The first who 
 advanced to the platform and took the oath was the Signor di 
 Raselli, the father of Nina. Others of the lesser nobility fol- 
 lowed his example. 
 
 The presence of the Pope's Vicar induced the aristocratic ; 
 the fear of the people urged the selfish ; the encouragement 
 of shouts and gratulations excited the vain. The space between 
 Adrian and Rienzi was made clear. The young noble suddenly 
 felt the eyes of the Tribune were upon him ; he felt that those 
 eyes recognized and called upon him ; he colored ; he breathed 
 short. The noble forbearance of Rienzi had touched him to 
 the heart ; the applause, the pageant, the enthusiasm of the 
 scene, intoxicated — confused him. He lifted his eyes and saw 
 before him the sister of the Tribune — the lady of his love ! 
 His indecision — his pause — continued, when Raimond, observ- 
 ing him, and obedient to a whisper from Rienzi, artfully cried 
 aloud : "Room for the Lord Adrian di Castello ! a Colonna! 
 a Colonna I " Retreat was cut off. Mechanically, and as if in 
 a dream^ Adrian ascended to the platform : and to complete 
 the triumph of the Tribune, the sun's last ray beheld the flower 
 of the Colonna — the best and bravest c«i the Barons of Romc-^ 
 confessing his authority, and subscribing to his laws I 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. t4j 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 THE FREEDOM WITHOUT LAW. 
 
 *• Ben furo avventurosi i cavalieri 
 Ch' erano a quella eta, clie nei valloni, 
 Nelle scure spelonche e boschi fieri, 
 Tane di serpi, d' orsi e di ieoni, 
 Trovavan quel che nei palazzi altieri 
 Appena or trovar pon giudici buoni ; 
 Donne che nella lor piu fresca etade 
 Sien degne di aver titol di beltade." 
 
 Ariosto, Orl. Fur. can. xiil t. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE RETURN OF WALTER DE MONTREAL TO HIS FORTRESS. 
 
 When Walter de Montreal and his mercenaries quitted Cor- 
 neto they made the best of their way to Rome ; arriving there, 
 long before the barons, they met with a similar reception at the 
 ejates, but Montreal prudently forbore all attack and menace, 
 <ind contented himself with sending his trusty Rodolf into the 
 city to seek Rienzi, and to crave permission to enter with his 
 troop. Rodolf returned in a shorter time than was antici- 
 pated. " Well," said Montreal impatiently, " you have the 
 order, I suppose. Shall we bid them open the gates?" 
 
 "Bid them open our graves," replied the Saxon bluntly. "I 
 *TUSt my next heraldry will be to a more friendly court." 
 
 " How ! what mean you ? " 
 
 " Briefly this : I found the new governor, or whatever his 
 title, in the palace of the Capitol, surrounded by guards and 
 councillors, and in a suit of the finest armor I ever saw out of 
 Milan." 
 
 "Pest on his armor ! give us his answer." 
 
 ** * Tell Walter de Montreal,' said he, then, if you will have 
 ?t, * that Rome is no longer a den of thieves ; tell him, that if 
 he enters, he must abide a trial — * " 
 
 " A trial ! " cried Montreal, grinding his teeth. 
 
 " * For participation in the evil doings of Werner and his free- 
 booters.* *' 
 
 " Ha ! " 
 
 ***Tell him, moreover, that Rome declares war against aU 
 
144 RIEN2!, 
 
 robbers, whether in tent or tower, and that we order him m 
 
 forty-eight hours to quit the territories of the Church," 
 
 "He thinks, then, not only to deceive, but to menace me? 
 Well, proceed." 
 
 " That was all his reply to you ; to me, however, Ik; . ouch- 
 safed a caution still more obliging. ' Hark ye, fric „ said he, 
 *for every German bandit found in Rome after to-morrow, our 
 welcome will be cord and gibbet ! Begone.'" , 
 
 " Enough ! enough ! " cried Montreal, coloring with rage 
 and shame. "Rodolf, you have a skilful eye ii^ these matters: 
 how many Northmen would it take to give that same gibbet to 
 the upstart ?" 
 
 Rodolf scratched his huge head, and seemed awhile lost in 
 calculation ; at length he said : "You, captain, must be the best 
 judge, when I tell you, that twenty thousand Romans are the 
 least of his force ; so I heard, by the way ; and this evening he 
 is to accept the crown, and depose the Emperor." 
 
 " Ha, hi ! " laughed Montreal, " is he so mad ? then he will 
 want not our aid to hang himself. My friends, let us wait the 
 result. At present neither barons nor people seem likely to fill 
 our coffers. Let us across the country to Terracina. Thank the 
 saints," and Montreal (who was not without a strange kind of 
 devotion, — indeed he deemed that virtue essential to chivalry) 
 crossed himself piously, "the Free Companions are never long 
 without quarters ! " 
 
 " Hurrah for the Knights of St. John ! '* cried the merce- 
 naries. *• And hurrah for fair Provence and bold Germany ! " 
 added the Knight, as he waved his hand on high, struck spurs 
 into his already wearied horse, and, breaking out into his favor- 
 ite song, 
 
 ** His steed and his sword, 
 And his lady the peerless," etc. 
 
 Montreal, with his troop, struck gallantly across the Campagna. 
 The Knight of St. John soon, however, fell into an absorbed 
 and moody reverie ; and his followers imitating the silence of 
 their chief, in a few minutes the clatter of their arms and the 
 jingle of their spurs alone disturbed the stillness of the wide 
 and gloomy plains across which they made towards Terracina. 
 Montreal was recalling with bitter resentment his conference 
 with Rienzi ; and, proud of his own sagacity and talent for 
 scheming, he was humbled and vexed at the discovery that he 
 had been duped by a wilier intriguer. His ambitious designs 
 on Rome, too, were crossed, and even crushed for the moment, 
 by the very means to which he had looked for their execution. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 14| 
 
 He had seen enough of the Barons to feel assured that while 
 Stephen Colonna lived, the head of the order, he was not likely 
 to obtain that mastery in the State, which, if leagued with a 
 more ambitious or less timid and less potent signer, might re- 
 ward his aid in expelling Rienzi. Under all circumstances he 
 deemed it advisable to remain aloof. Should Rienzi grow 
 strong, Montreal might make the advantageous terms he de- 
 sired with the Barons ; should Rienzi's power decay, his pride, 
 necessarily humbled, might drive him to seek the assistance, 
 and submit to the proposals, of Montreal. The ambition of 
 the Provencal, though vast and daring, was not of a consistent 
 and persevering nature. Action and enterprise were dearer to 
 him, as yet, than the rewards which they proffered ; and if 
 baffled in one quarter, he turned himself, with the true spirit 
 of the knight-errant, to any other field for his achievements. 
 Louis, King of Hungary, stern, warlike, implacable, seeking 
 vengeance for the murder of his brother, the ill-fated husband 
 of Joanna (the beautiful and guilty queen of Naples — the 
 Mary Stuart of Italy), had already prepared himself to subject 
 the garden of Campania to the Hungarian yoke. Already his 
 bastard brother had entered Italy ; already some of the Neapoli- 
 tan states had declared in his favor ; already promises had 
 been held out by the Northern monarch to the scattered Com- 
 panies ; and already those fierce mercenaries gathered men- 
 acingly round the frontiers of that Eden of Italy, attracted, as 
 vultures to the carcass, by the preparation of war and the hope of 
 plunder. Such was the field to which the bold mind of Mont- 
 real now turned his thoughts ; and his soldiers had joyfully con- 
 jectured his design when they had heard him fix Terracina as 
 their bourne. Provident of every resource, and refining his auda- 
 cious and unprincipled valor by a sagacity which promised, when 
 years had more matured and sobered his restless chivalry, to rank 
 him among the most dangerous enemies Italy had ever known, 
 on the first sign of Louis's warlike intentions, Montreal hac' 
 seized and fortified a strong castle on that delicious coast beyond 
 Terracina, by which lies the celebrated pass once held by Fabius 
 against Hannibal, and which Nature has so favored for war as 
 for peace, that a handful of armed men might stop the march 
 of an army. The possession of such a fortress on the very 
 frontiers of Naples gave Montreal an importance of which he 
 trusted to avail himself with the Hungarian king ; and now, 
 thwarted in his more grand and aspiring projects upon Rome, 
 his sanguine, active, and elastic spirit congratulated itself upon 
 the resource it had secured. 
 
I46 RIENZI, 
 
 The band halted at nightfall on this side the Pontine Marshes, 
 seizing without scruple some huts and sheds, from which tliey 
 ejected the miserable tenants, and slaughtering with no greater 
 ceremony the swine, cattle, and i)oultry of a neighboring farm. 
 Shortly after sunrise they crossed those fatal swamps which 
 had already been partially drained by Boniface Vlll. ; and 
 Montreal, refreshed by sleep, reconciled to his late mortifica- 
 tion by the advantages opened to him in the approaching war 
 with Naples, and rejoicing as he approached a home which 
 Tield one who alone divided his heart with ambition, had re- 
 sumed all the gayety which belonged to his Gallic birth and his 
 reckless habits. And that deadly but consecrated road, where 
 yet may be seen the labors of Augustus, in the canal which 
 had witnessed the voyage so humorously described by Horace, 
 echoed with the loud laughter and frequent snatches of wild 
 song by which the barbarian robbers enlivened their rapid 
 march. 
 
 It was noon when the company entered upon that romantic 
 pass I have before referred to — the ancient Lantulae. High to 
 the left rose steep and lofty rocks, then covered by the prodigal 
 verdure, and the countless flowers, of the closing May ; while 
 to the right the sea, gentle as a lake, and blue as heaven, rip- 
 pled musically at their feet. Montreal, who largely possessed 
 the poetry of his land, which is so eminently allied with a love 
 of nature, might at another time have enjoyed the beauty of the 
 scene ; but at that moment less external and more household 
 images were busy within him. 
 
 Abruptly ascending where a winding path up the mountain 
 offered a rough and painful road to their horses' feet, the band 
 at length arrived before a strong fortress of gray stone, whose 
 lowers were concealed by the lofty foliage, until they emerged 
 sullenly and suddenly from the laughing verdure. The sound 
 of the bugle, the pennon of the knight, the rapid watchword, 
 produced a loud shout of welcome from a score or two of grim 
 soldiery on the walls ; the portcullis was raised, and Montreal, 
 throwing himself hastily from his panting steed, sprung across 
 the threshold of a jutting porch, and traversed a huge hall, 
 when a lady — young, fair, and richly dressed — met him with a 
 step equally swift, and fell breathless and overjoyed in his 
 arms, 
 
 " My Walter ! my dear, dear Walter ; welcome — ten thou- 
 sand welcomes ! " 
 
 " Adeline, my beautiful, my adored — I see thee again !" 
 
 Such were the greetings interchanged as Montreal pressed 
 
The last oi the tribunes. E47 
 
 fiis lady to his heart, kissing away her tears, and lifting her 
 face to his, while be gazed on its delicate bloom with all the 
 wistful anxiety of affection after absence. 
 
 " Fairest," said he tenderly, *' thou hast pined, thou hast lost 
 roundness and color since we parted. Come, come, thou art 
 too gentle, or too foolish, for a soldier's love. ' 
 
 "Ah, Walter !" replied Adeline, clinging to him, " now thou 
 art returned, and I shall be well. Thou wilt not leave me 
 again a long, long time." 
 
 *' Sweet one, no "; and flinging his arm round her waist, the 
 lovers — for alas ! they were not wedded ! — retired to the more 
 private chambers of the castle. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE LIFE OF LOVE AND WAR. — THE MESSENGER OF PEACE.—* 
 
 THE JOUST. 
 
 Girt with his soldiery, secure In his feudal hold, enchanted 
 with the beauty of the earth, sky, and sea around, and passion- 
 ately adoring his Adeline, Montreal for awhile forgot all his 
 more stirring projects and his ruder occupations. His nature 
 was capable of great tenderness, as of great ferocity ; and his 
 heart smote him when he looked at the fair cheek of his lady, 
 find saw that even his presence did not suffice to bring back 
 the smile and the fresh hues of old. Often he cursed that fatal 
 oath of his knightly order which forbade him to wed, though 
 with one more than his equal ; and remorse embittered his 
 happiest hours. That gentle lady in that robber hold, severed 
 from all she had been taught most to prize — mother, friends, 
 and fair fame — only loved her seducer the more intensely :• 
 only the more concentrated upon one object all the womanly 
 and tender feelings denied every other and less sinful vent. 
 But she felt her shame though she sought to conceal it, and a 
 yet more gnawing grief than even that of shame contributed 
 to prey upon her spirits and undermine her health. Yet withal, 
 in Montreal's presence she was happy, even in regret ; and in 
 her declining health she had at least a consolation in the hope 
 to die while his love was undiminished. Sometimes they made 
 short excursions, for the disturbed state of the country forbade 
 them to wander far from the castle, through the sunny woods, 
 And along the glassy sea^ which t^ake the charm of that 
 
14^ rYe'nzi, 
 
 delicious scenery ; and that mixture of the savage with the 
 lendei, the wild escort, the tent in some green glade in the 
 woods at noon, the lute and the voice of Adeline, with the fierce 
 soldiers grouped and listening at the distance, might have well 
 suited the verse of Ariosto, and harmonized singularly with 
 ":hat strange, disordered, yet chivalric time, in which the Classic 
 South became the seat of the Northern Romance. Still, how- 
 ever, Montreal maintained his secret intercourse with the 
 Hungarian king, and, plunged into new projects, willingly for- 
 sook for the present all his designs on Rome. Yet deemed he 
 that his more august ambition was only delayed, and bright 
 in the more distant prospects of his adventurous career, rose 
 the Capitol of Rome and shone the sceptre of the Caesars. 
 
 One day, as Montreal, with a small troop in attendance, 
 passed on horseback near the walls of Terracina, the gates 
 were suddenly thrown open, and a numerous throng issued 
 forth, preceded by a singular figure, whose steps they followed 
 bareheaded and with loud blessings ; a train of monks closed 
 the procession, chanting a hymn, of which the concluding 
 words were as follows : 
 
 Beauteous on the mountains — lo, 
 
 The feet of him glad tidings gladly bringing ; 
 The flowers along his pathway grow, 
 
 And voices heard aloft, to angel harps are singing : 
 And strife and slaughter cea^e 
 
 Before thy blessed way, Young Messenger of Peace f 
 
 O'er the mount and through the moor, 
 
 Glide thy holy steps secure. 
 
 Day and night no fear thou knowest. 
 
 Lonely — but with God thou goest. 
 
 Where the Heathen rage the fiercest, 
 
 Through the armed throng thou piercest. , 
 
 For thy coat of- mail bedi^ht 
 
 In thy spotless robe of white, 
 
 For the sinful sword — thy hand 
 
 Bearing bright the silver wand : 
 
 Through the camp and through the court* 
 
 Through the bandit's gloomy fort. 
 
 On the mis'^ion of the dove, 
 
 Speeds the minister of love ; 
 
 By a word the wildest taming 
 
 And the world to Christ reclaiming: 
 
 While, as once the waters trod 
 
 By the footsteps of thy God, 
 
 War and wrath and rapine cease, 
 Hush'd round thy charmed path, O Messenger of Peace ! 
 
 The stranger to whom these honors were paid was a young 
 unbcfikrded man, cloth§d in white wrought with silvei ; he was 
 
titE LAST OF Ttiti TRIBUNEg. 14^ 
 
 unarmed and barefooted ; in his hand he held a tall silver 
 wand. Montreal and his party halted in astonishment and 
 wonder, and the knight, spurring his horse toward the crowd, 
 confronted the stranger. 
 
 " How, friend," quoth the Provencal, **is thine a new order 
 of pilgrims, or what especial holiness has won thee this 
 homage ! " 
 
 "Back, back," cried some of the bolder of the crowd, *' 1st 
 not the robber dare arrest the Messenger of Peace." 
 I Montreal waved his hand disdainfully. 
 
 " I speak not to you, good sirs, and the worthy friars in your 
 rear know full well that I never injured herald or palmer." 
 
 The monks, ceasing from their hymn, advanced hastily w 
 the spot ; and indeed the devotion of Montreal had eve* 
 induced him to purchase the good-will of whatever monastery 
 neighbored his wandering home. 
 
 *' My son," said the eldest of the brethren, "this is a strange 
 spectacle, and a sacred ; and when thou learnest all, thou 
 wilt rather give the messenger a passport of safety from the 
 unthinking courage of thy friends than intercept his path 
 of peace." 
 
 " Ye puzzle still more my simple brain,'* said Montreal im- 
 patiently, '4et the youth speak for himself; I perceive that on 
 his mantle are the arms of Rome blended with other quarter- 
 ings, which are a mystery to me, — though sufficiently versed in 
 heraldic art as befits a noble and a knight." 
 
 " Signor," said the youth gravely, "know in me the messen- 
 ger of Cola di Rienzi, Tribune of Rome, charged with letters 
 to many a baron and prince in the ways between Rome and 
 Naples. The arms wrought upon my mantle are those of the 
 Pontiff, the City, and the Tribune." 
 
 " Umph ; thou must have bold nerves to traverse the Cam- 
 pagna with no other weapon than that stick of silver ! " 
 
 " Thou art mistaken, Sir Knight," replied the youth boldly, 
 " and judgest of the present by the past ; know that not a single 
 robber now lurks within the Campagna, the arms of the Tribune 
 have rendered every road around the city as secure as the 
 broadest street of the city itself." 
 "Thou tellest me wonders." 
 
 "Through the forest, and in the fortress ; through the wild- 
 est solitudes ; through the most populous towns, have my 
 comrades borne this silver wand unmolested and unscathed ; 
 wherever we pass along thousands hail us, and tears of joy 
 bless the messengers of him who hath expelled the brigand 
 
J50 RIENZr, 
 
 from his hold, the tyrant from his castle, and ensured the 
 gains of the merchant and the hut of the peasant." 
 
 ''' FardUu,'' said Montreal, with a stern smile, "I ought to 
 be thankful for the preference shown to me ; I have not yet 
 received the commands, nor felt the vengeance, of the tribune ; 
 yet, methinks, my humble castle lies just within the patrimony 
 of St. Peter." 
 
 "Pardon me, Signor Cavalier," said the youth; "but do I 
 address the renowned Knight of St. John, warrior of the CrosSy 
 yet leader of banditti?" 
 
 "Boy, you are bold ; I am Walter de Montreal." 
 
 ** I am bound, then, Sir Knight, to your castle." 
 
 " Take care how thou reach it before me, or thou standest a 
 fair chance of a quick exit. How now, my friends ! " seeing 
 that the crowd at these words gathered closer round the mes- 
 senger, ** think ye that I, who have my mate in kings, would 
 find a victim in an unarmed boy ? Fie ! give way — give way. 
 Young man, follow me homeward ; you are safe in my castle as 
 in your mother's arms." So saying, Montreal, with great dig- 
 nity and deliberate gravity, rode slowly towards his castle, his 
 soldiers, wondering, at a little distance, and the white-robed 
 messenger following with the crowd, who refused to depart ; so 
 great was their enthusiasm, that they even ascended to the 
 gates of the dreaded castle, and insisted on waiting without 
 until the return of the youtli assured them of his safety. 
 
 Montreal, who, however lawless elsewhere, strictly preserved 
 the rights of the meanest boor in his immediate neighborhood, 
 and rather affected popularity with the poor, bade the crowd 
 enter the court-yard, ordered his servitors to provide them with 
 wine and refreshment, regaled the good monks in his great 
 hall, and then led the way to a small room, where he received 
 the messenger. 
 
 "This," said the youth, "will best explain my mission," as 
 he placed a letter before Montreal. 
 
 The knight cut the silk with his dagger, and read the epistle 
 with great composure. 
 
 " Your Tribune," said he, when he had finished it, ** has 
 learned the laconic style of power very soon. He orders me 
 to render this castle, and vacate the Papal Territory within ten 
 days. He is obliging ; I must have breathing time to consider 
 the proposal ; be seated, I pray you, young sir. Forgive me, 
 but I should have imagined that your lord had enough upon 
 his hands with his Roman barons, to make him a little more 
 indulgent to us foreign visitors. Stephen Colcnna — " 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I15I 
 
 ** Is returned to Rome, and has taken the oath of allegiance ; 
 the Savelli, the Orsini, the Frangipani, have all subscribed 
 their submission to the Buojio Stato.'* 
 
 "How ! " cried Montreal, in great surprise. 
 
 "Not only have they returned, but they have submitted to 
 the dispersion of all their mercenaries, and the dismantling of 
 all their fortifications. The iron of the Orsini palace now bar- 
 ricades the Capitol, and the stone-work of the Colonna and the 
 Savelli has added new battlements to the gates of the Lateran 
 and St. Laurence." 
 
 " Wonderful man ! " said Montreal, with reluctant admira- 
 tion. "By what means was this effected?" 
 
 " A stern command and a strong force to back it. At the 
 first sound of the great bell, twenty thousand Romans rise in 
 arms. What to such an army are the brigands of an Orsini or 
 a Colonna? Sir Knight, your valor and renown make even 
 Rome admire you ; and I, a Roman, bid you beware." 
 
 " Well I thank thee ; thy news, friend, robs me of breath. 
 So the Barons submit, then ? " 
 
 " Yes : on the first day, one of the Colonna, the Lord 
 Adrian, took the oath : within a week Stephen, assured of safe 
 conduct, left Palestrina, the Savelli in his train ; the Orsini fol- 
 lowed — even Martino di Porto has silently succumbed." 
 
 "The Tribune — but is that his dignity ? methought he v/as to 
 be king — ' 
 
 " He was offered, and he refused, the title. His present 
 rank, which arrogates no patrician honors, went far to concil- 
 ate the nobles." 
 
 " A wise knave ! I beg pardon, a sagacious prince ! Well, 
 then, the Tribune lords it mightily, I suppose, over the great 
 Roman names ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, he enforces impartial justice from peasant or 
 patrician : but he preserves to the nobles all their just priv- 
 ileges and legal rank." 
 
 " Ha ! and the vain puppets, so they keep the semblance^ 
 scarce miss the substance — I understand. But this shows 
 genius. The Tribune is unwed, I think. Does he look among 
 the Colonna for a wife ? " 
 
 " Sir Knight, the Tribune is already married : within three 
 days after his ascension to power he won and bore home the 
 daughter of the Baron di Raselli." 
 
 " Raselli ! no great name ; he might have done better.*' 
 
 " But it is said, " resumed the youth, smiling, " tliat the 
 Tribune will shortly be allied to the Colonna, through 
 
152 RIENZI, 
 
 his fair sister the Signora Irene. The Baron di Castello woog 
 her." 
 
 " What, Adrian Colonna ! Enough ! you have convinced me 
 that a man who contents the people and awes or conciliates the 
 nobles is born for empire. My answer to this letter I will send 
 myself. For your news, Sir Messenger, accept this jewel," and 
 the knight took from his finger a gem of some price. " Nay, 
 shrink not, it was as freely given to me as it is now to thee." 
 
 The youth, who had been agreeably surprised and impressed 
 by the manner of the renowned freebooter, and who was not a 
 little astonislied himself with the ease and familiarity with 
 which he had been relating to Fra Moreale, in his own fortress, 
 the news of Rome, bowed low as he accepted the gift. 
 
 The astute Provengal, who saw the evident impression he 
 had made, perceived also that it might be of advantage in de- 
 laying the measures he might deem it expedient to adopt. 
 "Assure the Tribune," said he, on dismissing the messenger, 
 *'shouldst thou return ere my letter arrive, that I admire his 
 genius, hail his power, and will not fail to consider as favor- 
 ably as I may of his demand." 
 
 " Better," said the messenger warmly (he was of good blood, 
 and gentle bearing), — "better ten tyrants for our enemy, than 
 one Montreal." 
 
 " An enemy ! believe me, sir, I seek no enmity with princes 
 who know how to govern, or a people that has the wisdom at 
 once to rule and to obey." 
 
 The whole of that day, however, Montreal remained thought- 
 ful and uneasy ; he despatched trusty messengers to the Gov- 
 ernor of Aquila (who was then in correspondence with Louis 
 of Hungary), to Naples, and to Rome — the last charged with a 
 letter to the Tribune, which, without absolutely compromising 
 himself, affected submission, and demanded only a longer lei- 
 sure for the preparations of departure. But, at the same time, 
 fresh fortifications were added to the castle, ample provisions 
 were laid in, and, night and day, spies and scouts were sta- 
 honed along the pass, and in the town of Terracina. Mon- 
 treal was precisely the chief who prepared most for war when 
 most he pretended peace. 
 
 One morning, the f-fth from the appearance of the Roman 
 m.essenger, Montreal, after narrowly surveying his outworks and 
 his stores, and feeling satisfied that he could hold out at least 
 a month's siege, repaired, with a gayer countenance than he 
 had lately worn, to the chamber of Adeline. 
 
 The- iady was seated by the casement of th? tower, frou) 
 
TKr. LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I53 
 
 which might be seen the glorious landscape of woods, and 
 vales, and orange groves — a strange garden for such a palace ! 
 As she leant her face upon her hand, with her profile slightly 
 turned to Montreal, there was something ineffably graceful in 
 the bend of her neck, — the small head so expressive of gentle 
 blood, — with the locks parted in front in that simple fashion 
 which modern times have so happily revived. But the expres- 
 sion of the half-averted face, the abstracted intentness of the 
 gft£e, and the profound stillness of the attitude, were so sad 
 and mournful, that Montreal's proposed greeting of gallantry 
 and gladness died upon his lips. He approached in silence, and 
 laid his hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 Adeline turned, and taking the hand in hers, pressed it to 
 her heart, and smiled away all her sadness. " Dearest," said 
 Montreal, " could thou know how much any shadow of grief 
 on thy bright face darkens my heart, thou wouldst never grieve. 
 But no wonder that in these rude walls — no female of equal 
 rank near thee, and such mirth as Montreal can summon to his 
 halls, grating to thy ear — no wonder that thou repentest thee 
 of thy choice." 
 
 " Ah, no, no, Walter, I never repent. I did but think of our 
 child as you entered. Alas ! he was our only child ! How 
 fair he was, Walter ; how he resembled thee ! " 
 
 " Nay, he had thine eyes and brow," replied the Knight, 
 with a faltering voice, and turning away his head. 
 
 " Walter," resumed the lady, sighing, "do you remember? 
 this is his birthday. He is ten years old to-day. We have 
 loved each other eleven years, and thou hast not tired yet of thy 
 poor Adeline." 
 
 " As well might the saints weary of paradise," replied Mon- 
 treal, with an enamoured tenderness, which changed into soft- 
 ness the whole character of his heroic countenance. 
 
 " Could I think so, I should indeed be blest ! " answered 
 Adeline. " But a little while longer, and the few charms I yet 
 possess must fade ; and what other claim have I on thee ? " 
 
 "All claim ; the memory of thy first blushes — thy first kiss — 
 of C.iy devoted sacrifices — of thy patient wanderings — of thy 
 uncomplaining love ! Ah, Adeline, we are of Provence, not 
 of Italy ; and when did Knight of Provence avoid his foe, or 
 forsake his love ? But enough, dearest, of home and melancholy 
 for to-day. I come to bid thee forth. I have sent on the ser- 
 vitors to pitch our tent beside the sea ; we will enjoy the orange 
 blossoms while we may. Ere another week pass over us WC 
 may have sterner pastime and closer confines." 
 
t54 RIENft 
 
 " How, dearest Walter ! thou dost not apprehend danger?** 
 
 ** Thou speakest, lady-bird," said Montreal, laughing, "as if 
 danger were novelty ; methinks by this time thou shouldst 
 know it as the atmosphere we breathe." 
 
 ** Ah, Walter, is this to last forever ? Thou art now rich and 
 renowned ; canst tliou not abandon this career of strife ?" 
 
 " Now, out on thee, Adeline. What are riches and renown 
 but the means to power ? And for strife, the shield of warriors 
 was my cradle — pray the saints it be my bier I These wild an::^ 
 wizard extremes of life — from the bower to the tent ; from the 
 cavern to the palace ; to-day a wandering exile, to-morrow ',hf 
 equal of kings — make the true element of the chivalry of my 
 Norman sires. Normandy taught me war, and sweet Provence 
 love. Kiss me, dear Adeline ; and now let thy handmaids 
 attire thee. Forget not thy lute, sweet one. We will rouse the 
 echoes with the songs of Provence." 
 
 The ductile temper of Adeline yielded easily to the gaiety 
 of her lord : and the party soon sallied from the castle towards 
 the spot in which Montreal had designed their resting place 
 during the heats of day But already prepared for all sur- 
 prise, the castle was left strictly guarded, and besides the do- 
 mestic servitors of the castle, a detachment of ten soldiers, 
 completely armed, accompanied the lovers. Montreal himself 
 wore his corselet, and his 'squires followed with his helmet and 
 lance. Beyond the narrow defile at the base of the castle, the 
 road at that day opened into a broad patch of verdure, circled 
 on all sides, save that open to the sea, by wood, interspersed 
 with myrtle and orange, and a wilderness of odorous f)hrubs. 
 In this space, and sheltered by the broad-spreading and classic 
 fagus (so improperly translated into the English beech), a gar 
 pavilion was prepared, which commanded the view of th' 
 sparkling sea ; shaded from the sun, but open to the gentl? 
 breeze. This was poor Adeline's favorite recreation, if recrea 
 tion it might be called. She rejoiced to escape from the gloom?' 
 walls of her castellated prison, and to enjoy the sunshine and 
 the sweets of that voluptuous climate without the fatigue which 
 of late all exercises occasioned her. It was a gallantry on the 
 part of Montreal, who foresaw how short an interval might 
 elapse before the troops of Rienzi besieged his walls ; and who 
 was himself no less at home in the bower than in the field. 
 
 As they reclined within the pavilion — the lover and his lady, — 
 of the attendants without, some lounged idly on the beach; 
 some prepared the awning of a pleasure-boat against the de- 
 cline of the sun j some, in a ruder tent, out of sight in th^ 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 155 
 
 wood, arranged the midday repast ; while the strings of the 
 lute, touched by Montreal himself with a careless skill, gave 
 their music to the dreamy stillness of the noon. 
 
 While thus employed, one of Montreal's scouts arrived 
 breathless and heated at the tent. 
 
 " Captain," said he, a company of thirty lances, completely 
 armed, with a long retinue of 'squires and pages, have just 
 quitted Terracina. Their banners bear the two-fold insignia 
 of Rome and the Colonna." 
 
 " Ho ! " said Montreal gaily, "such a troop is a welcome ad- 
 dition to our company ; send our 'squire hither." 
 
 The 'squire appeared. 
 
 *' Hie thee on thy steed towards the procession thou wilt 
 meet with in the pass (nay, sweet lady mine, no forbiddal !), 
 seek the chief, and say that the good knight Walter de Mon- 
 treal sends him greeting, and prays him, in passing our proper 
 territory, to rest awhile with us a welcome guest ; and — stay — 
 add, that if to while an hour or so in gentle pastime be accept- 
 able to him, Walter de Montreal would rejoice to break a lance 
 with him, or any knight in his train, in honor of our respective 
 iadies. Hie thee quick ! 
 
 *' Walter, Walter," began Adeline, who had that keen and 
 delicate sensitiveness to her situation which her reckless lord 
 often wantonly forgot ; " Walter, dear Walter, canst thou think 
 it honor to — " 
 
 "Hush thee, sweet Fleur de lis! Thou hast not seen pas- 
 time this many a day ; I long to convince thee that thou art 
 still the fairest lady in Italy — ay, and of Christendom. But 
 these Italians are craven knights, and thou needest not fear 
 that my proffer will be accepted. But in truth, lady mine,I rejoice 
 for graver objects, that chance throws a Roman noble, perhaps 
 ^. Colonna, in my way ; women understand not these matters ; 
 ind aught concerning Rome touches us home at this moment." 
 
 With that the knight frowned, as was his wont in thought, 
 ind Adeline ventured to say no more, but retired to the interior 
 division of the pavilion. 
 
 Meanwhile the 'squire approached the procession that had 
 now reached the middle of the pass : and a stately and gallant 
 company it was. If the complete harness of the soldiery 
 seemed to attest a warlike purpose, it vv^as contradicted on the 
 other hand by a numerous train of unarmed 'squires and pages 
 gorgeously attired, while the splendid blazon of two heralds 
 preceding the standard-bearers proclaimed their object as 
 peaceful, and their path as sacred. It required but a glance ai 
 
"ihe company to tell the leader. Arrayed in a breastplate ot 
 steel, wrought profusely with gold arabesques, over which was 
 a mantle of dark-green velvet, bordered with pearls, while above 
 his long dark locks waved a black ostrich plume in a high 
 Macedonian cap, such as, I believe, is now worn by the Grand 
 Master of the order of St. Constantine, rode in the front of the 
 party a young cavalier, distiriguished from his immediate com- 
 rades, partly by his graceful presence and partly by his splendid 
 dress. 
 
 The 'squire approached respectfully, and, dismounting, deliv- 
 ered himself of his charge. 
 
 The young cavalier smiled, as he answered, " Bear back to 
 Sir Walter de Montreal the greeting of Adrian Colonna, Baron 
 di Castello, and say, that the solemn object of my present journey 
 will scarce permit me to encounter the formidable lance of so cele- 
 brated a knight ; and I regret this the more, inasmuch as I may 
 not yield to any 'iame the palm of my liege lady's beauty. I 
 must live in hope o^ a happier occasion. For the rest, I will 
 cheerfully abide for some few hours the guest of so courteous a 
 host." 
 
 The 'squire bowed low. "My master," said he hesitatingly, 
 **will grieve much to miss so noble an opponent. But my mes- 
 sage refers to all this knightly and gallant train ; and if the 
 Lord Adrian di Castello deems himself forbidden the joust by 
 the object of his present journey, surely one of his comrades 
 will be his proxy with my master." 
 
 Out and quickly spoke a young noble by the side of Adrian, 
 Riccardo Annibaldi, who afterwards did good service both to 
 the Tribune and to Rome, and whose valor brought him, in 
 later life, to an untimely end. 
 
 " By the Lord Adrian's permission," cried he, " I will break 
 a lance with — " 
 
 "Hush. Annibaldi!" interrupted Adrian. "And you. Sir 
 'Squire, know, that Adrian di Castello permits no proxy in arms. 
 Avise the Knight of St. John that we accept his hospitality, ana 
 if, after some converse on graver matters, he should still desire 
 so light an entertainment, 1 will forget that I am the ambassa- 
 dor to Naples, and remember only that I am a Knight of the 
 Empire. You have your answer." 
 
 The 'squire with much ceremony made his obeisance, -*e- 
 mounted his steed, and returned in a half-gallop to his master. 
 
 "Forgive me, dear Annibaldi," said Adrian, "that I balked 
 your valor : and believe me that I never more longed to break a 
 lance against any man than I do against this boasting French- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I57 
 
 man. But bethink you, that though to us, brought up in the 
 dainty laws of chivalry, Walter de Montreal is the famous 
 Knight of Provence, to the Tribune of Rome, whose grave 
 mission we now fulfill, he is but the mercenary captain of a Free 
 Company. Grievously in his eyes should we sully our dignity 
 by so wanton and irrelevant a holiday conflict with a declared 
 and professional brigand." 
 
 *' For all that," said Annibaldi, " the brigand ought not to 
 boast that a Roman knight shunned a Provencal lance." 
 
 " Cease, I pray thee ! " said Adrian impatiently. In fact, 
 the young Colonna already chafed bitterly against his discreet 
 and dignified rejection of Montreal's proffer, and recollecting 
 with much pique the disparaging manner in which the Proven- 
 gal had spoken of the Roman chivalry, as well as a certain tone 
 of superiority, which in all warlike matters Montreal had as- 
 sumed over him, he now felt his cheek burn, and his lip quiver. 
 Highly skilled in the martial accomplishments of his time, he 
 had a natural and excusable desire to prove that he was at 
 least no unworthy antagonist even of the best lance in Italy; 
 and, added to this, the gallantry of the age made him feel it a 
 sort of treason to his mistress to forego any means of asserting 
 her perfections. 
 
 It was, therefore, with considerable irritation that Adrian, as 
 the pavilion of Montreal became visible, perceived the 'squire 
 returning to him. And the reader will judge how much this 
 was increased when the latter, once more dismounting, accosted 
 him thus : 
 
 " My master, the Knight of St. John, on hearing the courte- 
 ous answer of the Lord Adrian di Castello, bids me say that 
 lest the graver converse the Lord Adrian refers to should 
 mar gentle and friendly sport, he ventures respectfully to sug- 
 gest that the tilt should preface the converse. The sod before 
 the tent is so soft and smooth, that even a fall could be 
 attended with no danger to knight or steed." 
 
 " By our Lady ! " cried Adrian and Annibaldi in a breath, 
 " but thy last words are discourteous ; and " (proceeded Adrian, 
 recovering himself) " since thy master will have it so, let him 
 look to his horse's girths. I will not gainsay his fancy." 
 
 Montreal, who had thus insisted upon the exhibition, partly, 
 it may be, from the gay and ruffling bravado common still 
 amongst his brave countrymen ; partly because he was curious 
 of exhibiting before those who might soon be his open foes his 
 Singular and unrivalled addri^oS in arms, was yet more moved 
 le il on learning the n9.m6 of the leader of the Koman Com^ 
 
158 RIENZI, 
 
 pany ; for his vain and haughty spirit, however it had disguised 
 resentment at the time, had by no means forgiven certain warm 
 expressions of Adrian in the palace of Stephen Colonna, and 
 in the unfortunate journey to Corneto. While Adrian, halting 
 at the entrance of the defile, aided by his 'squires, indignantly, 
 but carefully, indued the rest of his armor, and saw, himself^ 
 to the girths, stirrup-leathers, and various buckles in the capar- 
 ison of his noble charger, Montreal in great glee kissed his Indy, 
 who, though too soft to be angry, was deeply vexed (and yet 
 her vexation half forgotten in fear for his safety), snatclied up 
 her scarf of blue, which he threw over his breastplate, and com- 
 pleted his array with the indifference of a man certain of 
 victory. He was destined, however, to one disadvantage, and 
 that the greatest ; his armor and lance had been brought from 
 the castle — not his warhorse. His palfrey was too slight to 
 bear the great weight of his armor, nor amongst his troop was 
 there one horse that for power and bone could match with 
 Adrian's. He chose, however, the strongest that was at hand, 
 and a loud shout from his wild followers testified their admira- 
 tion when he sprung unaided from the ground into the saddle — ■ 
 a rare and difficult feat 01 agility in a man completely arrayed in 
 the ponderous armor which issued at that day from the forges of 
 Milan, and was worn far more weighty in Italy than any other 
 part of Europe. While both companies grouped slowly and 
 mingled in a kind of circle round the green turf, and the 
 Roman heralds, with bustling importance, attempted to marshal 
 the spectators into order, Montreal rode his charger round the 
 sward, forcing it into various caracoles, and exhibiting, with 
 the vanity that belonged to him, his exquisite and practised 
 horsemanship. 
 
 At length, Adrian, his visor down, rode slowly into the green 
 space, amidst the cheers of his party. The two knights, at 
 either end, gravely fronted each other ; they made the courtesies 
 with their lances, which, in friendly and sportive encounters, 
 were customary ; and, as they thus paused for the signal of en- 
 counter, the Italians trembled for the honor of their chief ; 
 Montreal's stately height and g'rth of chest forming a strong 
 contrast, even in armor, to the form of his opponent, which was 
 rather under the middle standard, and, though firmly knit, 
 slightly and slenderly buijt. But to that perfection was skill in 
 arms brought in those times, that great strength and size were 
 far from being either the absolute requisites, or even the usual 
 attributes, of the more celebrated knights; in fact, so much 
 Was effected by the power and the management of the steed|» 
 
THfi LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 1^0 
 
 that a light weight in the rider was often rather to his advan- 
 tage than his prejudice : and, even at a later period, the most 
 accomplished victors in the tourney, the French Bayard and 
 the English Sydney, were far from remarkable either for bulk 
 or stature. 
 
 Whatever the superiority of Montreal in physical power, was, 
 in much, counterbalanced by the inferiority of his horse, which, 
 Ihough a thick-built and strong Calabrian, had neither the 
 ')lood, bone, nor practised discipline of the northern charger 
 of the Roman. The shining coat of the latter, coal black, was 
 set off by a scarlet cloth wrought in gold ; the neck and shoul- 
 ders were clad in scales of mail ; and from the forehead pro- 
 jected a long point, like the horn of an unicorn, while on its 
 crest waved a tall plume of scarlet and white feaihers. As the 
 mission of Adrian to Naples was that of pomp and ceremony 
 to a court of great splendor, so his array and retinue were be- 
 fitting the occasion and the passion for show that belonged to 
 the time ; and the very bridle of his horse, which was three 
 inches broad, was decorated with gold, and even jewels. I'he 
 knight himself was clad in mail which had tested the finest art 
 of the celebrated Ludovico of Milan ; and, altogether, his ap- 
 pearance was unusually gallant and splendid, and seemed still 
 more so beside the plain but brightly polished and artfully 
 flexible armor of Montreal (adorned only with his lady's scarf) 
 and the common and rude mail of his charger. This contrast, 
 however, was not welcome to the Proven9al, whose vanity was 
 especially indulged in warlike equipments ; and who, had he 
 foreseen the *' pastime " that awaited him, would have outshone 
 ^ven the Colonna. 
 
 The trumpeters of eitherparty gave a short blast ; the knights 
 remained erect as statues of iron ; a second, and each slightly 
 bent over his saddle-bow ; a third, and with spears couched, 
 L:lackened reins, and at full speed, on they rushed, and fiercely 
 they met midway. With the reckless arrogance which belonged 
 to him Montreal had imagined that at the first touch of his 
 lance Adrian would have been unhorsed ; but to his great sur- 
 prise the young Roman remained firm, and, amidst the shouts 
 of his party, passed on to the other end of the lists. Montreal 
 himself was rudely shaken, but lost neither seat nor stirrup. 
 
 " This can be no carpet knight," muttered Montreal between 
 his teeth, as, this time, he summoned all his skill for a second 
 encounter ; while Adrian, aware of the great superiority of his 
 charger, resolved to bring it to bear against his opponent. Ac 
 cordmgly, when the knights again rushed forward, Adriai^ 
 
iffO RIEN2I, 
 
 covering himself well with his buckler, directed his care less 
 against the combatant, whom he felt no lance wielded by mor- 
 tal hand was likely to dislodge, than against the less noble ani- 
 mal he bestrode. The shock of Montreal's charge was; "ike an 
 avalanche; his lance shivered into a thousand pieces, Ar5:7an 
 lost both stirrups, and but for the strong iron bows wluch 
 guarded the saddle in front and rear, would have been fairly 
 unhorsed ; as it was, he was almost doubled back by the en- 
 counter, and his ears rung and his eyes reeled, so tliat for a 
 moment or two he almost lost all consciousness. But his steed 
 had well repaid its nurture and discipline. Just as the com- 
 batants closed, the animal, rearing on high, pressed forwarc 
 with its mighty crest against its opponent with a force so irre- 
 sistible as to drive back Montreal's horse several paces ; while 
 Adrian's lance, poised with exquisite skill, striking against the 
 Proven9ars helmet, somewhat rudely diverted the knight's at- 
 tention for the moment from his rein. Montreal, drawing the 
 curb too tightly in the suddenness of his recovery, the horse 
 reared on end ; and receiving at that instant, full upon his 
 breast-plate, the sharp horn and mailed crest of Adrian's 
 charger, fell back over its rider upon the sward. Montreal dis- 
 encumbered himself in great rage and shame, as a faint cry 
 from his pavilion reached his ear, and redoubled his mo-tifica- 
 tion. He rose with a lightness which astonished the b^iholders ; 
 for so heavy was the armor worn at that day, that few knights 
 once stretched upon the ground could rise without assistance ; 
 and, drawing his sword, cried out fiercly : *' On foo?:, o»> foot ! 
 the fall was not mine, but this accursed beast's, that T must 
 needs for my sins raise to the rank of a charger. Come on." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," said Adrian, drawing off his gauntlets 
 and unbuckling his helmet, which he threw on the ground, " I 
 come to thee a guest and a friend ; but to fight on foot is the 
 encounter of mortal foes. Did I accept thy offer, my defeat 
 would but stain thy knighthood.'* 
 
 Montreal, whose passion had beguiled him for the moment, 
 sullenly acquiesced in this reasoning. Adrian hastened to 
 soothe his antagonist. "For the rest," said he, " I cannot pre- 
 tend to the prize. Your lance lost me my stirrups ; mine left 
 you unshaken. You say right ; the defeat, if any, was that of 
 your steed." 
 
 *' We may meet again when I am more equally horsed," said 
 Montreal, still chafing. 
 
 ** Now, our Lady forbid ! " exclaimed Adrian, with so devout 
 Gn earnestness that the bystanders could not refrain from laugh* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES* l6l 
 
 ing ; and even Montreal grimly and half-reluctantly joined in 
 the merriment. The courtesy of his foe, however, conciliated 
 and touched the more frank and soldierly qualities of his 
 nature, and composing himself, he replied : 
 
 "Signordi Castello, I rest your debtor for a courtesy that I 
 have but little imitated. Howbeit, if thou wouldst bind me to 
 thee forever, thou wilt suffer me to send for my own charger, 
 and afford me a chance to retrieve mine honor. With that steed, 
 or with one equal to thine, which seems to me of the English 
 breed, I will gage all I possess, lands, castle, and gold, sword 
 and spurs, to maintain this pass, one by one, against all thy 
 train." 
 
 Fortunately, perhaps, for Adrian, ere he could reply, Riccardo 
 Annibaldi cried with great warmth : " Sir Knights, I have with 
 me two steeds well practised in the tourney ; take thy choice 
 and accept in me a champion of the Roman against the French 
 chivalry ; there is my gage." 
 
 **Signor," replied Montreal, with ill-suppressed delight, 
 ** thy proffer shows so gallant and free a spirit, that it were foul 
 sin in me to balk it. I accept thy gage, and whichever of 
 thy steeds thou rejectest, in God's name bring it hither, and 
 let us waste no words before action." 
 
 Adrian, who felt that hitherto the Romans had been more 
 favored by fortune than merit, vainly endeavored to prevent 
 this second hazard. But Annibaldi was greatly chafed, and 
 his high rank rendered it impolitic in Adrian to offend him by 
 peremptory prohibition : the Colonna reluctantly, therefore, 
 yielded his assent to the engagement. Annibaldi's steeds 
 were led to the spot, the one a noble roan, the other a bay, of 
 somewhat less breeding and bone, but still of great strength 
 and price. Montreal, finding the choice pressed upon him, 
 gallantly selected the latter and less excellent. 
 
 Annibaldi was soon arrayed for the encounter, and Adrian 
 gave the word to the trumpeters. The Roman was of a stat- 
 ure almost equal to that of Montreal, and though some 
 years younger, seemed, in his armor, nearly of the same thews 
 and girth, so that the present antagonists appeared at the first 
 glance more evenly matched than the last. But this time Mon- 
 treal, well horsed, inspired to the utmost by shame and pride, 
 felt himself a match for an army ; and he met the young 
 Baron with such prowess that, while the very plume on his 
 casque seemed scarcely stirred, the Italian was thrown several 
 paces from his steed, and it was not till some moments after 
 bis visor was removed by his 'squires that he recovered his 
 
l62 RiENZI, 
 
 senses. This event restored Montreal to all his natural gayety 
 of humor, and effectually raised the spirits of his followers, who 
 Lad felt much humbled by the previous encounter. 
 
 He himself assisted Annibaldi to rise with great courtesy, 
 and a profusion of compliments, which the proud Roman took 
 in stern silence, and then led the way to the pavilion, loudly 
 ordering the banquet to be spread. Annibaldi, however, 
 loitered behind, and Adrian, who penetrated his thoughts, and 
 who saw that over their cups a quarrel between the Provengal 
 and his friend was likely to ensue, drawing him aside said 
 " Methinks, dear Annibaldi, it would be better if you, with the 
 chief of our following, were to proceed onward to Fondi, 
 where I will join you at sunset. My 'squires, and some eight 
 lances, will suffice for my safeguard here ; and, to say truth, 
 I desire a few private words with our strange host, in the hope 
 that he may be peaceably induced to withdraw from hence 
 without the help of our Roman troops, who have enough else- 
 where to feed their valor." 
 
 Annibaldi pressed his companion's hand: "I understand 
 thee," he replied with a slight blush, "and, indeed, I could but 
 ill brook the complacent triumph of the barbarian. I accept 
 thy offer." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 rHE CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE ROMAN AND THE PROVEN- 
 CAL. — Adeline's history. — the moonlit sea. — the i ute 
 
 AND the song. 
 
 As soon as Annibaldi, with the greater part of the retinue, 
 was gone, Adrian, divesting himself of his heavy greaves, en- 
 tered alone the pavilion of the Knight of St. John. Montreal 
 had already doffed all his armor, save the breastplate, and he 
 now stepped forward to welcome his guest with the winning 
 and easy grace which better suited his birth than his profes- 
 sion. He received Adrian's excuses for the absence of Anni- 
 baldi and the other knights of his train with a smile that 
 seemed to prove how readily he divined the cause, and con- 
 ducted him to the other and more private division of the pa- 
 vilion in which the repast (rendered acceptable by the late ex- 
 ercise of the guest and host) was prepared ; and here Adrian 
 for the first time discovered Adeline. Long inurement to the 
 various and roving life of her lover, joined to a certain pride 
 
THE LAST Of THE TRIBUNES. 163 
 
 ^hich she derived from conscious, though forfeited, rank, gave 
 to the outward manner of that beautiful lady an ease and 
 freedom which often concealed, e^^en from Montreal, her sensi- 
 tiveness to her unhappy situation. At times, indeed, when 
 alone with Montreal, whom she loved with all the devotion of 
 romance, she was sensible only to the charm of a presence 
 ./hich consoled her for all things ; but in his frequent absence, 
 or on the admission of any stranger, the illusion vanished — the 
 reality returned. Poor lady ! Nature had not formed, educa- 
 tion had not reared, habit had not reconciled, her to the breath 
 of shame ! 
 
 The young Colonna was much struck by her beauty, and 
 more by her gentle and high-born grace. Like her lord she 
 appeared younger than she was ; time seemed to spare a bloom 
 which an experienced eye might have told was destined to an 
 early grave ; and there was something almost girlish in the 
 lightness of her form, the braided luxuriance of her rich au- 
 burn hair, and the color that went and came, not only w'th 
 every moment, but almost with every word. The contrast be- 
 tween her and Montreal became them both — it was the contrast 
 of devoted reliance and protecting strength : each looked fairer 
 in the presence of the other : and as Adrian sate down to 
 the well-laden board, he thought he had never seen a 
 pair more formed for the poet legends of their native Trouba- 
 dours. 
 
 Montreal conversed gayly upon a thousand matters — pressed 
 the wine flasks, and selected for his guest the most delicate 
 portions of the delicious spicola of the neighboring sea, and the 
 rich flesh of the wild boar of the Pontine Marshes. 
 
 *' Tell me," said Montreal, as their hunger was now appeased, 
 ' tell me, noble Adrian, how fares your kinsman, Signor 
 Stephen ? A brave old man for his years." 
 
 " He bears him as the youngest of us," answered Adrian. 
 
 " Late events must have shocked him a little," said Mon- 
 wi'eal, with an arch smile. " Ah, you look grave — yet commend 
 my foresight , I was the first who prophesied to thy kinsman 
 the rise of Cola di Rienzi ; he seems a great man ; never more 
 great than in conciliating the Colonna and the Orsini." 
 
 " The Tribune," returned Adrian evasively, " is certainly a 
 man of extraordinary genius. And now, seeing him command, 
 my only wonder is how he ever brooked to obey ; majesty 
 seems a very part of him." 
 
 " Men who win power easily put on its harness, dignity," an- 
 swered Monueai ; " and if I hear aright — (pledge me to your 
 
164 RIENZI, 
 
 lady's health) — the Tribune, if not himself nobly born, will 
 soon be nobly connected." 
 
 " He is already married to a Raselli, an old Roman house," 
 replied Adrian. 
 
 " You evade my pursuit, — Le doiilx soupir ! le doulx soupir ! as 
 the old Cabestan has it," said Montreal, laughing. *' Well, you 
 have pledged me one cup to your lady, pledge another to 
 the fair Irene, the Tribune's sister, always pi Dvided they tv/oare 
 not one. You smile and shake your head." 
 
 *' I do not disguise from you. Sir Knight," answered 
 Adrian, "that when my present embassy is over, I trust the 
 alliance between the Tribune and a Colonna will go far to- 
 wards the benefit of both." 
 
 " I have heard rightly then," said Montreal, in a grave and 
 thoughtful tone. " Rienzi's power must, indeed, be great." 
 
 "Of that my mission is a proof. Are you aware, Signor de 
 Montreal, that Louis, King of Hungary — " 
 
 "How! what of him?" 
 
 ^* Has referred the decision of the feud between himself and 
 Joanna, of Naples, respecting the death of her royal spouse, his 
 brother, to the fiat of the Tribune ? This is the first time, me- 
 thinks, since the death of Constantine, that so great a confi- 
 dence and so high a charge were ever intrusted to a Roman ! " 
 
 "By all the saints in the calendar ! " cried Montreal, crossing 
 himself, " this news is indeed amazing ! The fierce Louis of 
 Hungary waive the right of the sword, and choose other umpire 
 than the field of battle !".... 
 
 "And this," continued Adrian, in a significant tone, "this it 
 was which induced me to obey your courteous summons. I 
 know, brave Montreal, that you hold intercourse with Louis. 
 Louis has given to the Tribune the best pledge of his amity 
 and alliance ; will you do wisely if you — " 
 
 "Wage war with the Hungarian's ally," interrupted Mon- 
 treal. " This you were about to add ; the same thought crossed 
 myself. My lord, pardon me — Italians sometime, 'nvent what 
 they wish. On the honor of a Knight of the Empire, these 
 tidings are the naked truth ?" 
 
 " By my honor, and on the Cross," answered Adrian, draw- 
 "ng himself up ; " and in proof thereof, I am now bound to 
 Naples, to settle with the Queen the preliminaries of the ap" 
 pointed trial." 
 
 " Two crowned heads before the tribunal of a plebeian, anC 
 one a defendant against the charge of murtherS" muttered 
 MoQUeal » " the news might well amaze me ! " 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ifij 
 
 He remained musing and silent a little while, till looking up, 
 lie caught Adeline's tender gaze fixed upon liim with that 
 deep solicitude with which she watched the outward effect of 
 schemes and projects she was too soft to desire to know, and 
 too innocent to share. 
 
 " Lady mine," said the Proven9al fondly, "how sayst thou ? 
 must we abandon our mountain castle, and these wild wood- 
 land scenes, for the dull walls of a city ? I fear me so. The 
 I.ady Adeline," he continued, turning to Adrian, "is of a sin- 
 gular bias ; she hates the gay crowds of streets and thorough- 
 fares, and esteems no palace like the solitary outlaw's hold. 
 Yet, methinks, she might outshine all the faces of Italy, — thy 
 mistress. Lord Adrian, of course excepted." 
 
 " It is an exception which only a lover, and that too a be 
 trothed lover, would dare to make," replied Adrian gallantly. 
 
 " Nay," said Adeline, in a voice singularly sweet and clear, 
 "nay, I know well at what price to value my lord's flattery, and 
 Signor di Castello's courtesy. But you are bound. Sir Knight, 
 to a court, that, if fame speak true, boasts in its Queen the 
 very miracle and mould of beauty." 
 
 " It is some years since I saw the Queen of Naples," an- 
 swered Adrian ; " and I little dreamed then, when I gazed upon 
 that angel face, that I should live to hear her accused of the 
 foulest murther that ever stained even Italian royalty." 
 
 "And, as if resolved to prove her guilt," said Montreal, "ere 
 long be sure she will marry the very man who did the deed. 
 Of this I have certain proof." 
 
 Thus conversing, the knights wore away the daylight, and 
 beheld from tl.e open tent the sun cast his setting glow over 
 the purple sea. Adeline had long retired from the board, and 
 they now saw her seated with her handmaids on a mound by 
 the beach, while the sound of her lute faintly reached their 
 ears. As Montreal caught the air, he turned from the converse, 
 and sighing, half shaded his face with his hand. Somehow o 
 other the two knights had worn a\yay all the little jealousy oi 
 pique which they had conceived against each other at Rome. 
 Both imbued with the soldier-like spirit of the age, their con- 
 test in the morning had served to inspire them with that strange 
 kind of respect, and even cordiality, which one brave man even 
 still (how much more at that day !) feels for another, whose 
 courage he has proved while vindicating his own. It is like 
 the discovery of a congenial sentiment hitherto latent ; and, in 
 a life of camps, often establishes sudden and lasting friendship 
 in the very lap of enmity. This feeling had been ripened by 
 
l66 RIENZI, 
 
 their subsequent familiar intercourse, and was increased on 
 Adrian's side by the feeling that, in convincing Montreal o( 
 the policy of withdrawing from the Roman territories, he had 
 obtained an advantage that well repaid whatever danger and 
 delay he had undergone. 
 
 The sigh and the altered manner of Montreal did not escape 
 Adrian, and he naturally connected it with something relating 
 to her whose music had been its evident cause. 
 
 " Yon lovely dame," said he gently, " touches the lute with 
 an exquisite and fairy hand, and that plaintive air seems to my 
 ear as of the minstrelsy of Provence." 
 
 " It is the air 1 taught her," said Montreal sadly, " married 
 as it is to indifferent words, with which I first wooed a heart 
 that should never have given itself to me ! Ay, young Colonna, 
 many a night has my boat been moored beneath the starlit 
 Sorgia that washes her proud father's halls, and my voice 
 awaked the stillness of the waving sedges with a soldier's sere- 
 nade. Sweet memories ! bitter fruit!" 
 
 "Why bitter ! ye love each other still." 
 
 "But I am vowed to celibacy, and Adeline de Cour^ 
 val is leman where she should be wedded dame. Me- 
 thinks I fret at the thought even more than she — dear 
 Adeline ! " 
 
 " Your lady, as all would guess, is then nobly born ? " 
 
 " She is," answered Montreal, with a deep and evident feel- 
 ing which, save in love, rarely, if ever, crossed his hardy breast. 
 " She is ! our tale is a brief one : We loved each other as 
 children. Her family was wealthier than mine : we were sep- 
 arated. I was given to understand that she abandoned me. I 
 despaired, and in despair I took the cross of St, John. Chance 
 threw us again together. I learned that her love was unde- 
 cayed. Poor child! she was even then, sir, but a child ! I, wild, 
 reckless, and not unskilled, perhaps, in the arts that woo and 
 win. She could not resist my suit or her own affection ! We 
 fled. In those words you see the thread of my after-history. 
 My sword and my Adeline were all my fortune. Society 
 frowned on us. The Church threatened my soul. The Grand 
 Master my life. I became a knight of fortune. Fate and my 
 right hand favored me. 1 have made those who scorned me 
 tremble at my name. That name shall yet blaze, a star or a 
 meteor, in the front of troubled nations, and I may yet win by 
 force from the Pontiff the dispensation refused to my prayers. 
 On the same day, I may offer Adeline the diadem and the 
 ring. Eno' of this ; you marked Adeline's cheek .' Seems it 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 167 
 
 not delicate ? I like not that changeful flush, and she moves 
 languidly, her step that was so blithe ! " 
 
 *' Change of scene and the mild south will soon restore her* 
 health," said Adrian : " and in your peculiar life she is so little 
 brought into contact with others, especially of her own sex, 
 that I trust she is but seldom made aware of whatever is pain- 
 ful in her own situation. And woman's love, Montreal, as we 
 both have learned, is a robe that wraps her from many a 
 storm." 
 
 " You speak kindly," returned the knight ; " but you know 
 not all our cause of grief. Adeline's father, a proud sieur, 
 died — they said of a broken heart — but old men die of many 
 another disease than that ! The mother, a dame who boasted 
 her descent from princes, bore the matter more sternly than 
 the sire ; clamored for revenge — which was odd, for she is as 
 religious as a Dominican, and revenge is not Christian in a 
 woman, though it is knightly in a man ! Well, my lord, we 
 had one boy, our only child ; he was Adeline's solace in my 
 absence ; his pretty ways were worth the world to her ! She 
 loved him so, that but he had her eyes and looked like 
 her when he slept, I should have been jealous ! He grew up in 
 our wild life, strong and comely ; the young rogue, he would 
 have been a brave knight ! My evil star led me to Milan, 
 where I had business with the Visconti. One bright morning 
 in June our boy was stolen ; verily that June was like a De- 
 cember to us ! " 
 
 *' Stolen ? — how ? — by whom ? ** 
 
 " The first question is answered easily : the boy was with his 
 nurse in the courtyard, the idle wench left him for but a min- 
 ute or two — so she avers — to fetch him some childish toy : 
 when she returned he was gone ; not a trace left, save his 
 pretty cap with the plume in it ! Poor Adeline, many a time 
 have I found her kissing that relic till it was wet with tears ! " 
 
 " A strange fortune, in truth. But what interest could — " 
 
 ''I will tell you," interrupted Montreal, " the only conjecture 
 I could form : Adeline's mother, on learning that we had a 
 son, sent to Adeline a letter that well-nigh broke her heart, re- 
 proaching her for her love to me, and so forth, as if that had 
 made her the vilest of the sex. She bade her take compassion 
 on her child, and not bring him up to a robber's life, — so was 
 she pleased to style the bold career of Walter de Montreal. 
 She offered to rear the child \w her own dull halls, and fit him, 
 no doubt, for a shaven pate and a monk's cowl. She chafed 
 much that a mother would not part with her treasure ! Sh? 
 
I68 RIENZI, 
 
 alone, partly in revenge, partly in silly compassion for Adeline's 
 child, partly, it may be, from some pious fanaticism, could, it 
 so seemed to me, have robbed us of our boy. On inquiry, I 
 learned from the nurse — who, but that she was of the same sex 
 as Adeline, should have tasted my dagger, — that in their walks, 
 a woman of advanced years, but seemingly humble rank (that 
 might be disguise !) had often stopped and caressed and ad- 
 mired the child. I repaired at once to France, sought the old 
 Castle of De Courval ; it had passed to the next heir, and the 
 old widow was gone, none knew whither, but, it was conjec- 
 tured, to take the veil in some remote convent." 
 
 " And you never saw her since ? " 
 
 " Yes, at Rome," answered Montreal, turning pale ; " when 
 last there I chanced suddenly upon her; and then at 
 length I learned my boy's fate, and the truth of my own 
 surmise ; she confessed to the theft, and my child was 
 dead ! I have not dared to tell Adeline of this ; it seems to 
 me as if it would be like plucking the shaft from the wounded 
 side — and she would die at once, bereft of the uncertainty that 
 rankles within her. She has still a hope — it comforts her ; 
 though my heart bleeds when I think on its vanity. Let this 
 pass, my Colonna." 
 
 And Montreal started to his feet, as if he strove, by a strong 
 effort, to shake off the weakness that had crept over him in his 
 narration. 
 
 '* Think no more of it. Life is short — its thorns are many — let 
 us not neglect any of its flowers. This is piety and wisdom 
 too ; Nature, that meant me to struggle and to toil, gave me, 
 happily, the sanguine heart and the elastic soul of France ; 
 and I have lived long enough to own that to die young is not 
 an evil. Come, Lord Adrian, let us join my lady ere you part, 
 if part you must ; the moon will be up soon, and Fondi is but a 
 short journey hence. You know that though I admire not your 
 Petrarch, you with more courtesy laud our Provengal ballads, 
 and you must hear Adeline sing one that you may prize them 
 the more. The race of the Troubadours is dead, but the min- 
 strelsy survives the minstrel ! " 
 
 Adrian, who scarce knew what comfort to administer to the 
 affliction of his companion, was somewhat relieved by the 
 change in his mood, though his more grave and sensitive nature 
 was a little startled at its suddenness. But, as we have before 
 seen, Montreal's spirit (and this made perhaps its fascination) 
 was as a varying and changeful sky ; the gayest sunshine aad 
 ^he fiercest storm swept over it in rapid alternation ; and ek" 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNE^ 169 
 
 ments of singular might and grandeur, which, properly di- 
 rected and concentrated, would have made him the blessing 
 and glory of his time, were wielded with a boyish levity^ roused 
 into war and desolation, or lulled into repose and smoothness, 
 with all the suddenness of chance, and all the ^ckleness of 
 caprice. 
 
 Sauntering down to the beach, the music of Adeline's lute 
 sounded more distinctly in their ears, and involuntarily they 
 hushed their steps upon the rich and odorous turf, as in a 
 voice, though not powerful, marvellously sweet and clear, and 
 well adapted to the simple fashion of the words and melody, 
 ihe sang the following stanzas: 
 
 LAY OF THE LADY OF PROVENCE. 
 I. 
 
 Ah, why art thou sad, my heart ? Why 
 
 Darksome and lonely ? 
 Frowns the face of the happy sky 
 Over thee only ? 
 
 Ah me, ah me i 
 Render to joy the earth ! 
 Grief shuns, not envies, mirth ; 
 But leave one quiet spot, 
 "Where mirth may enter not. 
 To sigh, Ah me ! — 
 Ah me I 
 
 II. 
 As a bird, though the sky be clear. 
 
 Feels the storm lower ; 
 My soul bodes the tempest near 
 In the sunny hour ; 
 
 Ah me, ah me I 
 Be glad while yet we may ! 
 I bid thee, my heart, be gay ^ 
 And still I know not why,— 
 Thou answerest with a sigh 
 (Fond heart !) Ah me ! 
 Ah me ! 
 
 III. 
 As this twilight o'er the skies. 
 
 Doubt brings the sorrow ; 
 Who knows when the daylight dies. 
 What waits the morrow ? 
 
 Ah me, ah me ! 
 Be blithe, be blithe, my lute, 
 Thy strings will soon be mute 5 
 Be blithe — hark ! while it dies. 
 The note forewarning, sighs 
 Its last — Ah me ! 
 
 Ah me J 
 
1 70 RIENZI, 
 
 " My own Adeline, my sweetest night-bird," half -whispered 
 Montreal, and softly approaching, he threw himself at his lady's 
 feet ; '' thy song is too sad for this golden eve." 
 
 " No sound ever went to the heart," said Adrian, "whose 
 arrow was not feathered by sadness. True sentiment, Montreal, 
 '5 twin with melancholy, though not with gloom." 
 
 The lady looked softly and approvingly up at Adrian's face ; 
 she was pleased with its expression ; she was pleased yet more 
 with words of which women rather than men would acknowl- 
 edge the truth. Adrian returned the look with one of deep and 
 eloquent sympathy and respect ; in fact, the short story he had 
 ]ieard from Montreal had interested him deeply in her ; and 
 never to the brilliant queen, to whose court he was bound, did 
 his manner wear so chivalric and earnest a homage as it did to 
 that lone and ill-fated lady on the twilight shores of Terra- 
 cina. 
 
 Adeline blushed slightly and sighed ; and then, to break 
 the awkwardness of a pause which had stolen over them, 
 as Montreal, unheeding the last remark of Adrian, was 
 tuning the strings of the lute, she said: "Of course the 
 Signor di Castello shares the universal enthusiasm for 
 Petrarch ? " 
 
 "Ay," cried Montreal; "my lady is Petrarch mad, like 
 the rest of them : but all I know is, that never did belted 
 knight and honest lover woo in such fantastic and tortured 
 strains." 
 
 " In Italy," answered Adrian, "common language is exag- 
 geration ; but even your own Troubadour poetry might tell you 
 that love, ever seeking a new language of its own, cannot but 
 often run into what to all but lovers seems distortion and 
 ronceit." 
 
 " Come, dear signor," said Montreal, placing the lute in 
 Adrian's hands, " let Adeline be the umpire between us, which 
 music — yours or mine — can woo the more blandly." 
 
 " Ah," said Adrian, laughing ; I fear me. Sir Knight, you have 
 already bribed the umpire." 
 
 Montreal's eyes and Adeline's met, and in that gaze Adeline 
 forgot all her sorrows. 
 
 With a practised and skilful hand Adrian touched the 
 strings ; and selecting a song which was less elaborate than 
 those mostly in vogue amongst his countrymen, though still 
 conceived in the Italian spirit, and in accordance with the sen- 
 timent he had previously expressed to Adeline, h^ sang as 
 follows ; 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. Bjt 
 
 LOVE'S EXCUSE FOR SADNESS. 
 
 Chide not, beloved, if oft with thee 
 
 I feel not rapture wholly ; 
 For aye the heart that's fill'd with love. 
 
 Runs o'er in melancholy. 
 To streams that glide in noon, the shade 
 
 From summer skies is given ; 
 So, if my breast reflects the cloud, 
 
 'Tis but the cloud of heaven ! 
 Thine image glass'd within my soul. 
 
 So well the mirror keepeth ; 
 That, chide me not, if with the /tg^f 
 
 The shadow also sleepeth. 
 
 "And now," said Adrian, as he concluded, "the lute is iter 
 you ; I but prelude your prize." 
 
 The Provencal laughed, and shook his head. *' With any 
 other umpire, I had had my lute broken on my own head, for 
 my conceit in provoking such a rival ; but I must not shrink 
 from a contest I have myself provoked, even though in one day 
 /z«//V^ defeated." And with that, in a deep and exquisitely melo- 
 dious voice, which wanted only mere scientific culture to have 
 challenged any competition, the Knight of St. John poured forth 
 
 THE LAY OF THE TROUBADOUR. 
 
 I. 
 
 Gentle river, the moonbeam is hush'd on thy tide. 
 On thy pathway of light to my lady I glide. 
 My boat, where the stream leaves the castle, I moor-* 
 All at rest save the maid and her young Troubadour I . 
 As the stars to the waters that bore 
 
 My bark, to my spirit thou art ; 
 Heaving yet, see it bound to the shore. 
 So moor'd to thy beauty my heart — 
 BeV amie, beV amie, beV amie / 
 
 II. 
 Wilt thou fly from the world ? It hath wealth for the vain j 
 But Love breaks his bond when there's gold in the chain ; 
 "Wilt thou fly from the world ? It hath courts for the proud '»-**• 
 But Love, born in caves, pines to death in the crowd. 
 Were this bosom thy world, dearest one, 
 Thy world could not fail to be bright ; 
 For thou shouldst thyself be its sun, 
 
 And what spot could be dim in thy light— 
 BeP amie, beV amie* bel' amie? 
 
 III. 
 The rich and the great woo thee dearest ; and poor, 
 Though his fathers were princes, thy young TroubadoMrl 
 But his heart never quail'd save to thee, his adored — 
 
172 RIENZI, 
 
 There's no guile in his lute, and no stain on his SWOld. 
 Ah, I reck not what sorrows I know, 
 Could I still on thy solace confide ; 
 And I care not, though earth be my foe, 
 If thy soft heart be found by my side,— 
 Bel amie, bel' amie, beV amie ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The maiden she blush'd, and the maiden she sighed. 
 Not a cloud in the sky, not a gale on the tide ; 
 But though tempest had raged on the wave and the wiftd* 
 That castle, meihinks, had been still left behind ! 
 Sweet lily, though bow'd by the blast, 
 
 (To this bosom transplanted) since then. 
 Wouldst thou change, could we call up the past. 
 To the rock from thy garden again — 
 BeV amie, beP amie, beV amie ? 
 
 Thus they alternated the time with converse and song, as the 
 wooded hills threw their sharp, long shadows over the sea ; 
 while from many a mound of waking flowers, and many a copse 
 of citron and orange, relieved by the dark and solemn aloe, 
 stole the summer breeze, laden with mingled odors ; and over 
 the seas, colored by the slow-fading hues of purple and rose, 
 that the sun had long bequeathed to the twilight, flitted the gay 
 fireflies that sparkle along the enchanted coast. At length the 
 moon slowly rose above the dark forest-steeps, gleaming on the 
 gay pavilion and glittering pennon of Montreal ; on the verdant 
 sward, the polished mail of the soldiers, stretched on the grass 
 in various groups, half-shaded by oaks and Cyprus, and the 
 war-steeds grazing peaceably together — a wild mixture of the 
 Pastoral and the Iron time. 
 
 Adrian, reluctantly reminded of his journey, rose to depart. 
 
 " I fear," said he to Adeline, ''that I have already detained 
 you too late in the night air ; but selfishness is little con- 
 sid'^rate. '* 
 
 " Nay, you see we are prudent," said Adeline, pointing to 
 Montreal's mantle, which his provident hand had long since 
 drawn around her form ; "but if we must part, farewell, and 
 success attend you !" 
 
 "We may meet again, I trust," said Adrian. 
 
 Adeline sighed gently ; and the Colonna, gazing on her face 
 by the moonlight, to which it was slightly raised, was painfully 
 struck by its almost transparent delicacy. Moved by his compas- 
 sion, ere he mounted his steed, he drew Montreal aside. " For- 
 give me if I seem presumptuous," said he, " but to one so noble 
 this wild life is scarce a fitting career. I know that, in our 
 tiQ>e, War consecrates all his children ; but surely a settled rank 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I73 
 
 in the court of the Emperor, or an honorable reconcili:^ "" 
 with your knightly brethren, were better — " 
 
 "Than a Tartar camp, and a brigand's castle," interrupiea 
 Montreal, with some impatience. "This you were about to 
 say — you are mistaken. Society thrust me from her bosom ; 
 let society take the fruit it hath sown. * A fixed rank,' say you ? 
 some subaltern office, to fight at other men's command ! You 
 know me not : Walter de Montreal was not formed to obey. 
 War when I will, and rest when I list, is the motto of my es- 
 cutcheon. Ambition proffers me rewards you wot not of ; and 
 I am of the mould, as of the race, of those whose swords have 
 conquered thrones. For the rest, your news of the alliance 
 of Louis of Hungary with your Tribune makes it necessary 
 for the friend of Louis to withdraw from all feud with Rome. 
 Ere the week expire the owl and the bat may seek refuge in 
 yon gray turrets." 
 
 "But your lady?" 
 
 " Is inured to change. God help her, and temper the rough 
 wind to the lamb ! " 
 
 "Enough, Sir Knight: but should you desire a sure refuge 
 at Rome for one so gentle and so highborn, by the right hand 
 of a knight, I promise a safe roof and an honored home to 
 the Lady Adeline." 
 
 Montreal pressed the offered hand to his heart ; then pluck- 
 ing his own hastily away, drew it across his eyes, and joined 
 Adeline, in a silence that showed he dared not trust himself to 
 speak. In a few moments Adrian and his train were on the 
 march ; but still the young Colonna turned back, to gaze once 
 more on his wild host and that lovely lady, as they themselves 
 lingered on the moonlit sward, while the sea rippled mournfully 
 on their ears. 
 
 It was not many months after that date that the name of 
 Frf^ Moreale scattered terror and dismay througliout the fair 
 Campania. The right hand of the Hungarian king, in his 
 invasion of Naples, he was chosen afterwards vicar (or vice- 
 gerent) of Louis in Aversa ; and fame and fate seemed to lead 
 him triumphantly along that ambitious career which he had 
 elj^cteciy whether bounded by the scaffold or the throne. 
 
274 RIENZI, 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH AND THE POMP. 
 
 •*AlIora fama e paura disi buono reggimento, passa in ogni terra.."— -Vita 
 H Cola di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 21. 
 
 " Then the fame and fear of that so good government passed into every 
 rud, — Life of Cola di Rienzi, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DOY ANGELO — THE DREAM OF NINA FULFILLED. 
 
 The thread of my story transports us back to Rome. It 
 was in a small chamber, in a ruinous mansion by the base of 
 Mount Aventine, that a young boy sate, one evening, with a 
 woman of a tall and stately form, but somewhat bowed both 
 by infirmity and years. The boy was of a fair and comely 
 presence ; and there was that in his bold, frank, undaunted 
 carriage, which made him appear older than he was. 
 
 The old woman, seated m the recess of the deep window, 
 was apparently occupied with a Bible that lay open on her 
 knees ; but ever and anon she lifted her eyes, and gazed on 
 her young companion with a sad and anxious expression. 
 
 " Dame," said the boy, who was busily employed in hewing 
 out a sword of wood, *' I would you had seen the show to-day. 
 Why, every day is a show at Rome now ! It is show enough 
 to see the Tribune himself on his white steed — (oh, it is so 
 beautiful !) — with his white robes all studded with jewels. But 
 to-day, as I have just been telling you, the Lady Nina took 
 lotice of me, as I stood on the stairs of the Capitol : you 
 know, dame, I had donned my best blue velvet doublet." 
 
 "And she called you a fair boy, and asked if you would be 
 her little page ; and this has turned thy brain, silly urchin 
 that thou art — " 
 
 *' But the words are the least : if you saw the Lady Nina, 
 you would own that a smile from her might turn the wisest 
 head in Italy. Oh, how I should like to serve the Tribune! 
 All the lads of my age are mad for him. How they will stare, 
 and envy me at school to-morrow ! You know too, dame, 
 that though I was not always brought up at Rome, I am 
 Kom^io. £very Rom ah loves Rienzi," 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I75 
 
 "Ay, for the hour: the cry will soon change. This Viinity 
 of thine, Angelo, vexes my old heart. I would thou wert 
 humbler." 
 
 *' Bastards have their own name to win," said the boy, color- 
 ing deeply. " They twit me in the teeth, because I cannot say 
 who my father and mother were." 
 
 "They need not," returned the dame hastily. "Thou 
 comest of noble blood and long descent, though, as I have 
 told thee often, I know not the exact names of thy parents. 
 But what art thou shaping that tough sapling of oak into ?" 
 
 "A sword, dame, to assist the Tribune against the robbers. * 
 
 " Alas ! I fear me, like all those who seek power in Italy, he 
 is more likely to enlist robbers than to assail them." 
 
 " Why, la, you there, you live so shut up, that you know and 
 hear nothing, or you would have learned that even that fiercest 
 of all the robbers, Fra Moreale, has at length yielded to the 
 Tribune, and fled from his castle, like a rat from a falling 
 house." 
 
 "How, how !" cried the dame ; "what say you? Hats this 
 plebeian, whom you call the Tribune, has he boldly thrown 
 the gage to that dread warrior ? and has Montreal left the 
 Roman territory ? " 
 
 " Ay, it is the talk of the town. But Fra Moreale seems a& 
 much a bugbear to you as to e'er a mother in Rome. Did hfc 
 ever wrong you, dame?" 
 
 " Yes ! " exclaimed the old woman, with so abrupt a fierce- 
 ness that even that hardy boy was startled. 
 
 " I wish I could meet him, then," said he, after a pause, as 
 he flourished his mimic weapon. 
 
 " Now Heaven forbid ! He is a man ever to be shunned by 
 thee, whether for peace or war. Say again this good Tribune 
 holds no terms with the Free Lances." 
 
 " Say it again — why, all Rome knows it." 
 
 " He is pious, too, I have heard ; and they do bruit it that 
 he sees visions, and is comforted from above," said the woman, 
 speaking to herself. Then turning to Angelo, she continued : 
 " Thou wouldst like greatly to accept the Lady Nina's proffer ? " 
 
 "Ah, that I should, dame, if you could spare me." 
 
 "Child," replied the matron solemnly, " my sand is nearly 
 run, and my wish is to see thee placed with one who will nur- 
 ture thy young years, and save thee from a life of license. 
 That done, I may fulfil my vow, and devote the desolate rem* 
 nant of my years to God. I will think more of this, my child. 
 Not under such a plebeian's roof shouldst thou have lodged, 
 
17^ RIENff, 
 
 nor from a stranger's board been fed ; but at Rome, my last rela« 
 live worthy of the trust is dead; and at the worst, obscure hon- 
 esty is belter than gaudy crime. Thy spirit troubles me already. 
 Back, my ciiild ; I must to my closet, and watch and pray." 
 
 Thus saying, the old woman, repelling the advance, and si 
 Iencin<jr the muttered and contused words, of the boy — ha^-- 
 affectionate as tiiey were, yet half tetchy and wayward — glidea 
 from the chnmber. 
 
 The boy looked abstractedly at the closing door, and tiie: 
 said to himself: *'The dame is always talking riddles : ^ 
 wonder if she know more of me than she tells, or if she is any 
 way akin to me. 1 hope not, for I don't love her much; nor, 
 for that matter, anything else. I wish she would place me 
 with the Tribune's lady, and then we'll see wiio among the 
 lads will call Angelo Villani bastard." 
 
 With that the boy fell to work again at his sword with re- 
 doubled vigor. In fact, the cold manner of this female, his 
 sole nurse, companion, substitute for parent, had repelled his 
 affections without subduing his temper ; and though not 
 originally of evil disposition, Angelo Villani was already inso- 
 lent, cunning, and revengeful ; but not, on the other hand, 
 without a quick susceptibility to kindness as to affront, a natu- 
 ral acuteness of understanding, and a great indifference to 
 fear. Brought up in quiet af^nence rather than luxury, and 
 living much with his protector, whom he knew but by the name 
 of Ursula, his bearing was graceful, and his air that of the 
 well-born. And it was his carriage, perhaps, rather than his 
 countenance, which, though handsome, was more distinguished 
 lor intelligence than beauty, which had attracted the notice of 
 ihe Tribune's bride. His education was that of one reared 
 26r some scholastic profession. He was not only taught to 
 read and write, but had been even instructed in the rudiments 
 cf Latin. He did not, however, incline to these studies half so 
 londly as to the games of his companions, or the shows or 
 riots in the street, into all of which he managed to thrust him- 
 self, and from which he had always the happy dexterity to 
 return safe and unscathed. 
 
 The next morning Ursula entered the young Angelo's 
 chamber. " Wear again thy blue doublet to-day," said she ; 
 ** I would have thee look thy best. Thou shalt go with me to 
 the palace." 
 
 "What, to-day?" cried the boy joyfully, half leaping from 
 his bed. " Dear dame Ursula, shall I really then belong to the 
 train of the great Tribune's lady ? " 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I77 
 
 *'Yes; and leave the old woman to die alone ! Your joy 
 becomes you, — but ingratitude is in your blood. Ingratitude ! 
 Oh, it has burned my heart into ashes ; and yours, boy, can no 
 longer find a fuel in the dry crumbling cinders." 
 
 *' Dear dame, you are always so biting. You know you said 
 you wished to retire into a convent, and I was too troublesome 
 a charge for you. But you delight in rebuking me, justly or 
 unjustly." 
 
 " My task is over," said Ursula, with a deep-drawn sigh. 
 
 The boy answered not ; and the old woman retired with a 
 heavy step, and, it may be, a heavier heart. When he joined 
 her in their common apartment, he observed what his joy had 
 previously blinded him to, that Ursula did not wear her usual 
 plain and sober dress. The gold chain, rarely assumed then 
 by women not of noble birth, though, in the other sex, affected 
 also by public functionaries and wealthy merchants, glittered 
 upon a robe of the rich flowered stuffs of Venice, and the clasps 
 that confined the vest at the throat and waist were adorned 
 with jewels of no common price. 
 
 Angelo's eye was struck by the change, but he felt a more 
 manly pride in remarking that the old lady became it well. 
 Her air and mien were indeed those of one to whom such gar- 
 ments were habitual ; and they seemed that day more than 
 usually austere and stately. 
 
 She smoothed the boy's ringlets, drew his short mantle more 
 gracefully over his shoulder, and then placed in his belt a pon- 
 iard whose handle was richly studded, and a purse well filled 
 with florins. 
 
 " Learn to use both discreetly," said she ; " and, whether I 
 live or die, you will never require to wield the poniard to pro- 
 cure the gold." 
 
 " This then," cried Angelo, enchanted, **is a real poniard to 
 f:ght the robbers with ! Ah, with this I should not fear Fra 
 Moreale, who wronged thee so. I trust I may yet avenge thee, 
 though thou didst rate me so just now for ingratitude." 
 
 ** I af?i avenged. Nourish not such thoughts, my son, they 
 are sinful ; at least I fear so. Draw to the board and eat ; we 
 will go betimes, as petitioners should do." 
 
 Angelo had soon finished his morning meal, and sallying with 
 Ursula to the porch, he saw, to his surprise, four of those 
 servitors who then usually attended persons of distinc- 
 tion, and who were to be hired in every city, for the con- 
 venience of strangers or the holyday ostentation of the gayei 
 citizens. 
 
jyS RIENZI, 
 
 ** How grand we are to-day ! " said he, clapping his hands 
 ivith an eagerness which Ursula failed not to reprove. 
 
 " It is not for vain show," she added, *' which true nobility 
 can well dispense with, but that we may the more readily gain 
 admittance to the palace. These princes of yesterday are not 
 *5asy of audience to the over humble." 
 
 " Oh, but you are wrong this time," said the boy. " The 
 Tribune gives audience to all men, the poorest as the richest. 
 Nay, there is not a ragged boor, or a barefooted friar, who 
 does not win access to him sooner than the proudest baron. 
 That's why the people love him so. And he devotes one day 
 of the week to receiving the widows and the orphans ; and you 
 know, dame, I am an orphan." 
 
 Ursula, already occupied with her own thoughts, did not 
 answer^ and scarcely heard the boy ; but leaning on his young 
 arm, and preceded by the footmen to clear the way, passed 
 slowly towards the palace of the Capitol. 
 
 A wonderful thing would it have been to a more observant 
 eye to note the change which two or three short months of the 
 stern but salutary and wise rule of the Tribune had effected in 
 the streets of Rome. You no longer beheld the gaunt and 
 mail-clad forms of foreign mercenaries stalking through the 
 vistas, or grouped in lazy insolence before the embattled 
 porches of some gloomy palace. The shops, that in many 
 quarters had been closed for years, were again open, glittering 
 with wares and bustling with trade. The thoroughfares, 
 formerly either silent as death, or crossed by some affrighted 
 and solitary passenger with quick steps, and eyes that searched 
 every corner, or resounding with the roar of a pauper rabble, 
 or the open feuds of savage nobles, now exhibited the regular, 
 and wholesome, and mingled streams of civilized life, whether 
 bound to pleasure or to commerce. Carts and wagons laden 
 with goods which had passed in safety by the dismantled holds 
 of the robbers of the Campagna, rattled cheerfully over the 
 pathways. *' Never, perhaps," — to use the translation adapted 
 from the Italian authorities, by a modern and by no means a 
 partial historian* — *' Never, perhaps, has the energy and effect 
 of a single mind been more remarkably felt than in the sudden 
 reformation of Rome by the Tribune Rienzi. A den of robbers 
 was converted to the discipline of a camp or convent. * In this 
 time,* says the historian,! 'did the woods begin to rejoice that 
 tJ7-ey were no longer infested with robbers ; the oxen began to 
 
 * Gibbon. 
 * Vita di Cola di Rienzi, lib. i., c. g. 
 
The last of the tribunes. 579 
 
 plough; the pilgrims visited the sanctuaries;* the roads and 
 inns were replenished with travellers ; trade, plenty, and good 
 faith, were restored in the markets ; and a purse of gold might 
 be exposed without danger in the midst of the highways.*" 
 
 Amidst all these evidences of comfort and security to the 
 ])eople, some dark and discontented countenances might be 
 reen mingled in the crowd, and whenever one who wore the 
 livery of the Colonna or the Orsini felt himself jostled by the 
 .nrong, a fierce hand moved involuntarily to the sword-belt, 
 and a half-suppressed oath was ended with an indignant sigh. 
 Here and there too, — contrasting the redecorated, refurnished, 
 and smiling shops — heaps of rubbish before the gate of some 
 haughty mansion testified the abasement of fortifications which 
 the owner impptently resented as a sacrilege. Through such 
 streets and such throngs did the party we accompany wend 
 their way, till they found themselves amidst crowds assembled 
 before the entrance of the Capitol. The officers there stationed 
 kept, however, so discreet and dexterous an order, that they 
 were not long detained ; and now in the broad place or court 
 of that memorable building, they saw the open doors of the 
 great justice-hall, guarded but by a single sentinel, and in 
 which, for six hours daily, did the Tribune hold his court, for 
 *' patient to hear, swift to redress, inexorable to punish, his tri- 
 bunal was always accessible to the poor and stranger." f 
 
 Not, however, to that hall did the party bend its way, but to 
 Ihe entrance which admitted to the private apartments of the 
 palace. And here the pomp, the gaud, the more than regal 
 magnificence, of the residence of the Tribune, strongly con- 
 trasted the patriarchal simplicity which marked his justice 
 court. 
 
 Even Ursula, not unaccustomed, of yore, to the luxurious 
 state of Italian and French principalities, seemed roused into 
 surprise at the hall crowded with retainers in costly liveries, 
 the marble and gilded columns wreathed with flowers, and the 
 gorgeous banners wrought with the blended arms of the Repub- 
 lican City and the Pontifical See, which blazed aloft and 
 around. 
 
 Scarce knowing whom to address in such an assemblage, 
 Ursula was relieved from her perplexity by an officer attired in 
 a suit of crimson and gold, who, with a grave and formal 
 decorum, which indeed reigned throughout the whole retinue, 
 
 ♦ Gibbon : %h^ "f^inis fn the oriKtoi a^ " ti ptlUgrini cemincitfr* a xft^ A? crrn* p^ 
 4W >K'i Hf IMiftyi* 
 
l8o ftlENZI, 
 
 demanded, respectfully, whom she sought ? " The Signora 
 Nina I " replied Ursula, drawing up her stately person, with a 
 natural, though somewhat antiquated, dignity. There was 
 something foreign in the accent which influenced the officer's 
 answer. 
 
 " To-day, madam, I fear that the Signora receives only the 
 Roman ladies. To morrow is that appointed for all foreign 
 dames of distinction." 
 
 Ursula, with a slight impatience of tone, replied : 
 
 " My business is of that nature which is welcome on any day, 
 at palaces. I come, Signor, to lay certain presents at the 
 Signora's feet which I trust she will deign to accept." 
 
 " And say, Signor," added the boy abruptly, " that Angelo 
 Villani, whom the Lady Nina honored yesterday with her 
 notice, is no stranger but a Roman ; and comes, as she bade 
 him, to proffer to the Signora his homage and devotion." 
 
 The gi*ave officer could not refrain a smile at the pert, yet 
 not ungraceful, boldness of the boy. 
 
 " I remember me. Master Angelo Villani," he replied, '* that 
 the Lady Nina spoke to you by the great staircase. Madam, I 
 will do your errand. Please to follow me to an apartment more 
 fitting your sex and seeming." 
 
 With that the officer led the way across the hall to a broad 
 staircase of white marble, along the centre of which were laid 
 those rich Eastern carpets which, at that day, when rushes 
 strewed the chambers of an English monarch, were already 
 common to the greater luxury of Italian palaces. Opening a 
 door at the first flight, he ushered Ursula and her young charge 
 into a lofty ante-chamber, hung with arras of wrought velvets ; 
 while over the opposite door, through which the officer now 
 vanished, were blazoned the armorial bearings which the Trib- 
 une so constantly introduced in all his pomp, not more from 
 the love of show, than from his politic desire to mingle with 
 the keys of the Pontiff the heraldic insignia of the Republic. 
 
 " Philip of Valois is not housed like this man ! " muttered 
 Ursula. ^' If this last, I shall have done better for my charge 
 than I recked of." 
 
 The officer soon returned, and led them across an apartment 
 of vast extent, which was indeed the great reception chamber 
 of the palace. Four-and-twenty columns of the Oriental 
 alabaster which had attested the spoils of the later emperors, 
 and had been' disinterred from forgotten ruins, to grace tlie 
 palace of the Reviver of the old Republic, supported the light 
 roof, which, half Gothic, half classic, in its architecture, was 
 
fttE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES, l8r 
 
 inlaid with gilded and purple mosaics. The tesselated floor 
 was covered in the centre with cloth of gold, the walls were 
 clothed, at intervals, with the same gorgeous hangings, relieved 
 by panels freshly painted in the most glowing colors, with 
 mystic and symbolical designs. At the upper end of this royal 
 chamber two steps ascended to the place of the Tribune's throne, 
 above which was the canopy wrought with the eternal armorial 
 bearings of the Pontiff and the City. 
 
 Traversing this apartment, the officer opened the door at its 
 extremity, which admitted to a small chamber, crowded with 
 pages in rich dresses of silver and blue velvet. There were few 
 amongst them elder than Angelo ; and, from their general 
 beauty, they seemed the very flower and blossom of the city. 
 
 Short time had Angelo to gaze on his comrades that were to 
 be ; another minute, and he and his protectress were in the 
 presence of the Tribune's bride. 
 
 The chamber was not large ; but it was large enough to prove 
 that the beautiful daughter of Raselli had realized her visions 
 of vanity and splendor. 
 
 It was an apartment that mocked description ; it seemed a 
 cabinet for the gems of the world. The daylight, shaded by 
 high and deep-set casements of stained glass, streamed in a 
 purple and mellow hue over all that the art of that day boasted 
 most precious, or regal luxury held most dear. The candela- 
 bras of the silver workmanship of Florence ; the carpets and 
 stuffs of the East ; the draperies of Venice and Genoa ; paint' 
 ings like the illuminated missals, wrought in gold, and those 
 lost colors of blue and crimson ; antique marbles, which spoke 
 of the bright days of Athens ; tables of disinterred mosaics, 
 their freshness preserved as by magic ; censers of gold that 
 steamed with the odors of Araby, yet so subdued as not to 
 Jeaden the healthier scent of flowers, which blushed in every 
 corner from their marble and alabaster vases ; a small and 
 spirit-like fountain, which seem.=id to gush from among wreaths 
 of roses, diffusing in its diamond and fairy spray a scarce felt 
 coolness of the air — all these, and such as these, which it were 
 vain work to detail, congregated in the richest luxuriance, 
 harmonized with the most exquisite taste, uniting the ancient 
 arts with the modern, amazed and intoxicated the sense of the 
 beholder. It was not so much the cost, nor the luxury, that 
 made the character of the chamber ; it was a certain gorgeous 
 and almost sublime phantasy, so that it seemed rather the 
 fabled retreat of an enchantress, at whose word genii ransacked 
 the earth, and fairies arranged the produce, than the grossel 
 
1^2 RlENZl, 
 
 splendor of an earthly queen. Behind the piled cushions upon 
 which Nina half reclined, stood four girls, beautiful as nymphs, 
 with fans of the rarest feathers, and at her feet lay one older 
 than the rest, whose lute, though now silent, attested herlegiti 
 mate occupation. 
 
 But, had the room in itself seemed somewhat too fantastic 
 and overcharged in its prodigal ornaments, the form and face 
 of Nina would at once have rendered all appropriate ; so com- 
 pletely did she seem the natural Spirit of the Place ; so wonde^' 
 fully did her beauty, elated as it now was with contented lov^, 
 gratified vanity, exultant hope, body forth the brightest visioi 
 that ever floated before the eyes of Tasso, when he wrougbC 
 into one immortal shape the glory of the Enchantress with the 
 allurements of the Woman. 
 
 Nina half rose as she saw Ursula, whose sedate and mournful 
 features involuntarily testified her surprise and admiration at 
 a loveliness so rare and striking, but who, undazzled by the 
 splendor around, soon recovered her wonted self-composure, 
 and seated herself on the cushion to which Nina pointed, while 
 the young visitor remained standing, and spellbound by childish 
 wonder, in the centre of the apartment. Nina recognized him 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Ah, my pretty boy, whose quick eye and bold air caught 
 my fancy yesterday ! Have you come to accept my offer? Is 
 it you, madam, who claim this fair child?" 
 
 " Lady," replied Ursula, " my business here is brief : by a 
 train of events, needless to weary you with narrating, this boy 
 from his infancy fell to my charge — a weighty and anxious 
 trust to one whose thoughts are beyond the barrier of life. I 
 have reared him as became a youth of gentle blood ; for on 
 both sides, lady, he is noble, though an orphan, motherless and 
 sireless." 
 
 "Poor child!" said Nina compassionately. 
 
 '* Growing now,'' continued Ursula, " oppressed by years, and 
 e«^irous only to make my peace with Heaven, I journeyed 
 hither some months since, in the design to place the boy with 
 a relation of mine ; and, that trust fulfilled, to take the vows 
 in the City of the Apostle. Alas ! I found my Iiinsman dead, 
 find a baron of wild and dissolute character was his heir. Here 
 remaining, perplexed and anxious, it seemed to me the voice 
 of Providence when, yester-evening, the child told me you had 
 been pleased to honor him with your notice. Like the rest of 
 Rome, he has already learned enthusiasm for the Tribune — • 
 devotion to the Tribune's bride. Will you, in truth, admit 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. iSj 
 
 ^iim of your household? He will not dishonor your protection 
 by his blood, nor, I trust, by his bearing." 
 
 "^ I would take his face for his guarantee, madam, even with- 
 ut so distinguished a recommendation as your own. Is he 
 ii^oman ? His name then must be known to me." 
 
 "Pardon me, lady," replied Ursula : *'he bears the name of 
 \ngelo Villani — not that of his sire or mother. The honor of 
 - iioble house forever condemns his parentage to rest unknown, 
 ie is the offspring of a love unsanctioned by the church." 
 
 " He is tlie more to be loved, then, and to be pitied — victim 
 I. sin not his own ! " answered Nina, with moistened eyes, as 
 .,he saw the deep and burning blush that covered the boy's 
 cheeks. *'With the Tribune's reign commences a new era of 
 nobility, when rank and knighthood shall be won by a man'3 
 own merit, not that of his ancestors. Fearnot, madam : inmji 
 house he shall know no slight." 
 
 Ursula was moved trom her pride by the kindness of Nina ; 
 she approached with involuntary reverence, and kissed th# 
 signora's hand. 
 
 "May Our Lady reward your noble heart! " said she : "and 
 now my mission is ended, and my earthly goal is won. Add 
 only, lady, to your inestimable favors one more. These 
 jewels" — and Ursula drew from her robe a casket, touched the 
 spring, and the lid, flying back, discovered jewels of great size, 
 and the most brilliant water, — " these jewels," she continued, 
 laying the casket at Nina's feet *' once belonging to the princely 
 house of Thoulouse, are valueless to me and mine. Suffer me 
 io think that they are transferred to one whose queenly brow 
 will give them a lustre it cannot borrow." 
 
 ** How ! " said Nina, coloring very deeply ; " think you, 
 madam, my kindness can be bought ? What woman's kind- 
 jess ever was? Nay, nay, take back the gifts, or I shall pray 
 you to take back your boy." 
 
 Ursula was astonished and confounded : to her experience 
 ijVLch abstinence was a novelty, and she scarcely knew how to 
 meet it. Nina perceived her embarrassment with a haughty 
 and triumphant smile, and then, regaining her former courtesy 
 of demeanor, said, with a grave sweetness : 
 
 "The Tribune's hands are clean, the Tribune's wife must not 
 be suspected. Rather, madam, should I press upon yau some 
 token of exchange for the fair charge you have committed to 
 me. Your jewels hereafter may profit the boy in his career^ 
 reserve them for one who needs them." 
 
 " J^o, lady/' said Ursula, rising and lifting her eyes tc heaveu; 
 
184 RIENZf, 
 
 "they shall buy masses for his mother's soul ; for him I shall 
 reserve a competence when his years require it. Lady, accept 
 the thanks of a wretched and desolate heart. Fare you well ! '* 
 
 She turned to quit the room, but with so faltering and weak 
 a step, that Nina, touched and affected, sprung up, and with 
 her own hand guided the old woman across the room, whisper- 
 ing comfort and soothing to her ; while, as they reached the 
 door, the boy rushed forward, and, clasping Ursula's robe, 
 sobbed out : " Dear dame, not one farewell for your little 
 Angelo ! Forgive him all he has cost you ! Now, for the 
 first time, I feel how wayward and thankless I have been." 
 
 The old woman caught him in her arms, and kissed him pas- 
 sionately ; when the boy, as if a thought suddenly struck him, 
 drew forth the purse she had given him, and said, in a choked 
 and scarce articulate voice : "And let this, dearest dame, go 
 in masses for my poor father s soul ; for he is dead, too, you 
 know ! " 
 
 These words seemed to freeze at once all the tenderer emo- 
 tions of Ursula. She put back the boy with the same chilling 
 and stern severity of aspect and manner which had so often 
 before repressed him : and, recovering her self-possession, at 
 once quitted the apartment without saying another word. Nina, 
 surprised, but still pitying her sorrow and respecting her age, 
 followed her steps across the pages' ante-room and the recep- 
 tion chamber, even to the foot of the stairs, — a condescension 
 the haughtiest princess of Rome could not have won from her ; 
 and returning, saddened and thoughtful, she took the boy's 
 hand, and affectionately kissed his forehead. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " she said, " it seems as if Providence had made 
 me select thee yesterday from the crowd, and thus conducted 
 thee to thy proper refuge. For to whom should come the 
 friendless and the orphans of Rome, but to the palace of 
 Rome's first Magistrate?" Turning then to her attendants, 
 she gave them instructions as to the personal comforts of her 
 new charge, which evinced that if power had ministered to her 
 vanity, it had not steeled her heart. Angelo Villani lived to 
 repay her well ! 
 
 She retained the boy in her presence, and conversing with 
 him familiarly, she was more and more pleased with his bold 
 spirit and frank manner. Their conversation was however in- 
 terrupted, as the day advanced, by the arrival of several ladies 
 of the Roman nobility. And then it was that Nina's virtues 
 receded into shade, and her faults appeared. She could not 
 resist the wppian's triumph over those arrogant signoras whp 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. - lt85 
 
 tiow cringed in homage where they had once slighted with dis- 
 dain. She affected the manner of, she demanded the respect 
 due to, a queen. And by many of those dexterous arts which 
 the rex know so well, she contrived to render her very courtesy 
 a humiliation to her haughty guests. Her commanding beauty 
 and her graceful intellect saved her, indeed, from the vulgar 
 insolence of the upstart ; but yet more keenly stung the pride, 
 by forbidding to those she mortified the retaliation of contempt. 
 Hers were the covert taunt, the smiling affront, the sarcasm in 
 the mask of compliment, the careless exaction of respect in 
 trifles, which could not outwardly be resented, but which could 
 not inly be forgiven. 
 
 " Fair day to the Signora Colonna," said she to the proud 
 wife of the proud Stephen ; "we passed your palace yesterday. 
 How fair it now seems, relieved from those gloomy battlements 
 which it must often have saddened you to gaze upon. Signora 
 (turning to one of the Orsini), your lord has high favor with 
 the Tribune, who destines him to great command. His fortunes 
 are secured, and we rejoice at it ; for no man more loyally 
 serves the state. Have you seen, fair Lady of Frangipani, the 
 last verses of Petrarch in honor of my lord ? — they rest yon- 
 der. May we so far venture as to request you to point out 
 their beauties to the Signora di Savelli ? We rejoice, noble 
 Lady of Malatesta, to observe that your eyesight is so well re- 
 stored. The last time we met, though we stood next to you in 
 the revels of the Lady Giulia, you seemed scarce to distinguish 
 us from the pillar by which we stood ! " 
 
 " Must this insolence be endured ! " whispered the Signora 
 Frangipani to the Signora Malatesta. 
 
 " Hush, hush J if ever it be our day again I *' 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE BLESSING OF A COUNCILLOR WHOSE INTERESTS AND 
 
 HEART ARE OUR OWN. THE STRAWS THROWN UPWARD,— 
 
 DO THEY PORTEND A STORM? 
 
 It was later that day than usual when Rienzi returned from 
 his tribunal to the apartments of the palace. As he traversed 
 the reception hall his countenance was much Hushed ; his teeth 
 were set firmly, like a man who has tnken a sfong resolution, 
 from which he will not b(? moved ; and his brow was dark witlj 
 
l86 RIENZI, 
 
 that settled and fearful frown which the describers of his per* 
 sonal appearance have not failed to notice as the characteristic 
 of an anger the more deadly because invariably just. Close at 
 his heels followed the Bishop of Orvietto and the aged Stephen 
 Colonna. "I tell you, my lords," said Rienzi, "that ye plead 
 in vain. Rome knows no distinction between ranks. The law 
 is blind to the agent, lynx-eyed to the deed." 
 
 "Yet," said Raimond hesitatingly, "bethink thee, Tribune; 
 the nephew of two cardinals, and himself once a senator." 
 
 Rienzi halted abruptly, and faced his companions. " My 
 Lord Bishop," said he, "does not this make the crime more 
 inexcusable ? Look you, thus it reads : A vessel from Avignon 
 to Naples, charged with the revenues of Provence to Queen 
 Joanna, on whose cause, mark you, we now hold solemn coun- 
 cil, is wrecked at the mouth of the Tiber ; with that, Martino 
 di Porto — a noble, as you say — the holder of that fortress 
 whence he derives his title, — doubly bound by gentle blood 
 and by immediate neighborhood to succor the oppressed — falls 
 upon the vessel with his troops (what hath the rebel with armed 
 troops?) and pillages the vessel like a common robber. 
 He is apprehended, brought to my tribunal, receives fair 
 trial, is condemned to die. Such is the law ; what more would 
 ye have?" 
 
 " Mercy," said the Colonna. 
 
 Rienzi folded his arms and laughed disdainfully. "I never 
 heard my Lord Colonna plead for mercy when a peasant had 
 stolen the bread that was to feed his famishing children." 
 
 " Between a peasant and a prince, Tribune, /, for one, recog- 
 nize a distinction : the bright blood of an Orsini is not to be 
 shed like that of a base plebeian — " 
 
 "Which, 1 remember me," said Rienzi, in a low voice, ''you 
 deemed small matter enough when my boy-brother fell beneath 
 the wanton spear of your proud son. Wake not that memory, 
 I warn you ; let it sleep. For shame, old Colonna, for shame; 
 so near the grave, where the worm levels all flesh, and preach- 
 ing, with those gray hairs, the uncharitable distinction between 
 man and man. Is there not distinction enough at the best? 
 Does not one wear purple, and the other rags ? Hath not one 
 ease, and the other toil ? Doth not the one banquet, while 
 the other starves? Do I nourish any mad scheme to level the 
 ranks which society renders a necessary evil ? No. I war no 
 more with Dives than with Lazarus. But before man's judg- 
 ment-seat, as before God's, Lazarus and Dives are made equal 
 Wo more." 
 
tME LAST O'F THE TRIBUNES. sS) 
 
 Colonna drew his robe round him with great haughtiness, 
 and bit his lip in silence. K.aimond interposed. 
 
 " All this is true, Tribune. But," and he drew Rienzi aside, 
 ** you know we must be politic as just. Nephew to two Car- 
 dinals, what emnity will not this provoke at Avignon ? ' 
 
 "Vex not yourself, holy Raimond, I will answer it to the 
 Pontiff." While they spoke the bell tolled heavily and loudly. 
 
 Colonna started. 
 
 "Great Tribune," said he, with a slight sneer, "deign to 
 pause ere it be too late. I know not that I ever before bent to 
 you a suppliant ; and I ask you now to spare mine own foe. 
 Stephen Colonna prays Cola di Rienzi to spare the life of an 
 Orsini." 
 
 " I understand thy taunt, old lord," said Rienzi calmly, "but 
 I resent it not. You are foe to the Orsini, yet you plead for 
 him — it sounds generous ; but hark you, you are more a friend 
 to your order than a foe to your rival. You cannot bear that one, 
 great enough to have contended with you, should perish like a 
 thief. I give full praise to such noble forgiveness ; but I am 
 no noble, and I do not sym.pathize with it. One word more : 
 if this were the sole act of fraud and violence that this bandit 
 baron had committed, your prayers should plead for him ; but 
 is not his life notorious ? Has he not been from boyhood the 
 terror and disgrace of Rome ? How many matrons violated, 
 merchants pillaged, peaceful men stilettoed in the daylight, 
 rise in dark witness against the prisoner ? And for such a man 
 do I live to hear an aged prince and a pope's vicar plead for mer- 
 cy ? Fie, fie ! But I will be even with ye. The next poor man 
 whom the law sentences to death, for your sake will I pardon." 
 
 Raimond again drew aside the Tribune, while Colonna strug- 
 gled to suppress his rage. 
 
 " My friend," said the Bishop, "the nobles will feel this as 
 an insult to their whole order ; the very pleading of Orsini's 
 worst foe must convince thee of this. Martino's blood wil! 
 seal their reconciliation with each other, and they will be as: 
 one man against thee." 
 
 " Be it so : with God and the People on my side, I will dare 
 though a Roman, to be just. The bell ceases — you are already 
 too late.'* So saying, Rienzi threw open the casement ; and by 
 the Staircase of the Lion rose a gibbet from which swung with 
 a creaking sound, arrayed in his patrician robes, the yet palpi* 
 tating corpse of Martino di Porto. 
 
 " Behold ! " said the Tribune sternly, " thus die all robberSc 
 For traitors^ the sam« law has the axe and the scaffold [ " 
 
l88 R1EN21, 
 
 Raimond drew back and turned pale. Not so the veteran 
 noble. Tears of wounded pride started from his eyes ; he 
 approached, leaning on his staff, to Rienzi, touched him on 
 his shoulder, and said : 
 
 ** Tribune, a judge has lived to envy his victim ! " 
 
 Rienzi turned with an equal pride to the Baron. 
 
 *'VVe forgive idle words in the aged. My lord, have you 
 done with us ? We would be alone." 
 
 " Give me thine arm, Raimond," said Stephen. ''Tribune, 
 farewell. Forget that the Colonna sued thee, — an easy task, 
 methinks ; for, wise as you are, you forget what every one 
 else can remember." 
 
 "Ay, my lord, what?" 
 
 ''Birth, Tribune, birth— that's all ! " 
 
 "The Signor Colonna has taken up my old calling, and 
 turned a wit," returned Rienzi, with an indifferent and easy 
 tone. 
 
 Then following Raimond and Stephen with his eyes, till the 
 door closed upon them, he muttered, "Insolent! Were it not 
 for Adrian, thy gray beard should not bear thee harmless. 
 Birth ! what Colonna would not boast himself, if he could, the 
 grandson of an emperor? Old man, there is danger in thee 
 which must be watched." With that he turned musingly to- 
 ward the casement, and again that grisly spectacle of death 
 met his eye. The people below,assembled in large concourse, 
 rejoiced at the execution of onewhose whole life had been in- 
 famy and rapine, but who had seemed beyond justice, with all 
 the fierce clamor that marks the exultation of the rabble over 
 a crushed foe. And where Rienzi stood he heard their shouts 
 of "Long live the Tribune, the just judge, Rome's libera- 
 tor ! " But at that time other thoughts deafened his senses 
 to the popular enthusiasm. 
 
 "My poor brother ! " he said with tears in his eyes, "it was 
 owing to this man's crimes — and to a crime almost similar to 
 that for which he has now suffered — that thou wert entrained 
 to the slaughter ; and they who had no pity for the lamb, 
 clamor for compassion to the wolf ! Ah, wert thou living 
 now, how these proud heads would bend to thee ; though 
 dead thou wert not worthy of a thought. God rest thy 
 gentle soul, and keep my ambition pure as it was when we 
 walked at twilight, side by side together ! " 
 
 The Tribune shut the casement, and, turning away, sought 
 the chamber of Nina. On hearing his step without, she had 
 already risen from the couch, her eyes sparkling, her bosom 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 189 
 
 heaving ; and as he entered, she threw herself on his neck, and 
 murmured as she nestled to his breast, *' Ah, the hours sinc^ 
 we parted ! " 
 
 It was a singular thing to see that proud lady, proud of her 
 beauty, her station, her new honors ; whose gorgeous vanity 
 was already the talk of Rome, and the reproach to Rienzi — 
 how suddenly and miraculously she seemed changed in his 
 presence ! Blushing and timid, all pride in herself seemed 
 merged in her proud love for him. No woman ever loved to 
 the full extent of the passion who did not venerate where she 
 loved, and who did not feel humbled (delighted in that humil- 
 ity) by her exaggerated and overweening estimate of the supe- 
 riority of the object of her worship. 
 
 And it might be the consciousness of this distinction between 
 himself and all other created things which continued to increase 
 the love of the Tribune to his bride, to blind him to her fail- 
 ings towards others, and to indulge her in a magnificence of 
 parade, which, though to a certain point politic to assume, 
 was carried to an extent which, if it did not conspire to 
 produce his downfall, has served the Romans with an ex- 
 cuse for their own cowardice and desertion, and historians 
 with a plausible explanation of causes they had not the indus- 
 try to fathom. Rienzi returned his wife's caresses with an 
 equal affection, and bending down to her beautiful face, the 
 sight was sufficient to chase from his brow the emotions, 
 whether severe or sad, which had lately darkened its broad 
 expanse. 
 
 *' Thou hast not been abroad this morning, Nina ! " 
 
 "No, the heat was oppressive. But nevertheless, Cola, I 
 have not lacked company ; half the matronage of Rome has 
 crowded the palace." 
 
 "Ah, I warrant it. But yon boy, is he not a new face?" 
 
 " Hush, Cola, speak to him kindly, I entreat : of his story 
 anon. Angelo, approach. You see your new master, tue 
 Tribune of Rome." 
 
 Angelo approached with a timidity not his wont, for an air 
 of majesty was at all times natural to Rienzi, and since his 
 power it had naturally taken a graver and austerer aspect, 
 which impressed those who approached him, even the ambas- 
 sadors of princes, with a certain involuntary awe. The Trib- 
 une smiled at the effect he saw he had produced, and being 
 by temper fond of children, and affable to all but the great, he 
 hastened to dispel it. He took the child affectionately in his 
 arms, kissed him, and bade him welcome* 
 
IS90 RIENZI, 
 
 " May we have a son as fair ! " he whispered to Nina, who 
 blushed and turned away. 
 
 " Thy name, my little friend ?" 
 
 "Angelo Villani." 
 
 ** A Tuscan name. There is a man of letters at Florence, 
 doubtless writing our annals from hearsay at this moment, 
 called Villani. Perhaps akin to thee ? " 
 
 "I have no kin," said the boy bluntly ; "and therefore I 
 shall the better love the Signora and honor you, if you will let 
 jae. I am Roman — all the Roman boys honor Rienzi." 
 
 "Do they, my brave lad ?" said the Tribune, coloring with 
 pleasure ; *' that is a good omen of my continued prosperity." 
 He put down the boy and threw himself on the cushions, 
 while Nina placed herself on a, kind of low stool beside 
 him. 
 
 "Let us be alone," said he ; and Nina motioned to the at- 
 tendant maidens to withdraw. 
 
 " Take my new page with you," said she ; "he is yet, per- 
 haps, too fresh from home to enjoy the company of his giddy 
 brethren." 
 
 When they were alone, Nina proceeded to narrate to Rienzi 
 the adventure of the morning ; but, though he seemed out- 
 wardly to listen, his gaze was on vacancy, and he was evidently 
 abstracted and self-absorbed. At length, as she concluded, 
 he said, " Well, Nina, you have acted as ever, kindly and no- 
 bly. Let us to other themes. I am in danger." 
 
 " Danger ! " echoed Nina, turning pale. 
 
 " Why, the word must not appal you ; you have a spirit like 
 mine, that scorns fear ; and for that reason, Nina, in all Rome 
 you are my only confidant. It was not only to glad me with 
 thy beauty, but to cheer me with thy counsel, to support me 
 with thy valor, that Heaven gave me thee as a helpmate." 
 
 " Now, Our Lady bless thee for those words ! " said Nina, 
 hissing the hand that hung over her shoulder ; and if I started 
 cit the word danger, it was but the woman's thought of thee; 
 an unworthy thought, my Cola, for glory and danger go to- 
 gether. And I am as ready to share the last as the first. If 
 the hour of trial evei i:ome, none of thy friends shall be so 
 faithful to thy side as this weak form but undaunted heart.'* 
 
 " I know it, my own Nina ; I know it," said Rienzi, rising and 
 pacing the chamber with large and rapid strides. "Now listen 
 to me. 'i'hou knovvr^t that to govern in safety it is my policy 
 as my pride to goverti jiAstly. To govertt justly ia ftn awful 
 Ihni^, whrn mi^hiiy iMitT*^« nrf: tl»« eui-f^ritf, -Nina* fo? *n o|>fa 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. U)t 
 
 and audacious robbery, our court has sentenced Martin of the 
 Orsini, the Lord of Porto, to death. His corpse swings now 
 on the Staircase of the Lion." 
 
 "A dreadful doom ! " said Nina, shuddering. 
 
 " True ; but by his death thousands of poor and honest men 
 may live in peace. It is not that which troubles me : the 
 barons resent the deed, as an insult to them that law should 
 touch a noble. They will rise ; they will rebel ; I foresee tha 
 storm ; not the spell to allay it." 
 
 Nina paused a moment : "They have taken," she then said, 
 "a solemn oath on the Eucharist not to bear arms against 
 thee." 
 
 " Perjury is a light addition to theft and murder," answered 
 Rienzi, with his sarcastic smile. 
 
 *' But the people are faithful." 
 
 " Yes, but in a civil war (which the saints forefend !) those 
 oombatants are the stanchest who have no home but their 
 armor, no calling but the sword. The trader will not leave his 
 trade at the toll of a bell every day : but the barons' soldiery 
 are ready at all hours." 
 
 "To be strong," said Nina — who, summoned to the councils 
 of her lord, showed an intellect not unworthy of the honor, — • 
 ** to be strong in dangerous times, authority must seem strong. 
 By showing no fear, you may prevent the cause of fear." 
 
 " My own thought ! " returned Rienzi quickly. " You know 
 that half my power with these barons is drawn from the homage 
 rendered to me by foreign States. When from every city in 
 f Italy the ambassadors of crowned princes seek the alliance of 
 the Tribune, they must veil their resentment at the rise of the 
 plebeian. On the other hand, to be strong abroad I must 
 seem strong at home : the vast design I have planned, and, as by 
 a miracle, begun to execute, will fail at once if it seem abroad 
 to be intrusted to an unsteady and fluctuating power. That 
 design (continued Rienzi, pausing, and placing his hand on a 
 marble bust of the young Augustus) is greater than his, whose 
 profound yet icy soul united Italy in subjection, for it would' 
 unite Italy in freedom ; yes ! could we but form one great fed- 
 erative league of all the States of Italy, each governed by 
 its own laws, but united for mutual and common protection 
 against the Attilas of the North, with Rome for their Metroj>- 
 olis and their Mother, this age and this brain would have 
 wrought an enterprise which men should quote till the sound 
 of the last trump." 
 
 ** I know thy divine scheme," said Nina, catching his enthu* 
 
192 RIENZI, 
 
 siasm ; "and what if there be danger in attaining it? Hav-:? 
 we not mastered the greatest danger in the first step ? " 
 
 "Right, Nina, right \ Heaven (and the Tribune, who ever 
 recognized, in his own fortunes, tlie agency of the hand above, 
 crossed himself reverently) will preserve him to whom it 
 hath vouchsafed such iofty visions of the future redemption of 
 the Land of the true Church, and the liberty and advancement of 
 its children! This I trust: already many of the cities of 'I'uscany 
 have entered into treaties for the formation of this league ; nor 
 from a single tyrant, save John di Vico, have I received aught 
 but fair words and flattering promises. The time seems npe 
 for the grand stroke of all." 
 
 And what is that.? " demanded Nina wonderingly. 
 
 ** Defiance to all foreign interference. By what right does a 
 synod of stranger princes give Rome a king in some Teuton 
 Emperor ? Rome's people alone should choose Rome's gov- 
 ernor ; and shall we cross the Alps to render the title of our 
 master to the descendants of the Goth ? " 
 
 Nina was silent : the custom of choosing the sos^ereign by a 
 diet beyond the Rhine, reserving only the ceremony of his sub- 
 sequent coronation for the mock assent of the Romans, how- 
 ever degrading to that people, and however hostile '^o all n.otions 
 of substantia?; independence, was so unquestioned at that time, 
 that Rienzi's daring suggestion left her awazed and breathkss, 
 prepared as she was for ary scheme; hov ever «',xtravagartly 
 bold. 
 
 " How ! ** saicl she, after a long pause ; " do I understand 
 aright ? Can you mean defiance to the £mperor ? " 
 
 " Why, listen : at this moment there are two pretenders to the 
 throne of Rome — to the imperial crown of Italy — a Bohemian 
 and a Bavarian. To their election our assent — Rome's assent — 
 is not requisite ; not asked. Can we be called free — can we boast 
 ourselves r'^publican — when a stranger and a barbarian is thus 
 thrust upcm our necks? No, we will be free in reality as in 
 mame. Resides (contmued tne Tribune, in a calmer tone), this 
 seems to me politic as well as daring. The people incessantly 
 demand wonders from me : how can I more nobly dazzle, 
 more virtuously win them, than by asserting their inalienable 
 right to choose their own rulers ? The daring will awe the 
 barons, and foreigners themselves ; it will give a startling ex- 
 ampl I to all Italy ; it will be the first brand of an universal blaze: 
 It shall be done, and with a pomp that befits the deed ! " 
 
 "Cola," said Nina hesitatingly, "your eagle spirit often 
 isctnas where mine fla^s to follow ; yet be not over-bold." 
 
THE *.A§T OF THE TRlfeUNES. t^^ 
 
 ** Nay, did you not, a moment since, preach a different doc- 
 irine ? To be strong, was I not to seem strong? " 
 
 *' May fate preserve you ! " said Nina, with a foreboding sigh. 
 
 *' Fate ! " cried Rienzi ; " there is no fate ! Between the 
 thought and the success God is the only agent, and (he added 
 with a voice of deep solemnity) 1 shall not be deserted. Visions 
 by night, even while thine arms are around me ; omens and 
 impulses, stirring and divine, by day, even in the midst of the 
 living crowd, encourage my path, and point my goal. Now, 
 even now, a voice seems to whisper in my ear : ' Pause not ; 
 tremble not ; waver not ; for the eye of the All-Seeing is upon 
 thee, and the hand of the All-Powerful shall protect ! " 
 
 As Rienzi thus spoke his face grew pale, his hair seemed to 
 bristle, his tall and proud form trembled visibly, and presently 
 he sunk down on a seat and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 An awe crept over Nina, though not unaccustomed to such 
 strange and preternatural emotions, which appeared yet the 
 more singular in one who in common life was so calm, stately, 
 and self-possessed. But with every increase of prosperity and 
 power those emotions seemed toincreasein their fervor, as if in 
 such increase the devout and overwrought superstition of the 
 Tribune recognized additional proof of a mysterious guardian- 
 ship mightier than the valor or art of man. 
 
 She approached fearfully, and threw her arms around him, 
 but without speaking. 
 
 Ere yet the Tribune had well recovered himself a slight tap 
 at the door was heard, and the sound seemed at once to recall 
 his self-possession. 
 
 " Enter," he said, lifting his face, to which the wonted color 
 slowly returned. 
 
 An officer, half-opening the door, announced that the person 
 he had sent for waited his leisure. 
 
 " I come ! Core of my heart " (he whispered to Nina), " we 
 will sup alone to-night, and will converse more on these mat- 
 ters " ; so saying, with somewhat less than his usual loftiness of 
 mien he left the room, and sought his cabinet, which lay at the 
 other side of the reception chamber. Here he found Cecco del 
 Vecchio. 
 
 " How, my bold fellow," said the Tribune, assuming with 
 wonderful ease that air of friendly equality which he always 
 adopted with those of the lower class, and which made a strik- 
 ing contrast with the majesty, no less natural, which marked 
 his manner to the great. " How now, my Cecco ! Thou 
 Nearest thyself bravely, I see, during these sickly heats ; we 
 
i94 RieN2i, 
 
 laborers — for both of us labor, Cecco — are toe busy to fall ill as 
 ihe idle do, in the summer, or the autumn, of Roman skies. I 
 sent for thee, Cecco, because I would know how thy fellow- 
 craftsmen are like to take the Orsini's execution." 
 
 '* Oh ! Tribune," replied the artificer, who, now familinrized 
 with Rienzi, had lost much of his earlier awe of him, and who 
 regarded the Tribune's power as partly his own creation ; " they 
 are already out of their honest wits, at your courage in punish- 
 ing the great men as you would the small." 
 
 "So; I am repaid! But hark you, Cecco, it will bring, 
 perhaps, hot work upon us. Every baron will dread lest it be 
 his turn next, and dread will make them bold, like rats in de- 
 spair. We may have to fight for the Good Estate." 
 
 " With all my heart, Tribune," answered Cecco gruffly. " I, 
 for one, am no craven." 
 
 " Then keep the same spirit in all your meetings with the 
 artificers. I fight for the people. The people at a pinch must 
 fight with me." 
 
 " They will," replied Cecco ; "they will." 
 
 " Cecco, this city is under the spiritual dominion of fnc 
 Pontiff — so be it — it is an honor, not a burthen. But the 
 temporal dominion, my friend, should be with Romans only. 
 Is it not a disgrace to Republican Rome, that while we now 
 speak certain barbarians, whom we never heard of, should be 
 deciding beyond the Alps on the merits of two sovereigns, 
 whom we never saw? Is not this a thing to be resisted ? An 
 Italian city, — what hath it to do with a Bohemian Emperor?" 
 
 " Little eno*, St. Paul knows ! " said Cecco. 
 
 "Should it not be a claim questioned?" 
 
 " I think so ! " replied the smith. 
 
 " And if found an outrage on our ancient laws, should it not 
 be a claim resisted ? " 
 
 "Not a doubt of it." 
 
 " Well, go to ! The archives assure me that never was enw 
 peror lawfully crowned but by the free votes of the peoplfe 
 We never chose Bohemian or Bavarian." 
 
 " But, on the contrary, whenever these Northmen come hithe* 
 to be crowned, we try to drive them away with stones and 
 curses, — for we are a people, Tribune, that love our lib- 
 erties." 
 
 " Go back to your friends : see, address them ; say that your 
 Tribune will demand of these pretenders to Rome the right to 
 her throne. Let them not be mazed or startled, but support 
 me when the occasion comes." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 195 
 
 " I am glad of this," quoth the huge smith ; "for our friends 
 Aave grown c. little unruly of late, and say — " 
 
 ''What do they say?" 
 
 ' That it is true you have expelled the banditti, and curb the 
 barons, and administer justice fairly — " 
 
 " Is not that miracle enough for the space of some Lwo or 
 ihree short months ? " 
 
 " Why, they say it would have been more than enough in \ 
 noble; but you, being raised from the people, and having such 
 gifts and so forth, might do yet more. It is now three weeks 
 since they have had any new thing to talk about ; but Orsini's 
 execution to-day will cheer them a bit." 
 
 *' Well, Cecco, well," said the Tribune, rising, " they shall 
 have more anon to feed their mouths with. So you think 
 they love me not quite so well as they did some three weeks 
 back ? " 
 
 " I say not so," answered Cecco. ^^ But we Romans are an 
 impatient people.'* 
 
 '* Alas, yes I " 
 
 '^ However, they will no doubt stick close enough to you ; 
 provided, Tribune, you don't put any new tax upon them." 
 
 *' Ha ! But if, in order to be free, it be necessary to fight ; 
 if to light, it be necessary to have soldiers, why then the soldiers 
 must be paid : won't the people contribute something to their 
 own liberties ; to just laws, and safe lives ? " 
 
 " I don't know," returned the smith, scratching his head as 
 if a little puzzled ; " but I know that poor men won't be over- 
 taxed. They say they are better off wath you than with the 
 barons before, and therefore they love you. But men in busi- 
 ness. Tribune, poor men with families, must look to their 
 bellies. Only one man in ten goes to law ; only one man in 
 twenty is butchered by a baron's brigand ; but every man eats, 
 and drinks, and feels a tax." 
 
 "This cannot be your reasoning, Cecco!" said Rienzi 
 gravely. 
 
 " Why, Tribune, I am an honest man, but I have a large 
 family to rear." 
 
 " Enough ; enough ! " said the Tribune quickly ; and then 
 he added abstractedly as to himself, but aloud : " Methinks 
 we have been too lavish ; these shows and spectacles should 
 cease." 
 
 "What!" cried Cecco ;'* what, Tribune ! would you deny 
 the poor fellows a holiday ; They work hard enough, and their 
 ©nly plt^aswre i« seeing your iliae shows {\n^ prgcessions ; and 
 
I96 RIENZI, 
 
 then they go home and say: '^* See, our man beats all the barons? 
 what state he keeps ! " 
 
 "Ah ! they blame not my splendor, then ! " 
 
 "Blame it ; no ! Without it they would be ashamed of you, 
 and think the Buono Stato but a shabby concern." 
 
 " You speak bluntly^ Cecco, but perhaps wisely. The saints 
 keep you ! Fail not to remember what I told you \ " 
 
 *' No, no ! It is a shame to have an Emperor thrust upon us ; 
 so it is. Good-evening, Tribune." 
 
 Left alone, the Tribune remained for some time plunged in 
 gloomy and foreboding thoughts. 
 
 " I am in the midst of a magician's spell." said he ; "if I 
 desist, the fiend tears me to pieces. What I have begun, that 
 must I conclude. But this rude man shows me too well with 
 what tools I work. For me tailure is nothing. I have already 
 climbed to a greatness which might render giddy many a born 
 prince's brain. But with my fall, Rome, Italy, Peace, Justice, 
 Civilization, all fall back in the abyss of ages ! " 
 
 He rose ; and after once or twice pacing his apartment, in 
 which from many a column gleamed upon him the marble 
 effigies of the great of old, he opened the casement to inhale 
 the air of the now declining day. 
 
 The Place of the Capitol was deserted, save by the tread of 
 the single sentinel. But still, dark and fearful, hung from the 
 tall gibbet the clay of the robber noble ; and the colossal shape 
 of the Egyptian lion rose hard by, sharp and dark in the 
 breathless atmosphere. 
 
 *' Dread statue ! " thought Rienzi, "how many unwhispered 
 and solemn rites hast thou witnessed by thy native Nile, ere 
 tne Roman's hand transferred thee hither — the antique witness 
 of Roman crimes ! Strange ! but when I look upon thee I feel 
 as if thou hadst some mystic influence over my own fortunes. 
 Beside thee was I hailed the republican Lord of Rome ; beside 
 i-iee are my palace, my tribunal, the place of my justice, my 
 triumphs, and my pomp ; to thee my eyes turn from my bed 
 of state ; and if fated to die in power and peace, thou mayest 
 be the last object my eyes will mark ! Or if myself a victim — " 
 he paused, shrank from the thought presented to him ; turned 
 to a recess of the chamber, drew aside a curtain that veiled a 
 crucifix and a small table, on which lay a Bible and the monas- 
 tic emblems of the skull and cross bones — emblems, indeed, 
 grave and irresistible, of the nothingness of power, and the 
 uncertainty of life. Before these sacred monitors, whether to 
 liumblc or' to elevate, kneU that proud and aspiring man, and 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. t^J 
 
 when he rose, it was with a lighter step and morecheeiCulrviieq 
 than he had worn that day. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ACTOR UNMASKED. 
 
 "In intoxication," says the proverb, "men betray their real 
 characters." There is a no less honest and trutii revealing 
 intoxication in prosperity, than in wine. The varnish of 
 power brings forth at once the defects and the beauties of the 
 human portrait. 
 
 The unprecedented and almost miraculous rise of Rienzi 
 from the rank of the Pontiff's official to the Lord of Rome, 
 would have been accompanied with a yet greater miracle, if it 
 had not somewhat dazzled and seduced the object it elevated. 
 When, as in well-ordered states and tranquil times, men rise 
 slowly, step by step, they accustom themselves to their growing 
 fortunes. But the leap of an hour from a citizen to a prince — 
 from the victim of oppression to the dispenser of justice — is a 
 transition so sudden as to render dizzy the most sober brain. 
 And, perhaps, in proportion to the imagination, the enthusiasm, 
 the genius of the man, will the suddenness be dangerous, — 
 excite too extravagant a hope, and lead to too chimerical an am- 
 bition. The qualities that made him rise hurry him to his fall ; 
 and victory at the Marengo of his fortunes urges him to de- 
 struction at its Moscow. 
 
 In his greatness Rienzi did not so much acquire new quali- 
 ties, as develop in brighter light and deeper shadow those 
 which he had always exhibited. On the one hand he was just, 
 resolute, the friend of the oppressed, the terror of the op- 
 pressor. His wonderful intellect illumined everything it 
 touched. By rooting out abuse, and by searching examination 
 and wise arrangement, he had trebled the revenues of the city 
 without imposing a single new tax. Faithful to his idol of 
 liberty, he had not been betrayed by the wish of the people 
 into despotic authority ; but had, as we have seen, formally 
 revived, and established with new powers, the Parliamentary 
 Council of the city. However extensive his own authority, he 
 referred its exercise to the people ; in their name he alone 
 declared himself to govern, and he never executed any signal 
 action without submitting to them its reasons or its justifica' 
 
298 RIEN2I, 
 
 tion. No less faithful to his desire to restore prosperity as well 
 as freedom to Rome, he had seized the first dazzling epoch of 
 his power to propose that great federative league with the 
 Italian States which would, as he rightly said, have raised 
 Rome to the indisputable head of European nations. Under 
 his rule trade was secure, literature was welcome, art began 
 to rise. 
 
 On the other hand, the prosperity which made more appar- 
 ent his justice, his integrity, his patriotism, his virtues, and his 
 genius, brought out no less glaringly his arrogant conscious- 
 ness of superiority, his love of display, and the wild and daring 
 insolence of his ambition. Though too just to avenge himself 
 by retaliating on the patricians their own violence, — though, in 
 his troubled and stormy tribuneship, not one unmerited or 
 illegal execution of baron or citizen could be alleged against 
 him, even by his enemies ; yet sharing, less excusably, the 
 weakness of Nina, he could not deny his proud heart the 
 pleasure of humiliating those who had ridiculed him as a buf- 
 foon, despised him as a plebeian, and who, even now, slaves to 
 his face, were cynics behind his back. ** They stood before 
 him while he sate," says his biographer ; " all these barons, 
 bareheaded ; their hands crossed on their breasts ; their looks 
 downcast ; oh, how frightened they were!" — a picture more 
 disgraceful to the servile cowardice of the nobles than the 
 haughty sternness of the Tribune. It might be that he deemed 
 it policy to break the spirit of his foes, and to awe those whom 
 it was a vain hope to conciliate. 
 
 For his pomp there was a greater excuse : it was the custom 
 of the time; it was the insignia and witness of power; and when 
 the modern historian taunts him with not imitating the simplic- 
 ity of an ancient tribune, the sneer betrays an ignorance of the 
 spirit of the age, and the vain people whom the chief magistrate 
 was to govern. No doubt his gorgeous festivals, his solemn 
 processions, set off and ennobled — if parade can so be en- 
 iiobled — by a refined and magnificent richness of imagination, 
 associated always with popular emblems, and designed to con- 
 vey the idea of rejoicing for Liberty Restored, and to assert 
 the state and majesty of Rome Revived — no doubt these 
 spectacles, however otherwise judged in a more enlightened 
 age and by closet sages, served greatly to augment the impoi- 
 tance of the Tribune abroad, and to dazzle the pride of a fickle 
 and ostentatious populace. And taste grew refined, luxury 
 called labor into requisition, and foreigners from all States were 
 attracted by the splendor of a court over which presided, undei: 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. I99 
 
 republican names, two covereigns,* young and brilliant, the one 
 renowned for his genius, the other eminent for her beauty. It 
 was, indeed, a dazzling and royal dream in the long night of 
 Rome, spoiled of her Pontiff and his voluptuous train — that 
 holyday reign of Cola di Rienzi ! And often afterwards it was 
 recalled with a sigh, not only by the poor for its justice, the 
 merchant for its security, but the gallant for its splendor, and 
 the poet for its ideal and intellectual grace ! 
 
 As if to show that it was not to gratify the more vulgar ap- 
 petite and desire, in the midst of all his pomp, when the board - 
 groaned with the delicacies of every clime, when the wine most » 
 freely circled, the Tribune himself preserved a temperate and 
 even rigid abstinence. f While the apartments of state and the 
 chamber of his bride were adorned with a profuse luxury and 
 cost, to his own private rooms he transported precisely the same 
 furniture which had been familiar to him in his obscurer life. 
 The books, the busts, the reliefs, the arms which had inspired 
 him heretofore with the visions of the past, were endeared by 
 associations which he did not care to forego. 
 
 But that which constituted the most singular feature of his 
 character, and which still wraps all around him in a certain 
 mystery, was his religious enthusiasm. The daring but wild 
 doctrines of Arnold of Brescia, who, two centuries anterior, had 
 preached reform, but inculcated mysticism, still lingered in 
 Rome, and had in earlier youth deeply colored the mind of 
 Rienzi ° and as I have before observed, his youthful propensity 
 to dreamy thought, the melancholy death of his brother, his 
 own various but successful fortunes, had all contributed to 
 nurse the more zealous and solemn aspirations of this remark- 
 able man. Like Arnold of Brescia, his faith bore a strong re- 
 semblance to the intense fanaticism of our own Puritans of the 
 Civil War, as if similar political circumstances conduced to 
 similar religious sentiments. He believed himself inspired by 
 awful and mighty commune with beings of the better world J 
 Saints and angels ministered to his dreams; and without this, 
 the more profound and hallowed enthusiasm, he might never 
 have been sufficiently emboldened by mere human patriotism, 
 
 * Rienzi, speaking in one of his letters of his great enterprise, refers it to the ardor of 
 youth. The exact date of his birth is unknown ; but he was certauilj a young man at the 
 time now referred to. His portrait in the iMuseo Harbanno. from which his description 
 has been already taken in the first book of this work, represents him as beardless, and, as 
 far as one can judge, somewhere above thirty— old enoujih, to be sure, to ha\e a beard; 
 and seven years afterwanis he wore a long one, which jire.iily displeased his naiTc biogra- 
 pher, who seems to consider it a sort of crime. '1 he head is very remarkable for its stern 
 beauty, and liule, if at all, interior to that of Najioi'^on ; to which, as I have before re- 
 marked, it has some resemljlance m expression, it not in feature. 
 
 I Vit^ dJ Cola di Kier)?i — i he biographer praises the ^bstipepce of the Tribune* 
 
200 RIENZI, 
 
 to his unprecedented enterprise : it was the secret of much of 
 
 his greatness, many of his errors. Like all men who are thus 
 self-deluded by a vain but not inglorious superstition, united 
 with, and colored by, earthly ambition, it is impossible to say 
 how far he was the visionary, and how far at times he dared to 
 be the impostor. In the ceremonies of his pageants, in the 
 ornaments of his person, were invariably introduced mystic 
 and figurative emblems. In times of danger he publicly 
 professed to have been cheered and directed by divine 
 d^-eams ; and on many occasions the prophetic warnings 
 announced having been singularly verified by the 
 event, his influence with the people was strengthened by 
 a belief in the favor and intercourse of Heaven. Thus, delu- 
 sion of self might tempt and conduce to imposition on 
 others, and he might not scruple to avail himself of the 
 advantage of seeming what he believed himself to be. 
 Yet, no doubt this intoxicating credulity pushed him 
 into extravagance unworthy of, and strangely contrasted by, 
 his soberer intellect, and made him disproportion his vast ends 
 to his unsteady means, by the proud fallacy, that where man 
 failed, God would interpose. Cola di Rienzi was no faultless 
 hero of romance. In him lay, in conflicting prodigality, the 
 richest and most opposite elements of character : strong sense, 
 visionary superstition, an eloquence and energy that mastered 
 all he approached, a blind enthusiasm that mastered himself; 
 luxury and abstinence, sternness and susceptibility, pride to 
 the great, humility to the low ; the most devoted patriotism 
 and the most avid desire of personal power. As few men un- 
 dertake great and desperate designs without strong animal 
 'virits, so it may be observed, that with most who have risen 
 to eminence over the herd there is an aptness, at times, to a 
 wild mirth and an elasticity of humor which often astonish the 
 more sober and regulated minds, that are " the commoners of 
 life"; and the theatrical grandeur of Napoleon, the severe 
 dignity of Cromwell, are strangely contrasted by a frequent, 
 nor always seasonable buffoonery, which it is hard to reconcile 
 with the ideal of their character or the gloomy and porten- 
 tous interest of their careers. And this, equally a trait in the 
 temperament of Rienzi, distinguished his hours of relaxation, 
 and contributed to that marvellous versatility with which his 
 harder nature accommodated itself to all humors and all men. 
 Often from his austere judgment-seat he passed to the social 
 board an altered man ; and even the sullen barons, who reluc- 
 tantly attended his feasts, forgot his public greatness in bis f^- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 20I 
 
 miliar wit ; albeit this reckless humor could not always refrain 
 from seeking its subject in the mortification of his crestfallen 
 foes — a pleasure it would have been wiser and more generaus 
 to forego. And perhaps it was, in part, the prompting of this 
 sarcastic and unbridled humor that made him often love to 
 astonish as well as to awe. But even this gaiety, if so it may 
 be called, taking an appearance of familiar frankness, served 
 much to ingratiate him with the lower orders, and, if a fault in 
 the prince, was a virtue in the demagogue. 
 
 To these various characteristics, now fully developed, the 
 eader must add a genius of designs so bold, of conceptions so 
 gigantic and august, conjoined with that more minute and ordi- 
 nary ability which masters details ; that with a brave, noble, 
 intelligent, devoted people to back his projects, the accession 
 of the Tribune would have been the close of the thraldom of 
 Italy, and the abrupt limit of the dark age of Europe. With 
 such a people, his faults would have been insensibly checked, 
 his more unwholesome power have received a sufficient curb. 
 Experience familiarizing him with power, would have gradually 
 weaned him from extravagance in its display ; and the active 
 and masculine energy of his intellect would have found field 
 for the more restless spirits, as his justice gave shelter to the 
 more tranquil. Faults he had, but whether those faults, or 
 the faults of the people, were to prepare his downfall, is yet to 
 be seen. 
 
 Meanwhile, amidst a discontented nobility and a fickle pop- 
 ulace, urged on by the danger of repose to the danger of en- 
 terprise ; partly blinded by his outward power, partly impelled 
 by the fear of internal weakness ; at once made sanguine by 
 his genius and his fanaticism, and uneasy by the expecta- 
 tions of the crowd, he threw himself headlong into the gulf of 
 the rushing Tirae, and surrendered his lofty spirit to no other 
 guidance than a conviction of its natural buoyancy and its 
 heaven-directed haven. 
 
?0? RIENZI, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE enemy's camp. 
 
 While Rienzi was preparing, in concert, perhaps, with the 
 ambassadors of the brave Tuscan States, whose pride of 
 country and love of liberty were well fitted to comprehend, and 
 even share them, his schemes for the emancipation from all 
 foreign yoke of the Ancient Queen, and the Everlasting Gar- 
 den, of the World ; the Barons, in restless secrecy, were revolv- 
 ing projects for the restoration of their own power. 
 
 One morning the heads of the Savelli, the Orsini, and the 
 Frangipani, met at the disfortified palace of Stephen Colonna. 
 Their conference was long and earnest — now resolute, now 
 wavering in its object — as indignation or fear prevailed. 
 
 *' You have heard," said Luca di Savelli, in his usual soft and 
 womanly voice, " that the Tribune has proclaimed that, the 
 day after to-morrow, he will take the order of knighthood, and 
 watch the night before in the Church of the Lateran : he has 
 honored me with a request to attend his vigil." 
 
 " Yes, yes, the knave. What means this new fantasy .^" said 
 the brutal Prince of the Orsini. 
 
 " Unless it be to have the cavalier's right to challenge a 
 noble," said old Colonna, " I cannot conjecture. Will Rome 
 never grow weary of this madman .''" 
 
 " Rome is the more mad of the two," said Luca di Savelli ; 
 *'but methinks, in his wildness, the Tribune hath committed one 
 error of which we may well avail ourselves at Avignon." 
 
 "Ah," cried the old Colonna, "that must be our game; 
 oassive here, let us fight at Avignon." 
 
 ** In a word, then, he hath ordered that his bath shall be pre- 
 *Dared in the holy porphyry vase in which once bathed the 
 Emperor Constantine." 
 
 " Profanation ! profanation ! " cried Stephen. " This is 
 enough to excuse a bull of excommunication. The Pope shall 
 hear of it. I will despatch a courier forthwith." 
 
 " Better wait and see the ceremony," said the Savelli ; "some 
 greater folly will close the pomp, be assured." 
 
 " Hark ye, my masters," said the grim Lord of the Orsini ; 
 '* ye are for delay and caution ; I for promptness and daring ; 
 my kinsman's blood calls aloud, and brooks no parley." 
 
 "And what do?" said the soft-voiced Savelli ; "fight without 
 soldiers, against twenty thousi^nd infuriated Romans? NotI»" 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 203 
 
 Orsini sunk his voice into a meaning whisper. "In Venice,** 
 said he, " this upstart might be mastered without an army. 
 Think you in Rome no man wears a stiletto ? " 
 
 " Hush," said Stephen, who was of far nobler and better 
 nature than his compeers, and who, justifying to himself all 
 other resistance to the Tribune, felt his conscience rise against 
 assassination ; " this must not be ; your zeal transports you." 
 
 *' Besides, whom can we employ ? scarce a German left in 
 the city ; and to whisper this to a Roman were to exchange 
 places with poor Martino — Heaven take him, for he's nearer 
 heaven than ever he was before," said the Savelli. 
 
 " Jest me no jests," cried the Orsini fiercely. ''Jests on such 
 (^subject ! By St. Francis ! I would, since thou lovest such wit, 
 dlOu hadst it all to thyself ; and methinks at the Tribune's 
 board I have seen thee laugh at his rude humor, as if thou 
 didst not require a cord to choke thee." 
 
 " Better to laugh than to tremble," returned the Savelli. 
 
 *' How ! darest thou say I tremble ?" cried the baron. 
 
 " Hush, hush," said the veteran Colonna, with impatient 
 dignity. "We are not now in such holiday times as to quarrel 
 amongst ourselves. Forbear, my lords." 
 
 "Your greater prudence, Signor," said the sarcastic Savelli, 
 *' arises from your greater safety. Your house is about tc 
 shelter itself under the Tribune's ; and, when the Lord Adrian 
 returns from Naples, the innkeeper's son will be brother to 
 your kinsman." 
 
 "You might spare me that taunt," said the old noble with 
 some emotion. " Heaven knows how bitterly I have chafed 
 at the thought ; yet I would Adrian were with us. His word 
 goes far to moderate the Tribune, and to guide my own course, 
 for my passion beguiles my reason ; and since his departure 
 methinks we have been the more sullen without being the 
 more strong. Let this pass. If my own son had wed the 
 Tribune's sister, I would yet strike a blow for the old consti- 
 Aition as becomes a noble, if I but saw that the blow would 
 -)0t Ctlt off my own head." 
 
 Savelli, who had been whispering apart with Rinaldo Fran- 
 ^ipani, now said : 
 
 " Noble Prince, listen to me. You are bound by your kins- 
 man's approaching connection, your venerable age, and your 
 intimacy with the Pontiff, to a greater caution than we are. 
 Leave to us the management of the enterprise, and be assured 
 of our discretion," 
 
 A young boy, Stefanello, who afterwards succeeded to tho 
 
204 RIENZI, 
 
 representation of the direct line of the Colonna, and whom the 
 reader will once again encounter ere our tale be closed, was 
 playing by his grandsire's knees. He looked sharply up at 
 Savelli, and said, *' My grandfather is too wise, and you are too 
 timid. Frangipani is too yielding, and Orsini is too like a 
 vexed bull. I wish I were a year or two older." 
 
 " And what would you do, my pretty censurer ? " said the 
 smooth Savelli, biting his smiling lip. 
 
 " Stab the Tribune with my own stiletto, and then hey for 
 Palestrina ! " 
 
 " The egg will hatch a brave serpent," quoth the Savelli 
 "Yet why so bitter against the Tribune, my cockatrice?" 
 
 "Because he allowed an insolent mercer to arrest my uncle 
 Agapet for debt. The debt had been owed these ten years ; 
 and though it is said that no house in Rome has ov/ed more 
 money than the Colonna, this is the first time I ever heard of 
 a rascally creditor being allowed to claim his debt unless with 
 doffed cap and bended knee. And I say that I would not 
 live to be a baron, if such upstart insolence is to be put 
 upon me." 
 
 " My child," said old Stephen, laughing heartily, " I see our 
 noble order will be safe enough in your hands." 
 
 " And," continued the child, emboldened by the applause he 
 received, " if I had time after pricking the Tribune, I would 
 fain have a second stroke at — " 
 
 " Whom ? " said the Savelli, observing the boy pause, 
 
 *'My cousin Adrian. Shame on him, for dreaming to make 
 one a wife whose birth would scarce fit her for a Colonna's 
 leman ! " 
 
 " Go play, my child, go play," said the old Colonna, as he 
 pushed the boy from him. 
 
 "Enough of this babble," cried the Orsini rudely. "Tell 
 me, old lord ; just as I entered I saw an old friend (one of 
 your former mercenaries) quit the palace ; may I crave his 
 errand ? " 
 
 " Ah yes ; a messenger from Fra Moreale. I wrote to the 
 knight, reproving him for liis desertion on our ill-starred return 
 from Corneto, and intimating that five hundred lances would 
 be highly paid for just now." 
 
 "Ah," said Savelli; "and what is his answer?" 
 
 " Oh, wily and evasive : he is profuse in compliments and 
 good wishes ; but says he is under fealty to the Hungarian 
 king, whose cause is before Rienzi's tribunal ; that he cannot 
 desert his present standard ; that he fears Rome is so evenl^f 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 20^ 
 
 balanced between patricians and the people that whatever 
 party would permanently be uppermost must call in a Podesta ; 
 and this character alone the Proven9al insinuates would 
 suit him." 
 
 '' Montreal our Podesta ? " cried the Orsini. 
 
 "And why not ? " said Savelli ; " as good a well-born Podesta 
 as a low-born Tribune ? But I trust we may do without either. 
 Colonna, has this messenger from Fra Moreale left the city ? " 
 
 ''I suppose so." 
 
 " No," said Orsini ; " I met him at the gate, and knew him 
 of old : it is Rodolf, the Saxon (once a hireling of the Colonna), 
 who has made some widows among my clients in the good old 
 day. He is a little disguised now ; however, I recognized 
 and accosted him, for I thought he was one who might yet 
 become a friend, and I bade him await me at my palace." 
 
 '' You did well," said the Savelli, musing, and his eyes met 
 those of Orsini. Shortly afterwards a conference, in which 
 much was said and nothing settled, was broken up ; but Luca 
 di Savelli, loitering at the porch, prayed the Frangipani and 
 the other barons to adjourn to the Orsini's palace. 
 
 *' The old Colonna," said he, " is well-nigh in his dotage. 
 We sliall come to a quick determination without him, and we 
 can secure his proxy in his son." 
 
 And this was a true prophecy, for half an hour's consulta- 
 tion with Rodolf of Saxony sufficed to ripen thought into 
 enterprise. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE NIGHT AND ITS INCIDENTS. 
 
 With the following twilight Rome was summoned to the 
 commencement of the most magnificent spectacle the Imperial 
 City had witnessed since the fall of the Caesars. It had been 
 a singular privilege, arrogated by the people of Rome, to 
 confer upon their citizens the order of knighthood. Twenty 
 years before a Colonna and an Orsini had received this popu- 
 lar honor. Rienzi, who designed it as the prelude to a more 
 important ceremony, claimed from the Romans a similar dis- 
 tinction. From the Capitol to the Lateran swept, in long 
 precession, all that Rome boasted of noble, of fair, and brave. 
 First went horsemen without number, and from all the neigh- 
 boring parts of Jtaly, in apparel that well befitted the occasion. 
 
|06 RIENZI, 
 
 •Trumpeter?, and musicians of all kinds, followed, and the 
 trumpets were of silver ; youths bearing the harness of the 
 knightly war-steed, wrought with gold, preceded the march of 
 the loftiest matronage of Rome, whose love for show, and it 
 may be whose admiration for triumphant fame (which to 
 women sanctions many offences), made them forget the 
 humbled greatness of their lords; amidst them Nina and 
 Irene, outshining all the rest ; then came the Tribune and the 
 Pontiff's Vicar, surrounded by all the great signors of the city, 
 smothering alike resentment, revenge, and scorn, and struggling 
 who should approach nearest to the monarch of the day. The 
 high-hearted old Colonna alone remained aloof, following at a 
 little distance, and in a garb studiously plain. But his age, his 
 rank, his former renown in war and state, did not suffice to 
 draw to his gray locks and high-born mien a single one of the 
 shouts that attended the meanest lord on whom the great Trib- 
 une smiled. Savelli followed nearest to Rienzi, the most ob- 
 sequious of the courtly band ; immediately before the Tribune 
 came two men ; the one bore a drawn sword, the other the 
 pendoney or standard usually assigned to royalty. The Trib- 
 une himself was clothed in a long robe of white satin, whose 
 snowy dazzle {niiricandoris) is peculiarly dwelt on by the his- 
 torian, richly decorated with gold ; while on his breast were 
 many of those mystic symbols I have before alluded to, the 
 exact meaning of which was perhaps known only to the wearer. 
 In his dark eye, and on that large, tranquil brow, in which 
 thought seemed to sleep, as sleeps a storm, there might be de- 
 tected a mind abstracted from the pomp around ; but ever and 
 anon he roused himself and conversed partially with Raimond 
 or Savelli. 
 
 "This is a quaint game," said the Orsini, falling back to the 
 old Colonna : "but it may end tragically." 
 
 "Methinks it may," said the old man, "if the Tribune over- 
 hear thee." 
 
 Orsini grew pale. " How — nay — nay, even if he did, he 
 never resents words, but professes to laugh at our spoken rage. 
 It was but the other day that some knave told him what one of 
 the Annibaldi said of him — words for which a true cavalier 
 would have drawn the speaker's life's blood ; and he sent for 
 the Annibaldi, and said, 'My friend, receive this purse of 
 gold — court wits should be paid.'" 
 
 "Did Annibaldi take the gold.?" 
 
 "Why, no; the Tribune was pleased with his spirit, and 
 made him sup with Itim^ «D<1 Annibaldi says he never spent « 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 207 
 
 merrier evening, and no longer wonders that his kinsman, Ric- 
 cardo, loves the buffoon so." 
 
 Arrived now at the Lateran, Liica di Savelli fell also back, 
 and whispered to Orsini ; the Frangipani, and some other ot 
 the nobles exchanged meaning looks ; Rienzi, entering the 
 sacred edifice, in which, according to custom, he was to pass 
 the night watching his armor, bade the crowd farewell, and 
 summoned them the next morning, " To hear things that might, 
 he trusted, be acceptable to heaven and earth." 
 
 The immense multitude received this intimation with curios- 
 ity and gladness, while those who had been in some measure 
 prepared by Cecco del Vecchio hailed it as an omen of their 
 Tribune's unflagging resolution. The concourse dispersed 
 with singular order and quietness ; it was recorded as a re- 
 markable fact, that in so great a crowd, composed of men of 
 all parties, none exhibited license or indulged in quarrel. 
 Some of the barons and cavaliers,' among whom was Luca di 
 Savelli, whose sleek urbanity and sarcastic humor found favor 
 with the Tribune, and a few subordinate pages and attendants, 
 alone remained ; and save a single sentinel at the porch, that 
 broad space before the Palace, the Basilica and Fount of Constan- 
 tine, soon presented a silent and desolate void to the melan- 
 choly moonlight. Within the church, according to the usage 
 of the time and rite, the descendant of the Teuton kings 
 received the order of the Santo Spirito. His pride, or some 
 superstition equally weak, though more excusable, led him to 
 bathe in the porphyry vase, which an absurd legend consecrated 
 to Constantine ; and this, as Savelli predicted, cost him deaj". 
 These appointed ceremonies concluded, his arms were placed 
 in that part of the church within the columns of St. John. 
 And here his state bed was prepared.* 
 
 The attendant barons, pages, and chamberlains retired out 
 of sight to a small side chapel in the edifice ; and Rienzi was 
 left alone. A single lamp, placed beside his bed, contended 
 with the mournful rays of the moon that cast through the long 
 casements, over aisle and pillar, " its dim religious light." The 
 sanctity of the place, the solemnity of the hour, and the soli- 
 tary silence round, were well calculated to deepen the high- 
 wrought and earnest mood of that son of fortune. Many and 
 high fancies swept over his mind — now of worldly aspirations, 
 now of more august but visionary belief, till at length, wearied 
 
 * In a more northern country, the eve of knighthood would "have been spent without 
 sleeping. In Italy, the ceremony of watching the armor does not appear to nave been s9 
 tigidly observed. 
 
208 RIENfl, 
 
 with his own reflections, he cast himself on the bed. Tt was att 
 omen which grave history has not neglected to record, that the 
 moment he pressed the bed, new prepared for the occasion, part 
 of it sank under him : he himself was affected by the accident 
 and sprung forth, turning pale and muttering ; but, as if 
 ashamed of his weakness, after a moment's pause, again 
 composed himself to rest, and drew the drapery round him. 
 
 The moonbeams grew fainter and more faint as the time 
 proceeded, and the sharp distinction between light and shade 
 faded fast from the marble floor ; when from beliind a column 
 at the furthest verge of the building, a strange shadow suddenly 
 crossed the sickly light ; it crept on — it moved, but without an 
 echo, — from pillar to pillar it flitted — it rested at last behind 
 the column nearest to the Tribune's bed — it remained sta- 
 tionary. 
 
 The shades gathered darker and darker round ; the stillness 
 seemed to deepen ; the moon was gone i and, save from the 
 struggling ray of the lamp beside Rienzi, the blackness of night 
 closed over the solemn and ghostly scene. 
 
 In one of the side chapels, as I have before said, which, 
 in the many alterations the church has undergone, is probably 
 long since destroyed, were Savelli and the few attendants 
 retained by the Tribune. Savelli alone slept not ; he remained 
 sitting erect, breathing and listening, while the tall lights in the 
 chapel rendered yet more impressive the rapid changes of his 
 countenance. 
 
 "Now pray Heaven," said he, "the knave miscarry not! 
 Such an occasion may never again occur ! He ha? a strong 
 arm and a dexterous hand, doubtless ; but the other is a power- 
 ful man. The deed once done, I care not whether the doet 
 escape or not ; if not, why we must stab him ! Dead men tell 
 no tales. At the worst, who can avenge Rienzi ? There is no 
 other Rienzi ! Ourselves and the Frangipani seize the Aven- 
 tine, the Colonna and the Orsini the other quarters of the city ; 
 and without the master spirit, we may laugh at the mad popu- 
 lace. But if discovered — " and Savelli, who, fortunately for 
 his foes, had not nerves equal to his will, covered his face and 
 shuddered — "I think I hear a noise! no — is it the wind? 
 Tush, it must be old Vico di Scotto, turning in his shell of 
 mail ! — silent — I like not that silence ! No cry — no sound ! 
 Can the ruflian have played us false ? or could he not scale 
 the casement ? It is but a child's effort ; or did the sentry 
 spy him?" 
 
 Time passed on ; the first ray of daylight slowly gleamed^ 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 20$ 
 
 when he thought he heard the door of the church close. 
 Savelli's suspense became intolerable : he stole from the 
 chapel, and came in sight of the Tribune's bed — all was 
 silent. 
 
 " Perhaps the silence of death," said Savelli, as he crept back. 
 
 Meanwhile the Tribune, vamly endeavoring to close his eyes, 
 was rendered yet more watchful by the uneasy position he was 
 obliged to assume ; for the part of the bed towards the pillow 
 having given way, while the rest remained solid, he had in- 
 verted the legitimate order of lying, and drawn himself up as 
 he might best accommodate his limbs, towards the foot of the 
 bed. The light of the lamp, though shaded by the draperies, 
 was thus opposite to him. Impatient of his wakefulness, he at 
 last thought it was this dull and flickering light which scared 
 away the slumber, and was about to rise, to remove it further 
 from him, when he saw the curtain at the other end of the bed 
 gently lifted : he remained quiet and alarmed ; ere he could 
 draw a second breath, a dark figure interposed between the light 
 and the bed ; and he felt that a stroke was aimed against that 
 part of the couch, which but for the accident that had seemed 
 to him ominous, would have given his breast to the knife. 
 Rienzi waited not a second and better-directed blow ; as the 
 assassin yet stooped, groping in the uncertain light, he threw 
 on him all the weight and power of his large and muscular 
 frame, wrenched the stiletto from the bravo's hand, and dash- 
 ing him on the bed, placed his knee on his breast. The stiletto 
 rose — gleamed — descended — the murtherer swerved aside, and 
 it pierced only his right arm. The Tribune raised, for a dead- 
 lier blow, the revengeful blade. 
 
 The assassin thus foiled was a man used to all form and 
 shape of danger, and he did not now lose his presence of 
 mind. 
 
 " Hold ! " said he ; if you kill me, you will die yourself. 
 Spare me, and I will save you.'* 
 
 " Miscreant ! " 
 
 " Hush ! Not so loud, or you will disturb your attendants, 
 and some of them may do what I have failed to execute. 
 Spare me, I say, and I will reveal that which were worth more 
 than my Mfe ; but call not — speak not aloud, I warn you !" 
 
 The Tribune felt his heart stand still : in that lonely place, 
 afar from his idolizing people — his devoted guards — with but 
 loathing barons, or, it might be, faithless menials, within call, 
 might not the baffled murtherer give a wholesome warning ? and 
 those words and that doubt seemed suddenly to reverse theil 
 
210 RIENZI, 
 
 respective positions, and leave the conqueror still in the assaS' 
 sin's power. 
 
 "TlioLi thinkest to deceive me," said he, Init in a voice whis- 
 pered and uncertain, which showed the rufHan tlie advantage 
 he had gained : " thou wouldst that 1 might release thee with- 
 out sun)moning my attendants, that thou mightst a second time 
 ittempt my life. ' 
 
 " Thou hast disabled my right arm, and disarmed me of my 
 jnly weiipon." 
 
 ' How camest thoi^ hither?" 
 
 "By connivance." 
 
 "Whence this attempt?" 
 
 •'The dictation of others." 
 
 "If 1 pardon thee—" 
 
 " Thou shalt know all ! " 
 
 " Rise," said the Tribune, releasing his prisoner, but with 
 great caution, and still grasping his shoulder with one hand, 
 while the other pointed the dagger at his throat, 
 
 " Did my sentry admit thee ? There is but one entrance to 
 the church, methinks." 
 
 '^ He did no> follow me, and I will tell thee more." 
 
 " Dog ! thou hast accomplices ? " 
 
 " If 1 have, thou hast the knife at my throat." 
 
 " Wouldst thou escape ? " 
 
 " A cannot, or I would." 
 
 Rie:izi looked hard, by the dull light of the lamp, at the 
 assassi i. His rugged and coarse countenance, rude garb, and 
 barbarian speech, seemed to him proof sufficient that he was 
 but the hireling of others ; and it might be wise to brave one 
 danger, present and certain, to prevent much danger future and 
 unforeseen. Rienzi, too, was armed, strong, active, in the 
 orime of life ; and at the worst, there was no part of the build- 
 -ng whence his voice would not reach those within the chapel, — 
 i they could be depended upon. 
 
 *'Shew me then thy place and means of entrance," said he; 
 'and if I but suspect thee as we move, thou diest. Take up the 
 lamp." 
 
 The ruffian nodded ; with his left hand he took up the lamp 
 as he was ordered ; and with Rienzi's grasp on his shoulder, 
 while the wound from his right arm dropped gore as he passed, 
 he moved noiselessly along the church — gained the altar — to 
 the left of which was a small room for the use or retirement of 
 the priest. To this he made his way. Rienzi's heart misgave 
 him a moment 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. 2H 
 
 " Beware," he whispered, " the least sign of fraud, and thou 
 art the first victim ! " 
 
 The assassin nodded again, and proceeded. They entered 
 the room ; and then the Tribune's strange guide pointed to an 
 open casement. " Behold my entrance," said he ; '* and, if 
 you permit me, my egress — " 
 
 " The frog gets not out of the well so easily as he came in, 
 friend," returned Rienzi, smiling. " And now, if I am not to 
 call my guards, what am I to do with thee ?" 
 
 " Let me go, and I will seek thee to-morrow ; and if thou 
 payest me handsomely, and promisest not to harm limb 
 or life, I will put thine enemies and my employers in thy 
 povver." 
 
 Rienzi could not refrain from a slight laugh at the proposi- 
 tion, but composing himself replied : "And what if I call my 
 attendants, and give thee to their charge ?" 
 
 " Thou givest me to those very enemies and employers ; and 
 in despair lest I betray them, ere the day dawn, they cut my 
 throat — or thine." 
 
 " Methinks, knave, I have seen thee before." 
 
 *' Thou hast. I blush not for name or country. I am Ro- 
 dolf of Saxony!" 
 
 '* I remember me — servitor of Walter de Montreal. He, 
 then, is thy instigator ! " 
 
 " Roman, no ! That noble knight scorns other weapon than 
 the open sword, and his own hand slays his own foes. Your 
 pitiful, miserable, dastard Italians alone employ the courage, 
 and hire the arm, of others." 
 
 Rienzi remained silent. He had released hold of his pris- 
 oner, and stood facing him, every now and then regarding 
 his countenance and again relapsing into thought. At length, 
 casting his eyes round the small chamber thus singularly ten- 
 anted, he observed a kind of closet, in which the priest's robes, 
 and some articles used in the sacred service, were contained. 
 It suggested at once an escape from his dilemma : he pointed 
 to it : 
 
 "There, Rodolf of Saxony, shalt thou pass some part of this 
 night — a small penance for thy meditated crime ; and to-mor- 
 row, as thou lookest for life, thou wilt reveal all." 
 
 **Hark ye. Tribune," returned the Saxon doggedly; "my 
 liberty is in your power, but neither my tongue nor my life. 
 If I consent to be caged in that hole, you must swear on the 
 crossed hilt of the dagger that you now hold, that, on confes- 
 sion of aii i know, you pardon and set me free, ^ly empla>-?f« 
 
212 RTENZI, 
 
 are enough to glut your rage an* you were a tiger. If you do 
 not swear this — " 
 
 *' Ah, my modest friend ! the alternative ? 
 
 ** I brain myself against the stone wall ! Better such a 
 death than the rack ! " 
 
 ** Fool, I want not revenge against such as thou. Be honest, 
 and I swear that, twelve hours after thy confession, thou shalt 
 , tand safe and unscathed without the walls of Rome. So help 
 me our Lord and his saints." 
 
 ** I am content !" Donner und Bagel, I have lived long 
 enough to care only for my own life, and the great captain's 
 next to it ; for the rest, I reck not if ye Southerns cut each 
 other's throats, and make all Italy one grave." 
 
 With this benevolent speech, Rodolf entered the closet , but 
 ere Rienzi could close the door, he stepped forth again : 
 
 " Hold," said he ; "this blood flows fast. Help me to band- 
 age it, or I shall bleed to death ere my confession." 
 
 '' Per fede,'* sdAd. the Tribune, his strange humor enjoying 
 the man's cool audacity ; ** but, considering the service thou 
 wouldst have rendered me, thou art the most pleasant, for- 
 bearing, unabashed, good fellow, I have seen this many a year. 
 Give us thine own belt. I little thought my first eve of knight- 
 hood would have been so charitably spent ! " 
 
 '* Methinks these robes would make a better bandage," said 
 Rodolf, pointing to the priests* gear suspended from the wall. 
 
 " Silence, knave," said the Tribune, frowning ; " no sacrilege ! 
 Yet, as thou takest such dainty care of thyself, thou shalt have 
 mine own scarf to accommodate thee." 
 
 With that the Tribune, placing his dagger on the ground, 
 while he cautiously guarded it with his foot, bound up the 
 wounded limb, for which condescension Rodolf gave him short 
 thanks ; resumed his weapon and lamp ; closed the door ; drew 
 over it the long, heavy bolt without, and returned to his couch, 
 deeply and indignantly musing over the treason he had so for- 
 tunately escaped. 
 
 At the first gray streak of dawn he went out of the great 
 door of the chvirch, called the sentry, who was one of his own 
 guard, and bade him privately, and now ere the world was astir, 
 convey the prisoner to one of the private dungeons of the Capi- 
 tol. " Be silent," said he : " utter not a word of this to any one ; 
 be obedient, and thou shalt be promoted. This done, find out 
 the councillor, Pandulfo di Guido, and bid him seek me here 
 ere the crowd assemble." 
 
 lit th«n» making the sentinel doH^ his heavy shoes of ironii 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ilj 
 
 led him across the church, resigned Rodolf to his care, saw 
 them depart, and in a few minutes afterwards his voice was 
 heard by the inmates of the neighboring chapel ; and he was 
 soon surrounded by his train. 
 
 He was already standing on the floor, wrapped in a large 
 gown lined with furs ; and his piercing eye scanned carefully 
 the face of each man that approached. Two of the barons of 
 the Frangipani family exhibited some tokens of confusion and 
 embarassment, from which they speedily recovered at the frank 
 salutation of the Tribune. 
 
 But all the art of Savelli could not prevent his features from 
 betraying to the most indifferent eye the terror of his soui ; and 
 when he felt the penetrating gaze of Rienzi upon nim, he 
 trembled in every joint. Rienzi alone did not, however, seem 
 to notice his disorder ; and when Vicodi Scotto, an old knight, 
 from whose hands he received his sword, asked him how he had 
 
 passed the night, he replied cheerfully : 
 
 "Well, well, my brave friend ! Over a maiden knight some 
 
 good angel always watches. Signor Luca di Savelli, I fear you 
 
 have slept but ill ; you seem pale. No matter ! our banquet 
 
 to-day will soon brighten the current of your gay blood." 
 *' Blood, Tribune!" said di Scotto, who was innocent of the 
 
 plot : *' thou sayest blood, and lo ! on the floor are large gouts 
 
 of it not yet dry." 
 
 " Now, out on thee, old hero, for betraying my awkwardness ! 
 
 I pricked myself with my own dagger in unrobing. Thank 
 
 Heaven, it hath no poison in its blade ! " 
 
 The Frangipani exchanged looks, Luca di Savelli clung to 
 
 a column for support, and the rest of the attendants seemed 
 
 grave and surprised. 
 
 "Think not of it, my masters," said Rienzi : "it is a good 
 
 omen, and a true prophecy. It implies that he who girds on hi. 
 
 sword for the good of the state, must be ready to spill his ow: . 
 
 blood for it ; that am I. No more of this — a mere scratch ; i 
 
 gave more blood than I recked of from so slight a punctur., 
 
 and saves the leech the trouble of the lancet. How brioiitly 
 
 breaks the day ! We must prepare to n|eet our fellow-citizen . 
 
 they will be here anon. Ha, my Pandulfo, welcome ! Thou, 
 
 my old friend, shalt buckle on this mantle ! " 
 
 And while Pandulfo was engaged in the task the Tribune 
 
 whispered a few words in his ear, which, by the smile on his 
 
 countenance, seemed to the attendants one of the familiar jests 
 
 with which Rienzi distinguished b»s intercourse with his more 
 
 confidential intimates. 
 
414 ' RIENZI, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CELEBRATED CITATION. 
 
 The bell in the great Lateran church sounded shrill and 
 loud, as the mighty multitude, greater even than that of the 
 preceding night, swept on. The appointed officers made way 
 with difficulty for the barons and ambassadors, and scarcely 
 were those noble visitors admitted ere the crowd closed in their 
 ranks, poured headlong into the church, and took the 
 way to the chapel of Boniface VIII. There, filling every 
 cranny, and blocking up the entrance, the more fortunate 
 of the press beheld the Tribune surrounded by the splendid 
 court his genius had collected, and his fortune had subdued. 
 At length, as the solemn and holy music began to swell 
 through the edifice, preluding the celebration of the mass, 
 the Tribune stepped forth, and the hush of the music was 
 increased by the universal and dead silence of the audi- 
 ence. His height, his air, his countenance were such as al- 
 ways attract the attention of crowds ; and at this time they 
 received every adjunct from the interest of the occasion, and 
 that peculiar look of intent yet suppressed fervor, which is, per- 
 haps, the sole gift of the eloquent that nature alone can give. 
 
 *' Be it known," said he, slowly and deliberately, "in virtue 
 of that authority, power, and jurisdiction, which the Roman 
 people, in general parliament, have assigned to us, and which 
 the Sovereign Pontiff hath confirmed, that we, not ungrateful 
 of the gift and grace of the Holy Spirit — whose soldier we 
 now are — nor of the favor of the Roman people, declare, that 
 Rome, capital of the world, and base of the Christian Church ; 
 and that every City, State, and People of Italy, are henceforth 
 free. By that freedom, and in the same consecrated authority, 
 we proclaim, that the election, jurisdiction, and monarchy of 
 the Roman empire appertain to Rome, and Rome's people, and 
 the whole of Italy. We cite, then, and summon personally, 
 the illustrious princes, Louis Duke of Bavaria, and Charles 
 King of Bohemia, who would style themselves Emperors of 
 Italy, to appear before us, or the other magistrates of Rome, to 
 plead and to prove their claim between this day and the Day 
 of Pentecost. We cite also, and within the same term, the 
 Duke of Saxony, the Prince of Brandenburg, and whosoever 
 else, potentate, prince, or prelate, asserts the right of Elector 
 to the imperial throne — a right that, we find it chronicled from 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 21$ 
 
 ancient and immemorial time, appertaineth only to the Roman 
 people — and this in vindication of our civil liberties, without 
 derogation of the spiritual power of the Church, the Pontiff, 
 and the Sacred College.* Herald, proclaim the citation, at the 
 greater and more formal length, as written and entrusted to 
 your hands, without the Lateran." 
 
 As Rienzi concluded this bold proclamation of the liberties 
 of Italy, the Tuscan ambassadors, and those of some other of 
 the free States, murmured low approbation. The ambassadors 
 of those States that affected the party of the Emperor looked 
 at each other in silent amaze and consternation. The Roman 
 barons remained with mute lips and downcast eyes ; only over 
 the aged face of Stephen Colonna settled a smile, half of scorn, 
 half of exultation. But the great mass of the citizens were 
 caught by words that opened so grand a prospect as the 
 emancipation of all Italy, and their reverence of the Tribune's 
 power and fortune was almost that due to a supernatural being; 
 so that they did not pause to calculate the means which were 
 to correspond with the boast. 
 
 While his eye roved over the crowd, the gorgeous assemblage 
 near him, the devoted throng beyond ; as on his ear boomed 
 the murmur of thousands and ten thousands, in the space with- 
 out, from before the Palace of Constantine (palace now his 
 own !) sworn to devote life and fortune to his cause ; in the 
 flush of prosperity that yet had known no check ; in the zenith 
 of power, as yet unconscious of reverse, the heart of the Trib- 
 
 * " ' II tutto senza derogare all' autorita della Chiesa, del Papa e del Sacro Collegio." 
 So concludes this extraordinary citation, this bold and wonderful assertion of the classic 
 independence of Italy, in the most feudal time of the fourteenth century. The anonymous 
 biographer of Rienzi declares that the Tribune cited also the Pope and the Cardinals to' 
 reside in Rome. De Sade powerfully and incontrovertibly refutes this addition to the 
 daring or the extravagance of Rienzi Gibbon, however, who has rendered the rest of the 
 citation in terms more abrupt and discourteous than he was warranted by any authority, 
 copies the biographer's blunder, and sneers at De Sade, as using arguments " rather of 
 decency than of weight." Without wearying the reader with all the arguments of the 
 learned Abbe, it may be sufficient to give the first two. 
 
 ist. All the other contemporaneous historians that have treated of this event, G. Villani, 
 Hocsemius, the Vatican MSS. and other chroniclers, relating the citation of the Emperor 
 and Electors, say nothing of that of the Pope and Cardinals ; and the Pope (Clement VI.), 
 in his subsequent^ accusation of Rienzi, while very bitter against his citation of the Em- 
 peror, is wholly silent on what would have been to the Pontifi the much greater offence 
 of citing himself and the Cardinals. 
 
 cJ. The literal act of this citation, as published formerly in the Lateran, is extant in 
 Hocsemius (whence is borrowed, though not at all its length, the speech in the text of our 
 present tale) ; and in this document the Pope and his Cardinals are not named in the 
 summons. 
 
 Gibbon's whole account of Rienzi is superficial and unfair. To the cold and sneering 
 scepticism, which so often deforms the gigantic work of that great writer, allowing nothing 
 for that sincere and urgent enthusiasm which, whether of liberty or religion, is the most 
 common parent of daring action, the great Roman seems but an ambitious and fantastic 
 madman. In Gibbon's hands what would Cromwell have been ? what Vane .' what Hamp- 
 den ? The pedant, Julian, with his dirty person and pompous affectation, was Gibbon's 
 idecU of a great man, 
 
il6 RIENZI, 
 
 une swelled proudly ;' vision of mighty x'ame and limitless 
 dominion, — fame and dominion, once his beloved Rome's and 
 by him to be restored, rushed before his intoxicated gaze ; and 
 in the delirious and passionate aspiration of the moment, he 
 turned his sword alternately to the three quarters of the then 
 known globe, and said, in an abstracted voice, as a man in a 
 dream, " In the right of the Roman people t/n's too is mine ! "* 
 
 Low though the voice, the wild boast was heard by all around 
 as distinctly as if borne to them in thunder. And vain it were 
 to describe the various sensations it excited ; the extravagance 
 would have moved the derision of his foes, the grief of his 
 friends, but for the manner of the speaker, which, solemn and 
 commanding, hushed for the moment even reason and hatred 
 themselves in awe ; afterwards remembered and repeated, void 
 of the spell they had borrowed from the utterer, the words met 
 the cold condemnation of the well-judging ; but at that moment 
 all things seemed possible to the hero of the people. He spoke 
 as one inspired ; they trembled and believed ; and, as rapt 
 from the spectacle, he stood a moment silent, his arm still ex- 
 tended, his dark dilating eye fixed upon space, his lips parted, 
 his proud head towering and erect above the herd, his own 
 enthusiasm kindled that of the more humble and distant spec- 
 tators ; and there was a deep murmur begun by one, echoed by 
 the rest, " The Lord is with Italy and Rienzi ! " 
 
 The Tribune turned, — he saw the Pope's Vicar astonished, 
 bewildered, rising to speak. His sense and foresight returned 
 to him at once, and, resolved to drown the dangerous disavowal 
 of the Papal authority for this hardihood, which was ready to 
 burst from Raimond's lips, he motioned quickly to the musi- 
 cians, and the solemn and ringing chant of the sacred ceremony 
 prevented the Bishop of Orvietto all occasion of self-exoneration 
 or reply. 
 
 The moment the ceremony was over, Rienzi touched the 
 Bishop, and whispered, "We will explain this to your liking. 
 You feast with us at the Lateran. Your arm." Nor did he 
 leave the good Bishop's arm, nor trust him to other companion- 
 ship, until to the stormy sound of horn and trumpet, drum and 
 cymbal, and amidst such a concourse as might have hailed, on 
 the same spot, the legendary baptism of Constantine, the Trib- 
 une and his nobles entered the great gates of the Lateran, 
 then the Palace of the World. 
 
 'I'hus ended that remarkable ceremony and that proud chal- 
 lenge of the Northern Powers, in behalf of the Italian libertie§i 
 
 ♦ '•Questoemio," 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 217 
 
 which, had it been afterwards successful, would have been 
 deemed a sublime daring ; which, unsuccessful, has been con- 
 strued by the vulgar into a frantic insolence; but which, calmly 
 considering all the circumstances that urged on the Tribune, 
 and all the power that surrounded him, was not, perhaps, alto- 
 gether so imprudent as it seemed. And, even accepting that 
 mprudence in the extremest sense, by the more penetrating 
 judge of the higher order of character, it will probably be con- 
 sidered as the magnificent folly of a bold nature, excited at once 
 by position and prosperity, by religious credulities, by patriotic 
 aspirings, by scholastic visions too suddenly transferred from 
 revery to action, beyond that wise and earthward policy which 
 sharpens the weapon ere it casts the gauntlet. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE FESTIVAL. 
 
 The Festival of that day was by far the most sumptuous 
 hitherto known. The hint of Cecco del Vecchio, which so 
 well depicted the character of his fellow-citizens, as yet it 
 exists, though not to such excess, in their love of holyday 
 pomp and gorgeous show, was not lost upon Rienzi. One in- 
 stance of the universal banqueting (intended, indeed, rather 
 for the people than the higher ranks) may illustrate the more 
 than royal profusion that prevailed. From morn till eve streams 
 of wine flowed like a fountain from the nostrils of the Horse of 
 the great Equestrian Statue of Constantine. The mighty halls of 
 the Lateran palace, open to all ranks, were prodigally spread ; 
 and the games, sports, and buffooneries of the time were in 
 ample requisition. Apart the Tribunessa, as Nina was rather 
 unclassically entitled, entertained the dames of Rome ; while 
 the Tribune had so effectually silenced or conciliated Raimond, 
 that the good Bishop shared his peculiar table — the only one 
 admitted to that honor. As the eye ranged each saloon and 
 hall, it beheld the space lined with all the nobility and knight- 
 hood, the wealth and strength, the learning and the beauty, of 
 the Italian metropolis ; mingled with ambassadors and noble 
 strangers, even from beyond the Alps* — envoys not only of 
 the free States that had welcomed the rise of the Tribune, but 
 
 * The 'limple and credulous biographer of Rienzi declares his fame to bavc reached tho 
 f^rs of the Soldan of Babyloq. 
 
2l8 RIENZI, 
 
 of the high-born and haughty tyrants who had first derided his 
 arrogance, and now cringed to his power. There were not only 
 the ambassadors of Florence, of Sienna, of Arezzo (which last 
 subjected its government to the Tribune), of Todi, of Spoleto, 
 and of countless other lesser towns and States, but of the dark 
 and terrible Visconti, prince of Milan ; of Obizza of Ferrara, 
 and the tyrant rulers of Verona and Bologna ; even the proud 
 and sagacious Malatesta, Lord of Rimini, whose arm afterwards 
 broke for awhile the power of Montreal, at the head of his 
 Great Company, had deputed his representative in his most 
 honored noble. John di Vico, the worst and most malignant 
 despot of his day, who had sternly defied the arms of the 
 Tribune, now subdued and humbled, was there in person ; and 
 the ambassadors of Hungary and of Naples mingled with those 
 of Bavaria and Bohemia, whose sovereigns that day had been 
 cited to the Roman Judgment Court. The nodding of 
 plumes, the glitter of jewels and cloth of gold, the rustling of 
 silks and jingle of golden spurs, the waving of banners from 
 the roof, the sounds of minstrelsy from the galleries above, all 
 presented a picture of such power and state — a court and chiv- 
 alry of such show — as the greatest of the feudal kings might have 
 beheld with a sparkling eye and a swelling heart. But at that 
 moment the cause and lord of all that splendor, recovered from 
 his late exhilaration, sat moody and abstracted, remembering 
 with a thoughtful brow the adventure of the past night, and 
 sensible that amongst his gaudiest revellers lirrked his intended 
 murtherers. Amidst the swell of the minstrelsy and the pomp 
 of the crowd he felt that treason scowled beside him ; and the 
 image of the skeleton obtruding, as of old, its grim thought of 
 death upon the feast, darkened the ruby of the wine, and 
 chilled the glitter of the scene. 
 
 It was while the feast was loudest that Rienzi's page was 
 seen gliding through the banquet, and whispering several of 
 the nobles ; each bowed low, but changed color as he received 
 the message. 
 
 "My Lord Savelli," said Orsini, himself trembling, ** bear 
 yourself more bravely. This must be meant in honor, not re- 
 venge. I suppose your summons corresponds with mine." 
 
 ** He — he — asks — asks — me to supper at the Capitol ; a 
 fri — endly meeting — (pest on his friendship !) — after the noise 
 of the day." 
 
 "The words addressed also to me! " said Orsini, turning to 
 pne of the Frangipani. 
 
 Those who fepeiv^4 the sumtrions soon broHe ffom the feas^ 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 219 
 
 and collected in a group, eagerly conferring. Some were for 
 flight, but flight was confession ; their number, rank, long and 
 consecrated impunity, reassured them, and they resolved to 
 obey. The old Colonna, the sole innocent baron of the in- 
 vited guests, was also the only one who refused the invitation. 
 " Tush ! " said he, peevishly ; ''here is feasting enough for one 
 day ! Tell the Tribune that ere he sups I hope to be asleep. 
 Gray hairs cannot encounter all this fever of festivity." 
 
 As Rienzi rose to depart, which he did early, for the banquet 
 took place while yet morning, Raimond, eager to escape and 
 confer with some of his spiritual friends as to the report he 
 should make to the Pontiff, was beginning his expressions of 
 farewell, when the merciless Tribune said to him gravely : 
 
 " My Lord, we want you on urgent business at the Capitol. 
 A prisoner — a trial — perhaps (he added with his portentous 
 and prophetic frown) an execuHon waits us ! Come." 
 
 '• Verily, Tribune," stammered the good Bishop, " this is a 
 strange time for execution ! " 
 
 "Last night was a time yet more strange. Come." 
 
 There was something in the way in which the final word was 
 pronounced, that Raimond could not resist. He cighed, mut- 
 tered, twitched his robes, and followed the Tribune. As he 
 passed through the halls, the company rose on all sides. Rienzi 
 repaid their salutations with smiles and whispers of frank cour- 
 tesy and winning address. Young as he yet was, and of a 
 handsome and noble presence, that took every advantage from 
 splendid attire, and yet more from an appearance of intellec- 
 tual command in his brow and eye, which the less cultivated 
 signors of that dark age necessarily wanted, he glittered 
 through the court as one worthy to form, and fitted to preside 
 over, it ; and his supposed descent from the Teuton Emperor, 
 i\'hich, since his greatness, was universally bruited and believed 
 -broad, seemed undeniably visible to the foreign lords in the 
 niajesty of his mien and the easy blandness of his address. 
 
 " My Lord Prefect," said he to a dark and sullen personage 
 in black velvet, the powerful and arrogant John di Vico, pre- 
 fect o-f Rome, " we are rejoiced to find so noble a guest at 
 Rome : we must repay the courtesy by surprising you in your 
 own palace ere long ; nor will you, signor " (as he turned to the 
 envoy from Tivoli), " refuse us a shelter amidst your groves and 
 waterfalls ere the vintage be gathered. Methinks Rome, united 
 with sweet Tivoli, grows reconciled to the Muses. Your suit 
 is carried. Master Venoni : the council recognizes its justice ; 
 but I reserved the news for this holyday — you do not blame 
 
220 RIENZT, 
 
 me, I trust." This was whispered, with a half-affectionate 
 frankness, to a worthy citizen, who, finding himself amidst so 
 many of the great, would have shrunk from the notice of the 
 Tribune ; but it was the policy of Rienzi to pay an especial 
 and marked attention to those engaged in commercial pursuits. 
 As, after tarrying a moment or two with the merchant, he 
 passed on, the tall person of the old Colonna caught his 
 eye : 
 
 " Signor," said he, with a profound inclination of his head, 
 but with a slight emphasis of tone, " you will not fail us this 
 evening." 
 
 " Tribune — " began the Colonna. 
 
 " We receive no excuse," interrupted the Tribune hastily^ 
 and passed on. 
 
 He halted for a few moments before a small group of men 
 plainly attired, who were watching him with intense interest ; 
 for they, too, were scholars, and in Rienzi's rise they saw another 
 evidence of that wonderful and sudden power which intellect 
 had begun to assume over brute force. With these, as if ab- 
 ruptly mingled with congenial spirits, the Tribune relaxed all 
 the gravity of his brow. Happier, perhaps, his living career — 
 more unequivocal his posthumous renown — had his objects as 
 his tastes been theirs ! 
 
 *' Ah, carissime ! " said he to one, whose arm he drew within 
 his own, "and how proceeds thy interpretation of the old mar- 
 bles ? half unravelled ? I rejoice to hear it ! Confer with 
 me as of old, I pray thee. To-morrow — no, nor the day after, 
 but next week — we will have a tranquil evening. Dear poet, 
 your ode transported me to the days of Horace ; yet, methinks, 
 we do wrong to reject the vernacular for the Latin. You 
 shake your head ? Well, Petrarch thinks with you : his great 
 epic moves with the stride of a giant, so I hear from his friend 
 and envoy, — and here he is. My Lselius, is that not your 
 name with Petrarch ? How shall I express my delight at his 
 comforting, his inspiring letter ? Alas ! he overrates not my 
 intentions, but my power. Of this hereafter." 
 
 A slight shade darkened the Tribune's brow at these words * 
 but moving on, a long line of nobles and princes on either 
 side, he regained his self-possession, and the dignity he had 
 dropped with his former equals. Thus he passed through the 
 crowd, and gradually disappeared. 
 
 " He bears him bravely," said one, as the revellers reseated 
 themselves. " Noticed you the 7ve — the style royal ? " 
 
 " But it must be owned that he lords it well," said ihe am« 
 
THE LAST Of the TRIBUNES. 221 
 
 bassador 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 
 ^ e exit of the Tribune, he passed into the saloon, where Nina 
 . resided ; and here his fair person and silver tongue ('* Suavis 
 coloratceque sententtce,'' according to the description of Petrarch) 
 won him a more general favor with the matrons than he ex- 
 perienced with their lords, and not a little contrasted the for- 
 mal 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 Capital 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 can- 
 onist 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 color." 
 
 '' Well I might : in his trial, I say, he confessed that nine of 
 the loftiest lords of Rome were his instigators. They sup with 
 vie to-night i Vicar, forwards ! " 
 
222 r.IENZI, 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 THE CRISIS. 
 
 "Questo ha accesso '1 fuoco e la fiamma laquale non la par spotegnere/'— 
 Vi^. di Col. di Ricnzi, lib. i. cap. 29. 
 
 " He has kindled fire and flames which he will not be able to extinguish. '•=- 
 Life of Cola di Rienzi. 
 
 CHAPTER 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. Accord- 
 ingly, 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 da^ 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 valor when we say 
 that we rejoice Rome hath no enemies to attest your general- 
 ship." 
 
 '^Methinks^" quoih ^« old Colonna bluntly^ '* we shall havt 
 
TH£ LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 223 
 
 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 our- 
 selves. 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 ex- 
 plain 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,* 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, coloring at the 
 unprovoked rudeness and dangerous candor of the veteran. 
 
 " Nay, it matters not," said the Tribune, with affected indif- 
 ference, though his lip quivered, and h'is 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 
 
 * " Vestimenta da Bizoco." was the phrase used hy Colonna ; a phrase borrowed from 
 certain heretics {dizocc/ii) who affected extreme austerity ; afterwards the word passed 
 into a proverb. — See the comments of Zefirino Re, in Viu di Cola di Rienzi. 
 
J24 RIENZI, 
 
 we part. And now, my Lord Savelli, for my question, wliicK 1 
 pray you listen to; it demands all your wit. Is it best tor a 
 State's Ruler to be over-forgiving, or over-just ? 'Jake 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 de- 
 spair, "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 scorn- 
 ful 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 recognized. 
 
 " Bid Rodolf of Saxony approach ! " said the Tribune. 
 
 And led by two guards, the robber entered the hall. 
 
 ^' Wretch, you then betrayed us ! " said oneof the Frangipani. 
 
 *' Rodolf of Saxony goes ever to the highest bidder," re- 
 turned 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 bitter- 
 ness ; " 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 for- 
 tresses — impartial law — what man, in all the wild revolutions of 
 Italy, sprung from the people, ever yielded less to their license ? 
 Not a coin of your coffers touched by wanton power — not a 
 hair of your heads harmed by private revenge. You, Gianni Co- 
 lonna, loaded with honors, intrusted with command; you, Al- 
 phonso di Frangipani, endowed with new principalities, — did 
 the Tribune remember one insult he received from you as the 
 
tHE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. t^S 
 
 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, J 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.* 
 
 All that night the conspirators remained within that room, 
 the doors locked and guarded ; the banquet unremoved, and 
 its splendor 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 colors. 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 gray 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 recog- 
 nized 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. f The greater part at length, deeming 
 all hope over, resigned themselves to their ghostly confessors. 
 But when the friar appointed to Stephen approached that pas- 
 sionate old man, he waved his hand impatiently, and said : 
 " Tease me not I tease me not ! " 
 
 *' Nay; son, prepare for the awful hour." 
 
 " Son, indeed," quoth the Baron. " I am old enough to be 
 
 * 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, etc, — T^ey even confessed the crime. (See Cron. Estens : Muratori, torn, 
 xviii. p. 442.) 
 
 t *' Diventaronto sigelati, che non poteano favellare.'* 
 
i^id RiENZt, 
 
 thy grandsire; and for the rest, tell him who sent thee, that 1 
 neither am prepared for death, nor will prepare ! I have made 
 up my mind to live these twenty years, and longer too, if 1 
 catch not my death with the cold of this accursed niglit." 
 
 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 be- 
 trothed), 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 no- 
 blest heads of Rome, would endanger the State, sully our pur- 
 ple 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 ap- 
 pease their honest warmth," said the demagogue Baroncelli. 
 
 Many of the Council murmured applause. 
 
 " Friends," said the Tribune, with a solemn and earnest as- 
 pect, "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 after a 
 short but animated discussion, the influence of Rienzi pre- 
 vailed, 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 mine may have stirred them to their dark 
 revenge r Do any of you deem that they partake, as we do, of 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 227 
 
 human nature; that they are sensible to kindness; that they 
 are softened by generosity; that they can be tamed and dis- 
 armed by such vengeance as is dictated to noble foes by Chris- 
 tian 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 par- 
 don. 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 color. 
 
 " 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 gravestone: * 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 
 ihe chamber, thought to read their fate. 
 
 My lords," said the Tribune, "ye have offended the laws 
 '„k 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 
 •Dopular throne, v/ithout invisible aid and spiritual protection. 
 .i 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 sera- 
 phim ! Taught by your late failure and your present peril, bid 
 your anger against me cease ; respect the laws, revere the free- 
 dom of your city, and think that no State presents a nobler 
 BptctAcle than men borft as yr. Ave— a patrician c:nd illustrious 
 ^%l«r*«-wsirvgyour oower \s^ {>rotect your city, your wealth to 
 
228 RIENZI, 
 
 nurture its arts, your chivalry to protect its laws ! Take back 
 your swords ; and the first man who strikes against the liber- 
 ties 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, wdth 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 persuadejidum 
 efficax dictator^ quoque dulcis ac lepidus) * 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 favorable moment had ar- 
 rived, the barons were admitted into the balcony — in the pres- 
 ence of the breathless thousands, they solemnly pledged them- 
 selves 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, r.nd retired 
 to the chamber where Nina and his sister waited him. These 
 beautiful young women had conceived for each other the ten- 
 derest affection. And their differing characters, both of mind 
 and feature, seemed by contrast to heighten the charms ol 
 both ; as in a skilful jewelry, the pearl and the diamond bor 
 row beauty from «*fteh other. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 3^9 
 
 And as Irene now turned her pale countenance and stream- 
 ing 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 
 ncr of the power of her Rienzi — the contrast would have fur- 
 nished 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 ! Dear- 
 est, 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 me- 
 thinks 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, am- 
 bition laid at rest — its serenity had something almost of sub- 
 lime. 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 pre- 
 rogative, 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 ! 
 
23^ RiENZi, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 Fretting his proud heart, as a steed frets on the bit, old 
 Colonna regained his palace. To him, innocent of the pro- 
 posed 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 prepara- 
 tion 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 thither, not a lover but a soldier I 
 And may this find Walter de Montreal ! Ah, a precious mes- 
 senger he sent us, but I will forgive all — all, for a thousand 
 lances." And with his 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 par- 
 don, than grateful for the boon of mercy. Their fears com- 
 bined 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^ 
 
THE LAST O^ THt TRIBUNES. 23 1 
 
 Rienzi, summoning them one by one to a private audience, 
 presented them with gifts, and bade them forget fhe past : 
 excused himself rather than them, and augmented their offices 
 and honors. 
 
 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 favors. Such conduct from a born king to hereditary in- 
 feriors 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, com- 
 mitted a fatal error oi policy^ which the dark sagacity of a Vis- 
 conti, or, in later times, of a Borgia, would never have perpe- 
 trated. 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 re- 
 straint in the manner of the visitors present which somewhat 
 stung her vanity. 
 
 " 1 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 to-day." 
 
 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 discon- 
 certed. Her eyes roving over the throng, she perceived sev- 
 eral, 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 colored 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 succor 
 the distressed." And the signora glanced significantly on the 
 Kerchief still on the floor. 
 
232 RIENZI, 
 
 "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 Trib- 
 une's wife can in future forgive your absence. Four centuries 
 ago, a Frangipan' might well have stooped to a Raselli ; to-day, 
 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 
 neighbor. "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 honor, to leave us 
 such lovely hostages, or else, God's truth, they are ungrateful 
 husbands. So, madam," turning sharp round to the v/ife 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 fnore !'' 
 
 "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 honored. 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." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 233 
 
 "We accept your offer, Tribune," said the Signora Frangi- 
 pani, 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, "1 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 bit- 
 terly and loudly upbraided Rienzi for sparing them to this op- 
 portunity of mischief. That day the rumors 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 Tri- 
 bune 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 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. RinaldoOrsini had seized a fortress in the immediate 
 neighborhood 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 th^ 
 
234 RIENZr, 
 
 wild clamor— the mighty wrath — the headlong fury. The hour 
 for action had arrived.* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 ^*I HAVE dreamed a dream," varied Rienzi, leaping from his 
 oed. "The lion-hearted Boniface, foe and victim of the 
 Colonna, hath appeared to me, and promised victory. f Nina, 
 prepare the laurel-wreath ; this day victory shall be ours ! " 
 
 " Oh, Rienzi ! to-day ! " 
 
 " Yes ! hearken to the bell ! hearken to the trumpet. Nay, 
 I hear even now the impatient hoofs of my white war-steed ! 
 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. To-day, 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 armor. " 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 
 
 * " 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," etc 
 Vita di C. di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 20. 
 
 % " {d questa noUe mi h apparito Santo Bonifa<;io Papa,"?tc. — Vit, di Col. Rien nCap. 32^ 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 235 
 
 nerves were strung by the contagion of the general enthusi- 
 asm, 
 
 " She doth — and once more I am proud to be a Roman. 
 Now, gentles, the Dalmaticum ;* 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 pre- 
 ceded by a solemn hymn — so fought our sires." 
 
 " Tribune, John di Vico has arrived with a hundred iiorse 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. An- 
 gelo. So — hark thee ! Pandulfo, read this letter." 
 
 The citizen read, with surprise and consternation, th^ 
 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 vigor 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 armor, 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 en- 
 thusiastic 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 : 
 
 * A robe or mantle of white, borne by Rienzi ; at one time belonging to the sacerdotal 
 •ffice, afterwards an emblem of empire. 
 
236 RIENZI, 
 
 ROMAN WAR-SONG. 1 
 
 I. 
 
 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 ! 
 Whc strikes not for Rome, shall to Rome be her CaSmt 
 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 ! 
 
 II. 
 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 ! 
 
 III. 
 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 grare 
 It shall ri-^e 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 ; 
 
 " •Rienzf's -vford of battle \V3& Spirito Cavilei-e, i.e., Cavalier in the singular nnmber. 
 ihe pKiral iiuniber has been eniployell in the text, as somewhat more animated, and there- 
 fere better ada|>ted to r'ue kind of poetry into the service of which the watchword has beea 
 pressed. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 237 
 
 Like a king in his pomp, 
 
 To the blast of the tromp, 
 
 And the roar of the mighty drum J 
 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 showed well in his gorgeous mail, rode his sons 
 the Frangipani and the Savelli, and Giordano Orsini, brother 
 to Rinaldo. 
 
 " To-day 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 h^ 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 to-day." 
 
 " Not so," said the old Colonna ; " John di Vico will turn, 
 with his Romans, at the first onset, and some of the malcon- 
 tents 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, n.ot 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 h« 
 dreamed of his bride f «nd dfetn§ i\^ i^oor kd^ a portent/' 
 
233 RIENZI, 
 
 "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 1 may have dreamed, therefore, some forty thousand 
 dreams ; of which, two came true, and the rest were false. 
 Judge, then, what chances are in favor 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, sud- 
 denly 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. 
 
 '* il;.«v«n4|c, end the Colonaa i " "* The B©ar and the Orsini 1 *' 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 2^^ 
 
 ** Charity and the Frangipani • " * "Strike for the Snake |' 
 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 undi- 
 minished fervor the counter cry of "Rome, the Tribune, and 
 the People ! Spirito Santo^ Cavaliers ! " Exposed to everv 
 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 fcr 
 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 Sanfo, 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 rejoic- 
 
 * Who had taken their motto from some fabled ancestor who had broke bread with a 
 beggar in a time of famine. 
 
 t The Lion was, however, the animal usually arrogated by the heraldic vanity of th« 
 Savelli. 
 
«40 RIENZI. 
 
 ing followed the Tribune's panting steed through the arch ; and 
 just as he entered the space within, crowds of those whose in- 
 firmities, sex, or years had not allowed them to share the con- 
 flict, 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, re- 
 moved 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 mnny 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 
 riesently, 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 wav 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 2^1 
 
 ing 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 honor, 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." 
 
 " WiW 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 sympathized 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 atti- 
 tude 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 ha.ve blood for blood. I wage no war 
 
^42 RIENZI, 
 
 with you ; you say right, my oath prevents m6 ; atid 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 flow^^ a dark 
 gulf!" The young noble paused some moments, choked by 
 his emotions, and then continued : " These paueis discharge 
 me of my mission. Standard-bearers, lav down the banner ol 
 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 — a better man Rome 
 never lost ! " 
 
 Suxh is the eternal doom of disordered States. The medi- 
 ator between rank and rank, — the kindly noble — the dispas- 
 *)ionate patriot — the first to act — the most hailed in action— 
 darkly vanishes from the scene. Fiercer and more unscrupu- 
 (ous spirits alone stalk the field ; and no neutral and harmon- 
 izing link remains between hate and hate, until exhaustion, 
 sick with horrors, succeeds to frenzy, and despotism is wel- 
 comed as repose 1 
 
 CHAPTER 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 243 
 
 tender nature of her dead brother, and none of the stern 
 genius and the prodigal ambition, — the eye-fatiguing ostenta- 
 tion and fervor 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 
 ^ge, 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 dan- 
 gerous 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, un- 
 blinded by the high-wrought genius which, as too often hap- 
 pens, 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* 
 ^vny fa^f It^nis saw w^» cityutdeti and overcast » aU gaiety 
 
f44 RIENZI, 
 
 Tv^as 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 suc- 
 ceeded 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 forever ! 
 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 
 dome, nor Rome's Tribune be a brother. While I write these 
 words honor 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, — 1 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 recre- 
 ant 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 per- 
 haps separated forever ; but, by all the happiness I have known 
 by thy side, by all the rapture of which I dreamed, by that de- 
 licious hour which first gave thee to my gaze,when I watched the 
 soft soul returning to thine eyes and lip, by thy first l)lushing 
 confession of love, by our first kiss, by our last farewell — I 
 swear to be faithful to thee to the last. None other siiall ever 
 ChMe ihint im^^'f f'om my heart. A«d i»e>w, wh* n Hope eeema 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 245 
 
 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 honor, without the shame and odium of re- 
 ceiving power and happiness from hands yet red with the 
 blood of my race, I may claim thee as my own. Honor 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 mayst 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 here- 
 after at least we may meet again ! " 
 
 "He loves me — he loves me still ! " said the maiden, weep- 
 ing at last ; " and I am blest once more ! " 
 
 With that letter pressed to her heart she recovered out- 
 wardly 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 suc- 
 ceeded to joy in Rome ; so great had been the slaughter that 
 the private grief was large enough to swallow up all public tri- 
 umph ; and many of the mourners blamed even their defender 
 for the swords of the assailant. *' Roma fu terribilmente vedo- 
 vaiay* 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 re- 
 ligion is intense, passionate, and zealous, the Tribune had little 
 toleration for those crimes which went to the root of religion* 
 
 * ^''Rofite ivns terribly widowed.^* 
 
246 RiEN^I, 
 
 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 vengean'^'^ v/hich 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 suf- 
 fered 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 byBaroncelli — 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 sympathized, and by that affectation of advanc- 
 ing 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 remodeled 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 horse- 
 men 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 ; 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 247 
 
 *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 
 7ere my ornament and counsellor. Now you but embarrass 
 ae. And — " 
 
 ' Oh, Cola, speak not thus ! What hath chanced ? Be not 
 -,0 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 ; *Svith 
 chee 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 forever 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 honor are 
 reflected but from thee, and the stroke that slays the sub- 
 stance shall destroy the humble shadow. I will not part from 
 thee." 
 
 "Nina," said the Tribune, contending with strong and con- 
 vulsive emotion, " it may be literally of death that you speak. 
 Gc \ leave one who can no longer protect you or Rome I " 
 
 *' 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 / fall, you^ Nina, will not sur- 
 vive — your beauty a pray 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 Qf 
 
348 RIENZI, 
 
 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 to-day — 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 re- 
 paired 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 for- 
 sake me and themselves ? Army ®f saints and martyrs, shades 
 of heroes and patriots, have ye abandoned forever 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 V. 
 
 THE ROTTENNESS OF THE EDIFICE. 
 
 The kindly skill of Nina induced Irene to believe that -t 
 was but the tender consideration of her brother to change a 
 scene embittered by her own thoughts, and in which the noto- 
 riety 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 honored escort. Pas- 
 sively she submitted to what she herself deemed a relief ; and 
 it was agreed that she should for a while be the guest of a rela- 
 tion 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 re- 
 turned 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 chanceot daogOfgave the appearance 
 ^i desertion^ 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. if4g' 
 
 Meanwhile, as the declining day closed around the litter and 
 its troop, more turbulent actors in the drama demand our audi- 
 ence. The traders and artisans of Rome at that time, and es- 
 pecially 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 pre- 
 sided, 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 to-day, 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 sup- 
 porters, "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. " 'i'hey were good customers after all.' 
 
 " For my part," said a merry-looking fellow, who had been a 
 gravedigger in bad times, nnd had now opened a stall of wares 
 for the living, " 1 could i'orgive him all, but bathing in the boiy 
 vase of porphyry." 
 
250 RIENZI, 
 
 ** Ah, that was a bad job," said several, shaking their neads, 
 
 **And the knighthood was but a silly show, an' u 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 Messerfe 
 Baroncelli says. (Ah, Baroncelli is an honest man, and foHow* 
 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 twi- 
 light 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 deso- 
 late. 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 Car- 
 dinal?" 
 
 " 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." 
 
 "Weill thy answer." 
 
 " That which became Rome's Tribune: I re-asserted each 
 right and proved it. The Cardinal passed to other charges." 
 
 " VVhnt?" 
 
 •* The blopd of the barons by San Lorenzo — blood only shed 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. S^l 
 
 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 Con- 
 stantine 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, 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 honored, 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 spoke. ' 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 dishonor ! 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, tiiou thy- 
 self 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 ? Exoommunication ! In 
 the metropolis of the Church, too — the superstition of the peo* 
 pie ! 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 
 
252 RIENZI, 
 
 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 fnan may!" thought Nina mournfully, as she per- 
 ceived 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 tem- 
 ples swelled like cords, he abruptly left the room, and sought 
 the private oratory connected with his closet. Over the emo- 
 tions 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 mid- 
 night 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 base- 
 less, 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 
 oT those who recognized 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 na- 
 tions ruined and rulers overthrown, does it foretell my fate ? 
 I will think no more."* As his eyes fell, they rested upon the 
 colossal Lion of Basalt in the place below, the starlight invest- 
 ing its gray and towering form with a more ghostly whiteness ; 
 and then it was that he perceived two figures in black robes 
 
 * Alas ! if by the Romans associated with the fall of Rienzi. that comet was by the rest of 
 Europe connected with the more d're calamity of the Great Plague that so soon afterwards 
 'jeeued. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 253 
 
 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 connection between his fate and that old 
 Lion of Basalt. Somewhat relieved, he heard his sentry chal- 
 lenge 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 excommunica- 
 tion against a heretic and rebel. Woe to the Accur ;EiJ OF 
 THE Church I " 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 the fall of the temple. 
 
 It was as a thvnderbolt 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 forever the ai^tagonis^ power 
 to the Roman liberties ; have secured the rights of his co'dVKlry 
 and filled up the measure of his own renown. Such a reverse 
 was the very mockery of Fate, v/ho 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, deso- 
 lated the Itiarket-placc, and humbled the crowned head, no 
 physical feree «?©uld rally against or resist* Yet, through lh« 
 
2^4 RIENZI, 
 
 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 
 v/as alone ! 
 
 The staunchest of his Tuscan soldiery were gone with Irene. 
 The rest of his force, save a few remaining guards, v/as the 
 paid Roman militia, composed of citizens ; who, long discon- 
 tented 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 fortressses 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 
 Jielm, and the same battle-axe which had blazed in the van of 
 victorious war. 
 
 Beside him were a few of his guards, 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 free- 
 men ? 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 
 Triijune ? You are silent ! — 'be it so. Will you arm for your 
 t^H»^ l*b«»»iic«i i -^^«ftr ««i?-r ^nm<?<* Silent ttiiU By the s&ititf 
 
THE LAST OF TME TRIBUNES. 255 
 
 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 honored, grateful, and avenged. 
 You weep ! Great God ! you weep ! Ay, and 1 could weej) 
 too, that I should live to speak of liberty in vain to Romans ! 
 Weep ! is this an hour for tears ? Weep now, and your tear^ 
 shall ripen harvests of crime, and license, 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 ardor 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 simulta- 
 neously : "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 1 am declared 
 heretic and rebel ! What are my imputed crimes ? That I 
 have made Rome and asserted Italy to be free; that I have sub- 
 dued 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 
 havi 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 feel- 
 ing : " and that he had beheaded the barons ! " 
 
 "Ay !" cried the ex-gravedigger ; "but that blessed por- 
 phyry 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. 
 
2^6 RIENZI, 
 
 but none seemed disposed to arm. It was one of those listless 
 panics, those strange fits of indifference and letliargy which 
 often seize upon a people who make liberty a matter of im- 
 pulse and caprice ; to whom it has become a catchword ; who 
 have not long enjoyed all its rational, and sound, and jHacti- 
 cal, and blessed results ; who have been affrayed by the siorms 
 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 ^/^ see, when her children madly 
 surrendered the fruits of a bloody war, without reserve, with- 
 out foresight, to the lewd pensioner of Louis, and the royal 
 murderer of Sydney. To such prostration of soul, such blind- 
 ness 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 
 mouth 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 these 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 
 ifrom 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 or gifted man, he 
 had the art of uttering the most popular commonplaces. And 
 he knew the weak side of his audience, in their vanity, indo- 
 lence, 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 
 
TH£ LAST OF* tttfe TRIBUNES. t!^^ 
 
 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 mas- 
 ters, 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 : t/iat will he you/- 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 mer- 
 cenaries. True, they are devils to fight, clad in armor 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'd better put more quicksilver in you," continued Bar- 
 oncelli, " 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 gen- 
 ius 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 dan- 
 gerous quarter of the enemy, who, dismayed at his approach, 
 
fi58 klENZ!, 
 
 shrunk within their fortress, proceeded to the Casfle of St. 
 Angelo, whither Nina had already preceded liim ; and which 
 he entered to find that proud lady with a smile for his safety, — ■ 
 'vithout a tear for his reverse. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 5'HE 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, with- 
 ered man, by birth a Frenchman, and full of the bitterest prej- 
 udices 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 intel- 
 lect 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, mo- 
 tioned to Luca Savelli to approach. 
 
 "Luca," said the Legate, "it was fortunate that the Hunga- 
 rian's black banner detained the Proven9al 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 French- 
 man. This Pepin, who is his delegate, we must bribe, or men- 
 ace 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 sud- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 259 
 
 den 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 ere the day be much older. To- 
 day 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 my- 
 self ; 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 cour- 
 teous 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 Or- 
 sini, succeeding the German who had passed on, " and talks of 
 San Lorenzo ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said another Orsinist, who rode abreast, " I remem- 
 ber 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 swag- 
 gering 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 I ''' he f^iUered. 
 
260 RIENZI, 
 
 "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, 
 ;)d strewing the ground with almost as many men as a few 
 
 ys 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." 
 
 " Vou 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 re- 
 stored at last. The Orsini and the Colonna will look to you in 
 tuture. Resist a tax, did you ? Well, that was right when pro- 
 posed by a tyrant ; but / warn you, friend, to take care how 
 vor resist the tax we shall impose. Happy if your city can buy 
 its i-eace 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 heaa i 
 Ten thousand ? methinks that is too much now ; we will alter 
 the ciplier. Meanwhile Rinaldo Orsini, Lord Senator, march 
 thy snidiers >n Sr Ar>s'="lf» » let us se^ if th« heretic can stand a 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 261 
 
 " 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 trebh. 
 of age, a voice replied in a loud and deep tone — none kne..- 
 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 color from many ^ 
 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 nu- 
 mero pervenuti di mille trecento quarant'otto, quando nell' egregia citta di 
 Fiorenza oltre ad ogni altra Italica bellissima, pervenne la mortifera pesti- 
 fenza." — 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 il- 
 lustrious city of Florence, beautiful beyond every other in Italy, entered the 
 death'fraught pestilence." — Introduction to the Decameron, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE RETREAT OF THE LOVER. 
 
 By the bonders of one of the fairest lakes of Northern Italy 
 stood the favorite 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, dismiss- 
 ing his more courtly and distinguished companions in the Nea- 
 
262 RIEN2I, 
 
 poHtan embassy, retired after his ill-starred return to Rome. 
 Most of tliose thus dismissed joined the barons ; but 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 re- 
 turn to Rome till the expulsion of Rienzi. 
 
 I 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 pave- 
 ments relieved with a wild grace the gray stone walls and mass- 
 ive 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-oblit- 
 erated letters, attested the departed elegance of the classic age- 
 some memento of lord and poet whose very names were lost; 
 thence descending through moss 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 lone- 
 liness of the mansion was rarely invaded. It was precisely the 
 spot which proffered rest to a man weary of the world, and in- 
 dulged 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 bethought — should one bright 
 being have presided — here should love have found its haven : 
 and hither, when love at length admitted ^of intrusion, hither 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 2O3 
 
 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 some- 
 what 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 colored by the influence of Pe- 
 trarch, 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 in- 
 creased his love. 
 
 In this lone retreat, which even 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 vicissi- 
 tudes 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 with- 
 out was borne but in faint and indistinct murmurings to his 
 ear. He learned only imperfectly, and with many contradic- 
 tions, the news which broke like a thunderbolt over Italy, that 
 the singular and inspiring 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 pil- 
 grim,,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 con- 
 nected with some not unpleasing images by the grace of Boc- 
 caccio and the eloquence of Petrarch. 
 
 The pilgrim who informed Adrian of the revolution at Rome 
 was unable to give iiim any clue to the present fate of Rienzi 
 or his family. It was only known that the Trii)une and his 
 wife had esca|)ed, none knew whither; many uuessed that they 
 yfQVQ £^lready dead, victims 19 the numerous robbers who, im* 
 
264 RIENZI, 
 
 mediately 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 
 Cihe 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 
 aiendless. " 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 kinsmen's blood ; nor can man say that 
 Adrian di Castello allies himself with a house whose power is 
 built upon the ruins of the Colonnas. The Colonna are re- 
 stored — 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 re- 
 pair to Rome and make the necessary inquiries ; accordingly 
 he summoned his retainers — blithe tidings to them, those of 
 travel ! The mail left the armory, 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 II. 
 
 THE SEEKER. • 
 
 It was a bright, oppressive, sultry morning, when a solitary 
 horseman was seen winding that unequalled road, from whose 
 height, amidst fig-trees, 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 .\nimp*i^n of the Tuscan life, broke that noonday sun. 
 All ■^'a'^ silent, void, and hushed ; and even in the light of 
 he? 'cn t'uer^ se^mec^ a sicklied and ghastly glare. The CQt* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 26$ 
 
 tages by the roadside 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 
 fiiar crossed the road, lifting towards the traveller a livid and 
 ama.x'd 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 
 iCss 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 
 wagon 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 man- 
 tle of the gallant, the hood and veil of my lady, and the rags 
 of the peasant. While glancing at the labor of the masker, the 
 cavalier beheld a herd of swine, gaunt and half-famished, run 
 to the spot in hopes of food, and the traveller shuddered to 
 . hink 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 
 th'Mr fellows.* 
 
 ** Ho, ho," said the masker, and his hollow voice sounded yet 
 r.riore hollow through his vizard, "comest thou here to die, 
 :.!i anger? See, thy brave mantle of triple-pile and golden 
 .^roidery will not save thee from thegavocciolo.f Ride on, ride 
 on • to-day fit morsel for thy lady's kiss, to-morrow 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 
 ...ost appalling sign of all, for at first the most jealous pre- 
 caution had been taken against the ingress of strangers. Now 
 all care, all foresight, all vigilance, were vain. And thrice nine 
 
 * The same spectacle greeted, and is recorded by, Boccaccio, 
 t The tumor that made the fatal symptOR|i 
 
266 RIENZI^ 
 
 warders bad died at that single post, and the officers to ap- 
 point 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 favorite mode to prevent infection) and mut- 
 tered 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 sic!:, I cannot stir." 
 
 The woman halted, tore aside the child's robe, saw under the 
 arm the fatal tumor, 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 i7ifa7it, 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 worship- 
 pers, and they were masked) gathered round the altar and 
 chanting the Miserere Do7nine ; the ministers of God, in a city 
 hitherto boasting the devoutest population in Italy, without # 
 flock I 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. i6j 
 
 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 chant ; 
 
 V By the Mother and the Son, 
 Death endured and mercy won ; 
 Spare us, sinners though we be ; 
 Miserere D amine ! " 
 
 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 
 mabses ; but I seek a dear friend — the way — the way — " 
 
 " To the right, till you gain the first bridge. Beyond the 
 Vhird bridge, on the river side, you will find the convent," said 
 mother monk, moved by the earnestness of Adrian. 
 
 " Bless you, holy father," faltered forth th-e 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 th(j imploring line : 
 
 *' Miserere Domine ! " 
 
 Impatient, sick at heart, desperate, Adrian flew through the 
 street at the full speed of his horse. He passed the market- 
 place — it was empty as the desert ; the gloomy and barricadoed 
 Streets, in which the counter cries of Guelf and Ghibelline had 
 
268 ftIEN21, 
 
 SO often cheered on the chivalry and rank of Florence. Now 
 huddled together in vault and pit lay Guelf and Ghibelline, 
 knightly spurs and beggar's crutch. To that silence the roar 
 even of civil strife would have been a blessing ! The first 
 bridge, the river side, 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 a-V 
 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 in- 
 dicate 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 the 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, trav- 
 ersing 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 wel- 
 come. 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. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 269 
 
 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 vi^eahhy 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 
 iij 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 
 ^n 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, mus- 
 ing and doubtful, he saw a small chap-el hard by, through whose 
 long casement gleamed faintly, and dimmed by the noonday 
 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 I 
 Fence ! and search throughout all the desolation for one spot 
 ;Vi.ere the Dark Visitor hath not come ! " 
 
 " Holy maiden," answered Adrian, " the danger you hazard 
 cioes 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. I>ong 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 
 ♦he r«fitiUr\P9t If^vo? at once unperjured and alive»" 
 
270 RIENZI, 
 
 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,* 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 num- 
 bered ! " 
 
 " 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 par- 
 don, 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 sus- 
 pense, 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, groan- 
 ing : " 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!'\ 
 
 Adrian started aside, crossed himself hastily, and quitted the 
 convent without answer. He returned to his horse, and rode 
 
 * The family name of Rienzi was Gabrmi 
 
 t According to the usual custom of Florenc 
 
 biers, 6upported by citi?;tn> of equal rank ; 
 
 d men of tne lowest dregs of the populacCj -, , — 
 
 tiS^% o( tmn«&or{ing th« rf^^i^s kiH \\% victtmsr Tl)ca« were o«uca fitceftiMt 
 
 t According to the usual custom of Florence, the dead were borne to their resting-place 
 •n biers, 6upported by citi?;t;n>, of equal rank ; but a new trade was created by the plague, 
 and men of the lowest dregs of the populacCj bribed by immense payment, aischar^ed tli9 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ?7C 
 
 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 high-born 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 colors 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 splendor of 
 all around him far outshone the barbarous and rude magnifi- 
 cence 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 
 iady 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, 
 \fithered 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 
 
272 R1EN2I 
 
 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 lorth," 
 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 to-day. 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, sig- 
 ner; the Invisible spares us that trouble. We are honest men, 
 State officers, and come but to see if the cart should halt here 
 to-night." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 "Show 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 grave* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES^ 273 
 
 diggers 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 kinder service, leave 
 sne, at least while living ; or ] 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. 1 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 statrre 
 of that lovely and hallowed image, which might furnish a theme 
 to the poet, and now gave a clue to the grave-digger. 
 
 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 youi 
 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 grave-digger 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 oi 
 monks, or here and there scattered individuals gliding rapidly 
 along, and shunning all approach or speech, made the only 
 !iaunters of the dismal streets, till the sun sunk, lurid and yel 
 kw, behind the hills, and Darkness closed around the noise 
 less pathway of the Pestilence. 
 
274 RIENZI, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FLOWERS AMIDST THE TOMBS. 
 
 Adrian found tluit the Becchino had taken care that fam« 
 ine 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 slirink- 
 ing from repose in beds beneath whose gorgeous hangings 
 Death had been so lately busy, carefully closed door and wm- 
 dow, 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 labors ; 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 over-bold : 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 yru to her." 
 
 "Sigr^ra!" 
 
 " Follow us ! " 
 
 *' Know you whom I am, and whom I seek ?** 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Can you in truth tell me aught of Irene?" 
 
 " I can •. follow me." 
 
 "Toiler?" 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 275 
 
 "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 ser- 
 vant on horseback holding a palfrey by the bridle were in at- 
 tendance. The ladies entered the litter, and she who had be- 
 fore 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 declivity, 
 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 spa- 
 cious court, filled on either side with vases of flowers and 
 orange-trees, and then through a wide hall in the further 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 vine- 
 yards 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 «€emt(i scarcely mec^. thun twenty ; ^nd 
 
276 ' RIENZI, 
 
 five cavaliers, young and handsome, whose jewelled vests and 
 golden chains attested their degree. Wines and fruit 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 theghastly pestilence of Italy ! — such a 
 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 
 '•ose instantly ; and one of the ladies, who wore upon her head 
 
 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 de- 
 coyed 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 I 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 coquet- 
 ishly sleeking her locks in the smooth mirror of a marble basin, 
 whose waters trickled over the margin upon the glass below, 
 ever and anon glancing archly towards the stranger, and suffi- 
 ciently 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 tieblf column eC « nobie houst I " answered the Queen^ 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ±fj 
 
 "For IIS, respecting v;ho:v: 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 come, 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 sad- 
 ness. Six cavaliers of our acquaintance agreed to join us. 
 We pass our days, whether many or few, in whatever diver- 
 sions 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 prep: ' 
 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 r. slight sigh) youth, grace, and 
 beauty, could endure forever. 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 neces- 
 sary to fill up his place ; we drew lots who should seek his 
 substitute; it fell on 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 Flor- 
 ence." 
 
 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 i " echoed Adrian in surprise, forgetful at the mo- 
 ment 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 knew her, as I 
 
2'jS RIENZI, 
 
 told you. Nay, signor, I do not deceive thee. It is true 
 that I cannot bring thee to her ; but better as it is,- rshe 
 went away many days ago to one of the towns of lom- 
 bardy, 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 per- 
 haps," she added, with a soft look from her large, dark eyes, 
 "of Love?" 
 
 " Dare I, in truth, believe you, lady ? " said Adrian, all de- 
 lighted, yet still half doubting. 
 
 "Would I deceive a true lover, as methinks you are? Be 
 acsured. Nay, Queen, receive your subject." 
 
 The Queen extended her hand to Adrian, and led him to 
 the group that ;.till 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,"^"' made for a kind of inaugural an- 
 them 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 I 
 
 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. f 
 
 * 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. 
 
 At that time, in Italy, the laurel was frequently planted over the dead. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 279 
 
 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 r.iose 
 light and witty tales in which the Italian novelist 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 re- 
 turned 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 re- 
 lated, 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 com- 
 panions 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 torch- 
 light and the stars till the hour of rest. But Adrian, not will- 
 ing 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. Ac- 
 cordingly, 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 un- 
 pleasing, is otir music so jarring, or are our brows so wrinkled, 
 
2So RTENZT, 
 
 that you should fly as the traveller flies from the witches he 
 surprises at Benevento? Nay, you cannot mean to leave us 
 yet ? " 
 
 " Fair d?.me," returned the cavalier, somewhat disconcerted, 
 
 it is in vain that I seek to rally my mournful spirits, or to fit 
 .nyself for the court to which nothing sad should come. Your 
 laws hang about me like a culprit — better timely flight than 
 narsh expulsion." 
 
 As he spoke he moved on, and would have passed the gate, 
 out 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 
 > .r 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 de- 
 ceive thee, blind fool ! as I had hoped for thine own good, when 
 I told thee Irene — (was that her name ?) — was gone from Flor- 
 ence. Of her I know nought, and heard nought, save from 
 thee. Go back and search the vault, and see whether thou 
 uvest her still ! " 
 
 CHAPTER 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 morn- 
 ing of his doom to see the scaffold and the deathsman ; so 
 much did each silent and lonely step into the funeral city bring 
 ^ack his bewildered thoughts at once to life and to death. The 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 28l 
 
 parting words of Mariana sounded like a knell at his heart. 
 And now as he passed on — the heat of the day, the lurid atmos- 
 phere, long fatigue, alternate exhaustion and excitement, com- 
 bined with the sickness of disappointment, the fretting con- 
 sciousness 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 
 p'i with the weight of a mountain ; his lips parched with intol- 
 erable thirst ; his strength seemed suddenly to desert him ; and 
 it was with pain and labor that he dragged one languid limb 
 after the other. 
 
 "I feel it," thought he, with the loathing nausea and shiver- 
 ing dread with which nature struggles ever against death ; ** I 
 feel it upon me — the Devouring and the Viewless ; I shall per- 
 ish, 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 in- 
 terior of the city, even thought itself forsook him. The im- 
 ages of men and houses grew indistinct and shadowy before his 
 eyes ; the burning pavement became unsteady and reeling be- 
 neath his feet ; delirium gathered over him; and he went on 
 his way muttering broken and incoherent words ; the few who 
 met tied from him in dismay. Even the monks, still continu- 
 ing their solemn and sad processions, passed with a mur- 
 mured dene 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 
 aims 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 be- 
 fore 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 sud- 
 denly emerged from a neighboring house, niasked and 
 
262 RIENZI, 
 
 "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 color 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 sinifjler and more slen- 
 der 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 s-hriek, louder than the loudest of the 
 sick man's, broke that young female away from her compan- 
 ion. 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 
 |heir protcbsion, and who, thus hardened, belter than the most 
 
THE LAST OF TH£ TRIBUNES. 283 
 
 cautious, escaped the pestilence), lazily approached — "Quick« 
 er, 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 grave-diggers. "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 neighboring 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 winged for immortality, trample, with a con- 
 queror'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 sing- 
 ing, 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 hia 
 frantic Bacchanals. 
 
 " A health to the Plague, may she ever, as now, 
 Loose the rogue from his chain, and the nun from ner VOW J 
 To the gaoler a sword — to the captive a key, 
 Hurrah for Earth's Curse ! 'trs a blessing to me," 
 
i84 RIEN^T, 
 
 ** Holla!" cried the chief, stopping; "hei^^ 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 i\\Q 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 Oi 
 that most miserable mirth. 
 
 CHAPTER Vo 
 
 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 pas- 
 sionate endearment, broke from his lips, a thrill of strange plea- 
 sure 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/^r 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 285 
 
 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 com- 
 passionate, 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 preter- 
 natural power to be true to so sacred a charge ; and in this 
 fancy she did not wholly err, for Heaven did gxii 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, 'Svill be the crisis: 
 should he awaken, as I trust he may, with a returning con- 
 sciousness, and a calm pulse, he will live ; if not, young daugh- 
 ter, 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 
 eacli 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- 
 drawtl gasps, Irene sate at the bed-head. The lamp was re- 
 moved to the further end of the chamber, and its ray, shaded 
 by lh« dfa|)eric8| did n^l tuii&GC to give to her gaze more thaa 
 
286 RIENZI, 
 
 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 unutter- 
 able 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 pal- 
 pable 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 
 Be<^.chini. 
 
 *' 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 bedside, 
 fearful that the sound and the intrusion had disturbed the 
 slumberer. But his face was still locked, as in a vise, with 
 that iron sleep. He stirred not ; the breath scarcely passed 
 his lips; she felt his pulse, as the wan hand lay on the cover- 
 lid — 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 
 (riMk^ewi but wi(h ihf guddcn jf(lory with which in those di* 
 
tHE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. 287 
 
 mates day leaps upon earth — like a giant from his sleep. A 
 sudden smile — a burnished glow — and niglit had vanished. 
 Adrian still slept ; not a muscle seemed to have stirred ; the 
 sleep was even heavier than before ; the silence became a bur- 
 then 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 for- 
 bear no longer. She glanced over the scroll the monk had left 
 her: "From sunrise," it said, "I shall beat 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 2 
 
 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 grave-digger. 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 hi? 
 enfeebled form and haggard face with the water that stood at 
 
288 RIENZI, 
 
 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-com})as- 
 sion on his emaciated hands and shrunken limbs, and btgan 
 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 1 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 
 iig-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 start- 
 led 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 highColonna? 
 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, / 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 oi 
 
THE LAST OP THE TRIBUNES. fiSj^ 
 
 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 car 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 I" 
 
 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 inesti- 
 mable 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 /lave dreafnt that I shall save her, the gem and darling 
 of my house. Fear not, /have no fean" 
 
 "Know you where to Fiiek ?" 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 presump- 
 tuous, follow the hand of the mysterious Providence, moving 
 even now before my gaze as a pillar of light through the wilder- 
 ness 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 v/hich 
 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 gravc-diggei, " seeing that you returned 
 
29© . kiENzi, 
 
 not to the old iPrince's palace. You don't know me froitl 
 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 cau- 
 tiously opened the door. " Fear not, good aunt," said the grave, 
 digger ; " this is the young lord I spoke to thee of. Thou say- 
 est thou hast 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 parlor door, and 
 this time came for:h a man withered, old, and palsied, wliOm 
 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 ? " 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 2gi 
 
 ^' Ay, thou knowest that well enough ; and thou knowest still 
 better, that she has departed these two days j it was quick work 
 with her, quicker than with most." 
 
 ' Did she wear anything remarkable?" 
 
 * Yes, troublesome man ; a bhie cloak, with stars of silrer." 
 
 ''Couldst thou guess ought 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 grave-digger, 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 grave-digger 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 com- 
 passion, " wouldst thou really convince tliine own eyes and 
 heart ? The sight may appal, the contagion may destroy, 
 thee — if, indeed, as it seems to me, Death has not already writ- 
 ten ^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 oi 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, ex- 
 ulted—awaited his eye ! 
 
 The Becchini lifted a pondemu?^ grate, lowered their torches 
 (learcely neededf f©x through the aperture rushed, with hideous 
 
292 RIENZI, 
 
 glare, the light of the burning sun), and motioned to Adrian to 
 advance. He stood upon the summit of the abyss and gazed 
 below. 
 
 ****** dt: 
 
 It was a large, deep, and circular space, like the bottom of aii 
 exhausted well. In niches cut into the walls of earth arouna 
 lay, duly coffined, those who had been the earliest victims ot 
 the plague, when the Becchino's market was not yet glutted, 
 and priest followed, and friend mourned the dead. But on the 
 floor below, t/iere 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, sur- 
 mounting 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 grave- 
 diggers 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 — * 
 
 •1^ Tt ^ ^ H* V T^ 
 
 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 honors 
 of the old, and the valor of the brave, and the wisdom of the 
 learned, and the wit of the scorner, and the piety of the faith- 
 ful — one only figure attracted Adrian' s eye. Apart from tne 
 rest, a late comer — the long locks streaming far and dark ovar 
 arm and breast — lay a female, the face turned partially aside, 
 the little seen not recognizable even by the mother of the dead, 
 
 * The description in th« text is borrowed (rom the famous waxwtrk timin\ {of th« ifip 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 293 
 
 "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 Trib- 
 une of Rome. Adrian saw no more ; he fell back in the arms 
 of the grave-diggers : 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 fan- 
 cied 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 yourself. I hope you 
 are satisfied now that I showed some brains, eh ! in your ser- 
 vice ; and as I 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 favor 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 honor and despair, with trumpet and ban- 
 ker round me, in a well-fought field against ^ worthy foe I 
 isave a knightly death, nothing is left to live for I" 
 
294 RIENZT, 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 THE PRISON. 
 
 " Fu r'Widtnuso in una torre grossa e larga ; avea libri assal, suo Tito 
 Livio, sue storie di Roma, la Bibbia," etc. — Vii. di Kienzi, 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," etc. 
 
 CHAPTER 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 tha 
 world the true representation of a man's life and times, and, en- 
 larging 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 con- 
 ducive 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 
 
THE LAST Of the TRIBUNES. 295 
 
 transplanted the luxury, the pomp, and the vices, 0( the Im- 
 ' perial City. Secure from tlie fraud or violence of a powerful 
 and barbarous nobility, the courtiers of the See surrendered 
 themselves to a holiday of delight ; their repose was devoted 
 to enjoyment, and Avignon presented, at that day, perhaps 
 the gayest and most voluptuous society of Europe. The ele- 
 gance of Clement VI. had diffused an air of literary refine- 
 ment 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 
 nis own claims to learning,* 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 con- 
 firmed to yield to the example of Innocent, himself a man of 
 simple habits and exemplary life. Though, like his prede- 
 cessor, 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 per- 
 verted, 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 busi- 
 ness 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 
 
 * 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 havQ 
 beep " eccelleni? canooists.' ' H« tad been a professor in the University oi Toulouse. 
 
296 RIENZI, 
 
 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 lier 
 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 unblem- 
 ished ; 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 favorite 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, 1 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 I" 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 297 
 
 ** Returned from hawking," answered Angelo, regarding wist- 
 fully 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 color 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 hand- 
 somer 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 honor is due to the name of Cola di 
 Rienzi." 
 
 "Yet your fellow-Romans nearly stoned him, I fancy," mut- 
 tered Giacomo. " Honor 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, * 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 tlie Jubilee in 
 disguise) the Tribune — " here Angelo, pausing, looked round, 
 and then with a flushed cheek and raised voice resumed, "Ye% 
 
 ^•' An absurd table, adopted by certain historian^. 
 
298 RIENZI, 
 
 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 
 foi 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. 
 *Kno\v, great Prince,' said he, 'that I am that Rienzi to whom 
 God gave to govern Rome, in peace, with justice, and to free- 
 dom. 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 VH.; * the blood of the Teuton 
 rolls in my veins ; mean as were my earlier fortunes and hum- 
 ble my earlier name ! From you, O King, I seek protection, 
 and I demand justice." \ 
 
 " A bold speech, and one from equal to equal," said Gia- 
 como ; " 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 ! pro- 
 ceed ! 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." J 
 
 * Uncle to the Emperor Charles. 
 
 t See, for this speech, " the Anonymou& Biographer,'" lib. ii., cap. 12. 
 
 X His Italian contemporary delights in representing this remarkable man as another Crich- 
 ton. " Dispiitava." 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 
 fvcryone," 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. iS^g 
 
 "But if SO honored 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," re- 
 sumed the elder page. " Once before his fall, and once dur- 
 ing 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 Em- 
 peror 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 honored throughout all Italy. They be- 
 sought him not to rush into the very den of peril ; they im- 
 plored 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 honors were paid him in 
 the cities through which he passed ; * 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 ? " 
 
 *'*P«r tutto la via li furo fatti solenni onori," ctc—riV. di Col. di Rienzi^ lib. ii., cap. 13. 
 
300 
 
 RIENZL 
 
 " 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 dun- 
 geon and the chain." 
 
 As Angelo said this with a loud voice, and with all the en- 
 thusiasm with which the fame of the fallen Tribune had in- 
 spired 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 con- 
 summate the ideal of a heroine and a queen. 
 
 " Pardon me, signora," said Angelo hesitatingly ; " I spoke 
 loud, I disturbed you ; but I am a 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 mean- 
 ing emphasis, " speak thus of a fallen exile, what must I have 
 felt who acknowledged 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 
 /ou." 
 
 As she spoke the signora looked at the page's downcast and 
 olushing face long and wistfully, with the gaze of one accus- 
 tomed 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 Giacom^, bringing his mantle gallantly ovei 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 30I 
 
 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 11. 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF A WARRIOR PRIEST — AN INTERVIEW — THB 
 INTRIGUE AND COUNTER-INTRIGUE OF COURTS. 
 
 Gii.es (or Egidio*), Cardinal d'Albornoz, was one of the 
 most remarkable men of that remarkable time, so prodigal ol 
 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 honors of the Church, unless they 
 were the honors of a church militant. In the war against the 
 Moors, no Spaniard had more highly distinguished himself; 
 and Alphonso XL, 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 liim, 
 Albornoz repaired to Avignon, and obtained from Clement VI. 
 the cardinal's hat. With Innocent he continued in high favor, 
 and now, constantly in the councils of the Pope, rumors of war- 
 like preparations, under the banners of Albornoz, for the recov- 
 ery of the papal dominions from the various tyrants that- 
 usurped them, were already circulated through the court.* 
 Bold, sagacious, enterprising, and cold-hearted — with the valor 
 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, Albor- 
 noz was ushered into the apartment of Signora Cesarini. In 
 person the Cardinal was about the middle height ; the dark 
 complexion of Spain had faded by thought, and the wear of 
 
 =•• 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. 
 
 ^' It is a characteristic anecdote of this bold churchman, that Urban V. one day demanded 
 an account of the sum spent irt his military expedition against the Italian tyrants. The 
 Cardinal prtsented to the Pope a wagnn filled with the keys of the cities and fortresses he 
 h»d taken. " This is my accnwttt," said he; "you perceive how 1 have invested youi 
 MMcy. ' ' Th« Pe|)« «&br«t»d him ^gd f «v« him M Cwrth«r trouMt «bo«it hit «tf«ttfl(«' 
 
30J RIENZI, 
 
 ambitious schemes, into a sallow but hardy hue ; his brow was 
 deeply furrowed, and though iiot 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 Cesr.rini 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 vouch- 
 safed to appoint my homage, but my heart has been with you 
 since we parted." 
 
 " The Cardinal d'Albornoz," replied the signora, gently with- 
 drawing her hand- and seating herself, " has so many demands 
 on his time, from the duties of his rank and renown, that me- 
 thinks 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 I " echoed the Spaniard. 
 
 " Listen to me," continued the signora. *'She whom the 
 Cardinal Albornoz honors with his love has a right to demand 
 of him its proofs. In the Papal Court, v/hose 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 I " 
 
 The Cardinal drew back from the flashing eye that was bent 
 upon him, ] k'c the spirit of her speech touched a congenial 
 chord. 
 
 "Ti^ere,' «aid hc» «,ftw a lut*« hesitation, '* th^r<? Rpak« 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 3O5 
 
 high descent. Reveri^ge is the luxury of the well-born. Lee 
 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 unfor- 
 tunate city. But wherefore wouldst thou question me of 
 Rome ? Thou art—" 
 
 " Roman ! Know, my lord, that I have a purpose in calhng 
 myself of Naples. To your discretion I intrust my secret — 1 
 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 after- 
 wards 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 HoHness suc- 
 ceeded 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 stom- 
 achs of the mob ; they rose, they clamored, they armed, they 
 besieged the Capitol — " 
 
 "Well, well," cried the signora, clasping her hands, and be- 
 tokening in every feature her interest in the narratior.. 
 
 "Colonna only escaped death by a vile disguise; Bertoldo 
 Orsini was stoned." 
 
 " Stoned !— there fell one ! " 
 
 ** Ves, lady, one of a great house \ the least drop oi whose 
 
304 RIENZI, 
 
 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 ^^overnor 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," an- 
 \\ered 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 oi 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-spir- 
 ited 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 re« 
 Store her fortunes." 
 
 " But Rienzi would only restore his own." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 305 
 
 "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 v^elfare 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 coun- 
 sels, 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, 1 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 treas- 
 ure that I ask. But hear me, sweet lady ; you overrate 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 Holi- 
 xiess?" 
 
 " Doubtless." 
 
 " T/iaf is his restoration ! Behold all I ask ! " 
 
 '* And then, sweet Ronian, it will be minn 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 
 
306 RIENZI, 
 
 (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. To-morrow 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 w.M emphasis; 
 "alone! Oh, what have I undergone! What have 1 said! 
 Unfaithful, even in thought, to hiyn ! 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 case- 
 ment ; she threw it open and bent forward ; the air of the de- 
 clining 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 dag- 
 ger. " Let me save him for glory ! " she murmured ; " and this 
 shall save me from dishonor." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 *IOLY 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 
 oi Spain, love with him was not so master a passion as that am- 
 bition 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 res- 
 toration 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 307 
 
 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 won- 
 derful rise of Rienzi had excited an extraordinary enthusiasm 
 m his favor through all the free populations of Italy. And this 
 had been yet more kindled and inflamed by the influential elo- 
 quence 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 com- 
 panion as Rienzi in the camp of the Cardinal might be a mag- 
 net of attraction to the 'youth and enterprise of Italy. On 
 Hearing Rome he might himself judge how far it would be ad- 
 visable to reinstate Rienzi as a delegate of the papal power. 
 And, in the mean while, the Roman's influence might be ser- 
 viceable, 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 Ri- 
 enzi's present confinement. With every month it excited deep- 
 er 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 disa- 
 greeable and uneasy forebodings at the earnest interest of his 
 mistress. Fain would he have attributed, either to some fan- 
 tasy of patriotism or some purpose of revenge, the anxiety of 
 the Cesarina ; and there was much in her stern and haughty 
 character which favored that belief. But he was forced to ac- 
 knowledge to himself some jealous apprehension of a sinister 
 and latent motive, which touched his vanity and alarmed his 
 Jqvts *' t4«^fbeit»" he though^ as he turned from hm unwilling 
 
JoS RIENZI, 
 
 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 VJ., 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 be- 
 strewed with papers, his face buried in his hands ; the room 
 was simply furnished, and in a small niche beside the case- 
 ment was an ivory crucifix ; below, the death's head and cross- 
 bones, which most monks then introduced with a purpose sim- 
 ilar 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 tlie patrimonial terri- 
 tory, 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 some- 
 what 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 tliorns 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 un- 
 der 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 
 \*ast ambition of that wild adventurer." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 309 
 
 " Your Holiness hath cause," said the Cardinal drily. 
 
 " Some letters of his have fallen into the hands of the ser- 
 vants 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 chain" 
 
 " 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 ; * 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 
 
 ♦ In correcting the pages of this work, in the year 1847 • •. • . strange coinciclences 
 between the present policy of the Roman Church and that by which in the fourteenth cen«- 
 tury it recovered both spiritual and temporal power cannot fail to suggest themselvefi. 
 
^id ktfeNZt, 
 
 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 ! ) Pre- 
 fect of Rome, has so filled that unhappy city with his emis- 
 saries, 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 for- 
 gotten 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 
 iny 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 ex- 
 tinguish 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 — ** 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIPUNES. 31I 
 
 "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 honors. He 
 must be no longer Tribune of the People. Give him the patri- 
 cian title of Senator^ and he is then the lieutenant of the 
 Pope ! " 
 
 *' I /ill see to this, my son — your suggestions please, but 
 alarm me : he shall at least be examined ; but if found a 
 ; heretic — " 
 
 'v "Should, I humbly advise, be declared a saint." 
 i 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 Cardi. 
 nal's sallow cheek. *' Go to. If the world heard thee wha'/ 
 would it say ?" 
 
 " That Giles d'Albornoz had just enough religion to remem 
 ber that the State is a Church, but not too much to forget thai 
 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 IV. 
 
 THE LADY AND THE PAGE. 
 
 It wanted three hours of midnight, when Albornoz, resum- 
 ing his character of gallant, despatched to the Signora Cesarini 
 'j'.e following billet : 
 
 " Your commands are obeyed. Rienzi will receive an exami- 
 nation 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 servi- 
 tors to the prisoner's cell. Be it, if you will, your task to an- 
 nounce to him the new crisis of his fate. Ah ! madam, may 
 /ortune be as favorable to me, and grant me the same inter- 
 cessor — from thy lips my sentence is to come." 
 
 As Albornoz finished this epistle, he summoned his confiden. 
 ^ial attendant, a Spanish gentleman, who saw nothing in hi* 
 
312 RIENZI, 
 
 noble birth that should prevent his fulfilling the various hests 
 of the Cardinal. 
 
 ** Alvarez," said he, " these to the Signcra Cesarini by an- 
 other 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 intel- 
 ligence. Thou comprehendest me ? It is well. One caution — ■ 
 thou hast no mission from, no connection 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 
 jficafit to be hidden ! Tell Gomez that the Dominican 
 preacher is to be admitted." 
 
 " Those friars have zeal," continued the Cardinal to him- 
 self, as, after executing his orders, Alvarez withdrew. "They 
 vv;>uld 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 ar- 
 rived, and he was scarcely dismissed with a few lines, expres- 
 sive 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 bat dimly the out- 
 line 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 pro- 
 ceeded. " 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 313 
 
 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 ad- 
 mitted me of your service, and 1 am yet only on the verge of 
 manhood. But boy though I yet be, I would brave the stout- 
 est 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 ivords of thousands of thy race. What have been theii : 
 deeds ? But I will trust thee, as I have trusted ever. I know * 
 that thou art covetous of honor, 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 re- 
 ward thee. And now be quick. Bring hither one of thy 
 page's suits, — mantle and head-gear. Quick, I say, and whis- 
 per not to a soul what 1 have asked of thee." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE INMATE OF THE TOWER. 
 
 The night slowly advanced, and in the highest chamber Oi 
 that dark and rugged tower which fronted the windows of the 
 Cesarini's palace sat a solitary prisoner. A single lamp l)u;ned 
 before him on a table of stone, and threw its rays over an opi n 
 Bible and those stern but fantastic legends of the prowess of 
 ancient Rome, which the genius of Livy has dignified mio 
 history.* A chain hung pendant from the vault of tlie tower, 
 and confined the captive ; but so as to leave his limbs at suffi- 
 cient 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 reacli, came the moon- 
 light, 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 
 
 * " Avea lihri as^^ai, siio Tito T.ivio. sue storie di Roma, la Rihbia, et altri lihri assai. non 
 finava di sliidiare." — f'V/. rf'/ Co(. Knnzi\ lib. ii. cap. 13. iSee transliHiop to qiottv ((} 
 600!^ VII., p. 294. 
 
314 RIENZI, 
 
 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 
 bad 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 let- 
 ters. Every now and then he moved restlessly, started, re-set- 
 tled himself, and muttered broken exclamations like a man 
 in an anxious dream. Anon, his gaze impatiently turned up- 
 ward, 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 favor with Louis, King of Hungary ; that harsh but 
 honorable 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 enter- 
 ing the city, his restless and ambitious spirit indulged in new 
 ut vain conspiracies ! * 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 to- 
 wards those walls, in which are yet traced the witness of the 
 Tarquins, cried aloud : *' Honored 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 
 
 * Rainald, Ann. 13^0, N. 4, E. 5, 
 
The last of the tribunes. 3x5 
 
 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 siego 
 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, in- 
 spired 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 fear- 
 ful history of the heart? Who paint the rapid changes of emo- 
 tion 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 fervor 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 comfort- 
 ing — 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 I " 
 His eye brightened as it now detected those strange and unso- 
 cial animals venturing forth through a hole in the wall, and 
 darkening the moonshine on the floor, steal fearlessly towards 
 
3l6 RlENZt, 
 
 him. He flung some fragments of bread to them, and for some 
 moments watched their gambols with a smile. ** T^Ianchino, 
 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 humor which marked Rienzi, 
 and which had seemed a buffoonery to the stolid sullenness of 
 the Roman nobles, still retained its old expression in his coun- 
 tenance, 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, Avas 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, con- 
 cealed 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 com- 
 fort 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 J 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 317 
 
 at lewgth, 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 uncon- 
 scious and deep trance, through which something like a dream 
 only faintly and indistinctively stirs. 
 
 At length recovered — at length restored, the first broken ex- 
 clamations, the first wild caresses of joy over, Nina lifted her 
 head from her husband's bosom, and gazed sadly on his coun- 
 tenance. *' Oh, what thou hast known since we parted ! What, 
 since that hour when, borne on by thy bold heart and wild des- 
 tiny, thou didst leave me in the Imperial Court, to seek again 
 the diadem and find the chain ! Ah ! why did I heed thy com- 
 mands ? 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 com- 
 fort 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 vouch- 
 safed to malefactors. When /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. 
 To-morrow thou art to be heard. The favor of the Ccurt is 
 propitiated. Thou wilt be acquitted," 
 
3l8 RiENZky 
 
 " 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. To-morrow, saidst thou, to-morrow ? " 
 
 *' To-morrow, 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 favorers. 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 for- 
 sake 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 
 \ am thy wife." 
 
 ** WofiiatH" fiftid th« THbwt^e »»temly{ ''thy X\p% tlude Iht 
 
THE LAST Of tttE TktBUNES. 319 
 
 atiswer I would seek. In our degenerate time and land, tliy 
 sex and ours forget too basely what foulness writes a leprosy 
 in the smallest stain upon a matron's honor. Tltnt thy heart 
 would never wrong me, 1 believe ; but if thy \\ eakness, thy 
 fear of my death, should wrong me, thou art a bittf^er foe to 
 Rienzithan 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 oc 
 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 bitter- 
 ness of parting by abridging it. The false page pressed hei 
 lips on the prisoner's hand, and left the cell. 
 
 The gaoler, lingering behind for a moment, placed a parch- 
 ment on the table. It was the sunmions from the court 
 appointed for the trial of the Tribune. 
 
520 RIENZi, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SCENT DOES NOT LIE. — THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER. 
 
 On descending tlie stairs Nina was met by Alvarez. 
 
 "Fair page," said the Spaniard gaily, "thy name, thou tt-llest 
 me, is ViUani ? — 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 weep- 
 ing, 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 dig- 
 nity in a page ; " nay, I meant not to offend thee. May I wait 
 on thy pageship to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Ay, to-morrow," 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 
 Ali)ornoz, 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 license accorded to him he 
 entered the Cardinal's chamber somewhat abruptly, and per- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 32^ 
 
 Ceived him in earnest conversation with a cavalier, whose long 
 moustache, curled upward, and the bright cuirass v/orn under- 
 neath 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 conversa- 
 tion 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 thun- 
 derbolt 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 
 Aragon, is a guarantee for the faith of a Cardinal," replied the 
 cavalier, with a smile. " It is, iry lord, in yoMX former quality 
 that we treat." 
 
 " There is my right hand," answered Albornoz, too polite 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 
 <:hest, and opening a concealed door behind the arras, entered 
 A chamber that rather resembled a monk's cell than the apart- 
 ment 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 VII. 
 
 VAUCLUSE AND ITS GENIUS LOCI. — OLD ACQUAINTANCE RE- 
 
 NEWED. 
 
 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 sonx. miles from Avignon. At length he found 
 
j2fi RIFNft, 
 
 himself in a wild and romantic valley, through wh'ch 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 fan- 
 tastic rocks of a thousand shapes, down which dashed and glit- 
 tered a thousand rivulets. And, in the very wildest of the scene, 
 the ground suddenly opened into a quaint and cultivated gar- 
 den, 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 uncon- 
 sciously 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!* 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 preroga- 
 tive to influence States, to control opinion, to hold an em- 
 pire over the hearts of men, and prepare events by ani- 
 mating 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-mes- 
 senger 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 honor, if his labors, humble though they be, find an audi- 
 
 * I need scarcely say that it is his origin, not his actual birth, which entitles us to t«ni 
 f^trarch a Florentine. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 32? 
 
 ence wherever literature is known ; preaching in remotest lands 
 the moral of forgotten revolutions, and scattering in the palace 
 and the market-place the seeds that shall ripen into fruit when 
 the hand of the sower shall be dust, and his very name, per- 
 haps, be lost ! For few, alas ! are they, whose names may out- 
 live 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 pro- 
 duce 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 tsaced, 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 pre- 
 cipitous 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 de- 
 cayed 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 mid- 
 dle 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 1 Thou givest me new life. Pardieu, I shall 
 breakfast all the better for this, my brother. Hast thou remem- 
 bered that I am famishing ? " 
 
 Brettone drew from beneath his cloak a sufficiently huge 
 flask of wine, and a small panier, tolerably well filled ; the in- 
 mate 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 vv^ith 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 1 Able 
 as they say ? " 
 
 "Quick» sharp, and earnest^ with an «ye <?f fire, few word^ 
 ftnd eomes t9 V^% point." 
 
|24 RIENZI, 
 
 ** Unlike a priest then ; a good brigand spoilt. What hasX 
 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 ty- 
 rants, 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 m my favor ! 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 yoa 
 at last ; you are ever losing sight of the land. Surely with the 
 immense wealth we are acquiring, we may — " 
 
 " Aspire to something greater than Free Companions, gen- 
 erals to-day, and adventurers to-morrow. Rememberest thou, 
 how the Norman sword won Sicily, and how the bastard Wil- 
 liam converted on the field of Hastings his baton into a scep- 
 tre? 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 re- 
 paired with my soldiery to Rome, the fall of Rienzi would 
 have been followed by the rise of Montreal. Pepin was out- 
 witted, 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 Trib- 
 une gained power, — by the multitude he lost it ; it is by 
 the sword 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 325 
 
 strong hand of his brother plucked it from him^ And antici- 
 pated 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 dis- 
 tinguished ! 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 endciv,' 
 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 Rien- 
 zi's trial was to be to-day, 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 man- 
 agement 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 bet- 
 ter 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 Albor- 
 noz, I fear but little danger even if discovered ; besides, I 
 want the florins. There are those in this country, Germans, 
 ^'ho could eat an Italian army at a meal, whom I would fain 
 engage, and their leaders want earnest-money — tiie griping 
 knaves ! How are the Cardinal's florins to be paid ?" 
 
 " Half now — half when the troops are before Rimini ! " 
 
 "Rimini ! the thought whets my sword. Rememberest thou 
 how that accursed Malatesta drove me from Aversa,* broke up 
 
 ♦This Malatesta, a signior of illustrious family, was one of the most skilful warriors in 
 Italy. He and his brother Galentto had been raised to the joint-tyranny of Rimini by the 
 voice of its citizens. After being long the foes of the Chiirch, they were ultimately 
 Samed as its captains by the Cardinal Albornog. 
 
326 RIEN2I. 
 
 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 float- 
 ing over St. Angelo. I will pay back the debt by 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 Provengal 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 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 
 splendor, the interest was intense. The Italians, even of the 
 highest rank, were in favor of the Tribune, the French against 
 him. As for the good townspeople of Avignon themselves, 
 they felt but little excitement in anything 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 armor, 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 alto- 
 gether 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 ri the morion concealed his eyes, ^n arch 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 327 
 
 and merry smile about the corners of his mouth showed 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 shown 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 strung round him, was making his way, with great earnest- 
 ness, through the throng. 
 
 "I beg pardon, worthy sir," said the minstrel ; "but this is 
 a scene to be sung of! Centuries hence; ay, and inlands 
 remote, legend and song will tell the fortunes of Cola di Ri- 
 enzi, 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 liitle 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-humoredly, 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 lij)s worked with some str.inge emotion. 
 
 'Thou speakest well," said he. after a j)ause. "Pardon me 
 the rudeness of the question; but art ihou of Italy .^ Thy 
 
328 RIENZI, 
 
 tongue savOrs of the Roman dialect ; yet I have seen linea» 
 ments like thine on this side the Alps." 
 
 "It may be, good fellow," said the page haughtily; "but I 
 thank heaven that 1 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 clamor 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 excite- 
 ment. 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. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 329 
 
 It was not, however, to the dark tower that Rienzi returned. 
 His home was prepared at the palace of the Cardinal d'Aibornoz. 
 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 nocourteous thanks, he interrupted 
 bim in a sad and kind voice, the tone of which struck the page 
 'otcibly, 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 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 Ltrect ; 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 that Rienzi was the guest 
 cf 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 en- 
 dowed with the rank of Senator of Rome, that she was recov- 
 ered 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 
 bguj^ht off the formidable Montreal from the service of John 
 
330 RIENZI, 
 
 di Vico, one of the ablest and fiercest enemies of the Church, 
 he resolved to march to the territories of that tyrant as expedi- 
 tiously as possible, and so not to allow him time to obtain the 
 assistance of any other band of mercenary adventurers who 
 found Italy the market for their valor. Occupied with raising 
 troops, procuring money, corresponding with the various free 
 States, and establishing alliances in aid of his more ulterior 
 and more ambitious projects at the court of Avignon, the Car- 
 dinal 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 Pon- 
 tiff. So faithfully had he described the true condition of 
 Rome, so logically had he treated 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 the 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 
 favor and distinction, conferred upon Rienzi the rank of Sen- 
 ator, 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 favor the new Senator had so sud- 
 denly acquired, and immediately on his return home sought 
 ^n interview with his guest. In his heart the Lord Cardinal, 
 
*tME LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 33I 
 
 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 ex- 
 tend. 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 
 favor 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 how- 
 ever 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 corres- 
 ponding with him. Some half-bantering hints which Albernoz 
 had dropped upon the interest taken in his welfare by the 
 most celebrated beauty in Avignon had filled him with a vague 
 alarm which he trembled to acknowledge even to himself. But 
 the volto sciolto"^ which, in common with all Italian politicians, 
 concealed whatever were his pensieri stretti^ enabled him to 
 baffle completely the jealous and lynx-like 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 
 Doy had cut short all attempts at cross-examination. And all 
 that 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, Al- 
 bornoz 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 
 
 *Volto sciolto^pensieri sirettl — the countenance open, the thoughts restrained. 
 
33« felENZl, 
 
 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 how 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 1 may hence- 
 forth seek at once an angel to guide me and a paradise to re- 
 ward." 
 
 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 honor 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 dishonor 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 wither- 
 ing 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 in- 
 strument 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 
 Wy presence at Avignon." 
 
 "At our last interview, lady (you do well to recall it !), me* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 335 
 
 thinks 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 parch- 
 ment 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 / 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 I It is this which, in absence, 
 made me mask my face in smiles, that the friends of the house- 
 less 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 
 tc die without a groan, — but without dishonor ! " 
 
 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 con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "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 /tim^ All the hearts of Italy shall become to him a second 
 
334 RiENZi, 
 
 Nina ! I am the guilty one, and I the sufferer. Hear trie 
 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 honor of his race 
 and country. High thoughts and daring spirits touched a con- 
 genial 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 alto- 
 gether read my nature aright, but I were indeed lost to all 
 honor, and unworthy of gentle birth, if I still harbored a single 
 thought against the peace and virtue of one like thee. Sweet 
 heroine," he continued, "so lovely, yet so pure ; so haughty, 
 yet so soft ; thou has 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'Al- 
 bornoz, thou mayest say in thy own heart," — and here the 
 Cardinal's lips curled with scorn — " he did not renounce every 
 feeling worthy of a man when Ambition and Fate endued hira 
 with the surplice of the priest." 
 
 The Spaniard was gone before Nina could reply* 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 335 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 THE GRAND COMPANY. 
 
 **Montrealnourrissoitdeplusvastesprojets, . . . il donnoit 4 sa compagnie 
 un gouvernement regulier. . . . Par cetie discipline il faisoit regner I'abon- 
 dance dans son camp ; les gens de guerre ne parloient, en Italic, que des lich- 
 esses qu'on acqueroit a son service." — SiSMONDi, Hist, des R^publiques 
 Ataliennes, torn, 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 notli- 
 ing but the wealth won in his service." — Sismondi's i7if.y/. of Hal. Republics. 
 
 CHAPTER 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 armor, the links of which were were so fine that they 
 resembled a delicate and curious network, but so strongly com- 
 pacted, 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 grace- 
 ful 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 war-horse, 
 completely cased in plates of mail, which seemed, however, 
 scarcely to encumber its proud and agile paces. The counte- 
 nance 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-k-pi^, attended the knight ; and the 
 
336 RIENZl, 
 
 lov/ end murmured conversacion they carried on at intervals, as 
 v/cl. r. : Uicir long fair hair, large stature, thick short beards, and 
 the Ltudied and accurate equipment of their arms and steeds, 
 bespoke them of a hardier and more warlike race than the chil- 
 dren of the South. The cavalcade was closed with a man a\- 
 , most of gigantic height, bearing a banner richly decorated, 
 • .'herein was \/rought a column, with the inscription, "Alone 
 .iMiDST RUINS." Fair indeed was the prospect which with every 
 fixp expanded yet more widely its various beauty. Right be- 
 ore stretched a long vale, .^.ow covered with green woodlands 
 jlv iering in the yellow sunlight, now opening into narrow plains 
 3ordered by hillocks, from whose mosses of all hues grew fan- 
 tastic and odorous shrubs ; while, winding amidst them, a broad 
 anc 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 gray 
 and frowning walls of a distant castle, which, high upon the 
 ;3teepest 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 I " 
 
 Scarce had these thoughts passed his mind ere the shrill and 
 sudden blast of a bugle that sounded close amongst the vine- 
 yards 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, 
 v/hile the squire, unincumbered by the heavy armor of the Ger- 
 mans, plunged into the thicket and disappeared. He returnccl 
 in a few minutes, all heated and breathless. 
 
 " We must be on our guard," he whispered ; " I seethe glim- 
 mer 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 337 
 
 band he made hastily to the spot, the armor of the soldiers rat- 
 tling 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 favorite squire 
 (the only Italian in the party), " 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 mar- 
 tial 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 be- 
 hind 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 ser- 
 ried, 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 f**ll 
 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 sur- 
 face, interrupting the descent of the mountain. On the com- 
 mencement 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 
 
338 RIENZI, 
 
 off ; gazing first at the foe before them, that remained still as « 
 cloud, every eye was then turned towards the knight. 
 
 "An thou wouldst, my lord," said the leader of the North- 
 men, perceiving the irresolution of their chief, " we will fight to 
 the last. You are the only Italian 1 ever knew whom 1 would 
 willingly die for ! " 
 
 This rude profe::sion was received with a sympathetic mur- 
 mur from the rest, and the soldiers drew closer around the 
 knight. "Nay, my brave fellows," said theColonna, lifting his 
 visor, " it is not in so inglorious a field, after such various for- 
 tunes, 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 en- 
 gaged. Give me yon banner — I will ride on to them." 
 
 "Nay, my lord," said Giulio ; "such marauders do not al- 
 ways 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 eyes 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 noon- 
 light, 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 
 3and, " sorry am I to detain one of your gallant bearing, and 
 still more so, on recognizing 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 Mon« 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 339 
 
 treal I am known of old. Permit me to return to my compan- 
 ions, 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 comrade. 
 
 '* A fair knight and a bold presence," said the captain of the 
 Companions to his neighbor, " though I scarce think it is the 
 party we are ordered to intercept. Praised be the Virgin, how- 
 ever, 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 detach- 
 ment of thirty horsemen were despatched to conduct the pris- 
 oners to the encampment of the Great Company. 
 
 Turning from the main road the knight found himself con- 
 ducted into a narrow defile between the hills, which, succeeded 
 by a gloomy tract of wild forest-land, brought the party at 
 length into a full and abrupt view of a wild 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 neighboring timber, alone separated the horse- 
 men 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 canvas, 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 market-place, 
 from prison and from palace — as are his troops, he has reduced 
 them already into a discipline which might shame even the sol- 
 diery of the Empire." 
 
 The knight made no reply ; but, spurring his horse over one 
 of the rugged bridges, soon found himself amidst the encamp- 
 ment. But that part at which he entered little merited the 
 praises bestowed upon the discipline of the army. A more un- 
 ruly 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 wooien «tood— ^hattcrit^ scolding) gQsticu^ 
 
54© RIENZT, 
 
 Jating — collected round groups of wild, shagged Northmen, w'ho^ 
 despite the bright purity of the summer-noon, were already en- 
 gaged 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 bravos of Calabria or the Apen- 
 nines, 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 abandon- 
 ment. 
 
 " You did not exaggerate the decorum of the Grand Com- 
 pany ! " 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 nec- 
 essary, 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 up by a 
 ioud 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 bravos. A ragged 
 minstrel, or jongleur, with an immense beard and mustachios, 
 was tuning, with no inconsiderable skill, a lute which had ac- 
 companied him in all his wanderings ; and suddenly changing 
 its notes into a wild and warlike melody, he commenced in a 
 ioud and deep voice the following song : 
 
tHE LAST OF tH£ TRIBtJNES. ^t 
 
 THE PRAISE OF THE GRAND COMPANY. 
 
 I. 
 
 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 cavC^ 
 
 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! 
 
 II. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 III. 
 Ho, scutcheons o'er the vaulted tomb 
 
 Where Norman valor sleeps, 
 Why shake ye so ? why quake ye so ? 
 
 What wind the trophy sweeps? 
 •* Wc 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 ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 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, 
 S^lt 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 I 
 The Free ! 
 The Free ! 
 Ob ! the Lances of the Free I 
 
342 RIENZI, 
 
 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. 
 
 Tiri, tirali — trumpet and drum — 
 
 Rising bright o'er the height of the mountain they come I 
 German and Hun, and the Islandrie, 
 Who routed the Frenchman at famed Cressie, 
 When the rose changed its hue with \.h& Jieur-de-lis ^ 
 With the Roman, and Lombard, and Piedmontese, 
 And the dark-haired son of the southern seas. 
 Tir^, 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 1 
 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 burden reached 
 xhe ears of more distant groups of stragglers, the effect of this 
 fierce and licentious minstrelsy was indescribable. It was im- 
 possible 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 com- 
 panion, 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 Com- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 343 
 
 panion ; " but really so attractive is the life led by the 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 circum- 
 vallation, the party found themselves in a quarter, animated in- 
 deed, 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 burdens, but every now and then, impatiently open- 
 ing their hands, appeared counting and recounting to them- 
 selves 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 con- 
 tented with the bargain." 
 
 " It seems, then, that there is some kind of rude justice ob- 
 served 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 ar- 
 rears 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 ac- 
 quired in his service, and every warrier in the pay of 
 Republic or of Tyrant sighed for the lawless standard of 
 Fra Moreale. Already had exaggerated tales of the for- 
 tunes 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 in- 
 gij^ni^, " we ^re not without pur different r^nks in our wild city 
 
344 RIENZI, 
 
 And while we speak, many a golden spur is speeding hitheiw 
 ward 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 un- 
 pleasing sound. An occasional soldier, crossing their path, 
 stalked silently and stealthily to some neighboring 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 
 v/ide-spreading beech cast its shadow over the gorgeous can- 
 vas. 
 
 While his troop waited without, the knight was conducted at 
 once to the presence of the formidable adventurer. 
 
 CHAPTER 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 coun- 
 cillors, and with whom he apparently debated all his pro- 
 jects. 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 riompany. It enabled him to calcu- 
 late exactly the time to attack a foe, and the sum to demand 
 tor 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 bright- 
 vwedr " Admit him," he said hastily. " Messireg/' he ^dded 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 345 
 
 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 color, 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 recognize 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 per- 
 mit 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 7vas 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 vy/e spared that city ; and we now hang like a thunder- 
 bolt 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?'* 
 
346 RiENzr, 
 
 " 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 VL 
 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 valor 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 Provengal'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 de- 
 tained 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 
 swelleci his camp with Romari recruits. Marching to Viterbo, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 347 
 
 Rienzi distinguished himself greatly in deeds of arms against 
 the tyrant ^ 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 at- 
 tend 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 
 Kienzi 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-terri- 
 fied 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 witb 
 great splendor 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, f a 
 new demagogue, a humble imitator of Rienzi, rose upon the 
 
 * Vit. di Col. di Rienzi. 
 
 t This Baroncelli, who has been introduced to the reader in a former portion of this 
 rork. is called by Matteo Villani "a man of vile birth and little learning — he had been a 
 .Notary of theCapitol." 
 
 In the midst of the armed dissensions between the barons which followed the expulsion 
 )f Rienzi, Barcncelli contrived to make himself master of the Capitol, and of what was con- 
 sidered an auxiliary of no common importance — viz., the tireat Bell, by whose alarm 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, 
 nis cruelty against the great took the appearance of protection to ihe humble ; but the ex- 
 cesses 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. — Mntteo Villani, lib. iii.,cap. 78. Osservaz. iitor. di Zefirino Re, MS* 
 Vat, m^. dai Bzovia^ ann. 1353. N. 2, 
 
34^ RIENZI, 
 
 ruins of the peace broken by the nobles, obtained the title of 
 Tribune, and carried about the very insignia used by his pred- 
 ecessor. 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 
 dishonored, somewhat contrasted the solemn and majestic de- 
 corum 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," an- 
 swered Montreal calmly. " Rienzi will be restored ; that brave 
 phoenix will wing its way through storm and cloud to its own 
 funeral pyre : I foresee, I compassionate, I admire. And 
 Ihen," 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 in- 
 domitable 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 favor 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 peo- 
 ple, and Rienzi will be the victim. Mark my prophecy ! " 
 
 ** And then the ^ beyoniV to which you look ?" 
 
 " Utter prostration of Rome, for new and long ages ; God 
 makes not two Rienzis ; or,'' said Montreal proudly, " the in- 
 fusion 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 ! " 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 349 
 
 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 
 characterizes the lineaments of the South — eloquent at once 
 with enthusiasm and thought — he might have seemed no unfit- 
 ting 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 to-night. 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, ac- 
 cepted the invitation. 
 
 Left alone, he leaned his head upon his hand, and soon be- 
 came lost in his reflections. 
 
 CHAPTER 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 ad- 
 venturous 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 consum- 
 mated, 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 honored wheresoever he fixed a tempo- 
 rary home, no change of scene had removed his melancholy, no 
 new ties liad chased away the memory of the Lost. In that 
 era of passionate and poetical romance, which Petrarch repre- 
 sented rather than Gr«iittd» JUove had already begun to assume 
 
35© RIENZI, 
 
 a more tender and sacred character than it had hitherto known ; 
 it had gradually imbibed tlie divine spirit which it derives from 
 Christianity, and which associates its sorrows on earth witli the 
 vis-ions and hopes of heaven. To him who relies upon immor- 
 tality, fidelity to the dead is easy ; because death cannot extin- 
 guish 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 Her- 
 mit of Vaucluse felt, or feigned, for Laura, found its temple in 
 the desolate heart of Adrian Colonna. He was emphatically 
 the Lover of his fi?ne / 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 un- 
 looked-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 honorable of the self-raised princes of the age, had 
 conspired to make hina 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 ; 
 «iot the less so that it found not a vent for its emotions in the 
 %ctu<U occupAtion ol tht f o«t ! Pent withirii the«€ emotions 
 
THE LASt OF THE tRIRUNES. 351 
 
 diffused themselves over all his thoughts and colored hTs 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 land- 
 scape : 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, se- 
 duced 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 thought- 
 ful 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 splendor 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, saun- 
 tered 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 
 
 * The splendor of the angel smile.— Petrarch, 
 
35 2 R1EN2I, 
 
 Over the gray peaks of the distant Apennines. From afaf 
 floated the hum of the camp, broken by the neigh of return- 
 f:ng steeds ; the blast of an occasional bugle ; and at regular 
 intervals, by the armod tramp of the neighboring 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 Pro- 
 vence," 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 melo- 
 dies," said Adrian. 
 
 " Ay, I have not yet survived all my youth," answered Mon- 
 treal, 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 heat 
 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 355 
 
 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 Pro- 
 ven9als 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 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 tramp- 
 led on 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 Provengal. So far from 
 recognizing any want of harmony between his calling and his 
 creed, he held that man no true chevalier who was not as de- 
 vout 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 un- 
 born 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 become 
 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 to- 
 gether wi:h more frie:idship and unreserve than they bad 
 hitherto done At length Montreal said, "By the way, 1 have 
 not yet inquiied your destination." 
 
 "I am bound to Rome," said Adrian ; "and the intelligence 
 
3^4 ^lENZl, 
 
 I have learned from you incites me thitherward yet more 
 eagerly. If Rienzi return, I may mediate successfully, ])er- 
 chance, between the Tribune-Senator and the nobles ; if I find my 
 cousin, young Stefanello, now the head of our house, more tracta- 
 ble than his sires, 1 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, shad- 
 ing 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 ; to-morrow 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. How- 
 ever, I cannot wholly leave so honored a guest under an im- 
 pression 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 market-place — it raises the palace — if 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 
 Hedusan fable the poets tell us of, and look and muse ourselves 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 355 
 
 out of stone. A little while, and it was the sunlight that gilded 
 the wave ; it now sliines 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 bands — a fevel from which 
 he had the delicacy to excuse the Roman noble — kept the 
 Colonna long awake ; and he had scarcely fallen into an un- 
 quiet 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 armorers, 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 
 trusted 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 favors on me ! " he said gaily. 
 '* Yesterday the Florentines spared me the trouble of a siege : 
 and to-day (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 
 ^f 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 arrangcmeni. My brothers themselves will 
 %««9m|^ny tht SenAt^^Tfibune to the walls of the Capitol" 
 
356 RIENZI, 
 
 " 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 do- 
 mestic 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. Mean- 
 while 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 
 incautiously 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 confi- 
 dent 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 showed 
 him the whole army on its march : the gonfalons waving ; the 
 armor 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 sub- 
 dued and stifled at times by martial and exulting music. As 
 they swept on, Adrian descried at length the stately and tower- 
 ing form of Montreal upon a black charger, distinguished even 
 at that distance from the rest, not more by his gorgeous armor 
 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 1 
 
tHE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES, 357 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 ** Allora la sua venuta fu a Roma sentita ; Romani si apparecchiavano a 
 riceverlo con letizia .... furo fatti archi trionfali,"etc., etc.- — Vita di Cola 
 di Ritnzi, 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," etc., 
 etc, — Life of Cola di Rienzi, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRANCE. 
 
 All Rome was astir ! from St. Angelo to the Capitol win- 
 dows, 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, sur- 
 rounded by their mercenaries, they awaited the hour when the 
 people, weary of their idol, should welcome back even those 
 ierocious 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 tur- 
 rets 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, for- 
 gotten by most, and, in the confusion of the moment, heeded 
 by none — stood Adrian Colonna! He had not been abl» to 
 
358 RlENZT, 
 
 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 day- 
 break out of the Church of St. Angelo ! " 
 
 " Ah," 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 : ac- 
 cording to custom, I pray you, Monsignore, forthwith to con- 
 firm the rank,' I wish 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 gray-headed 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, w^hose commodity the ceremonial 
 had put in great request. " Fie ! For my part, I think Sen- 
 ator a less new-fangled title than Tribune. I hope there will 
 be feasting enow, at least. 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." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 359 
 
 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 I " 
 
 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 dis- 
 tant curve of the streets, was seen the wave of the gonfalons; 
 then, the glitter of the spears ; and then from the whole multi- 
 tude, 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, in- 
 scribed with the words, " Liberty and Peace restored." As 
 these passed the group by Adrian, each more popular citizen of 
 the cavalcade was recognized, 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 armor 
 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 I " 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 Tus- 
 cany, with the corselets and arms of the heavy-armed soldiery — 
 a gallant company, and whose cheerful looks and familiar 
 bearing appeared to sympathize with the crowd. And in truth 
 they did so, for they were Tuscans, and therefore lovers of 
 
360 RIENZI, 
 
 freedom. In them, too, the Romans seemed to recognize 
 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 ot trumpeters and standard-bearers ; and 
 /low 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 ; 
 \ears 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 PhcEnix 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 ; tri- 
 umph 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 ad-' 
 dress 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 imag- 
 ination, 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 os- 
 tentation, 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 
 V\r?is it his own — his living Irene — whose soft and melancholy 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 361 
 
 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. 
 
 "Zr<? did not see me^" muttered the smith to himself; ^^old friends 
 are fo: gotten 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 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 natur- 
 ally 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 Car- 
 dinal 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 
 liQ single man, hovyeyer gifted, or however powerful, should 
 
362 RIENZI, 
 
 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 con- 
 trol ; that, made the debtor of the grasping and aspiring Mont- 
 real, 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 qual- 
 ities 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 ! 
 
 H igh 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 reunited, 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 ques- 
 tion whether they were not still to be divided ! Stefanello 
 Colonna, the grandson of the old Stephen, and (by the death 
 Qf hi§ sire *^n4 brother) the youthful bead of that powerful 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 363 
 
 House, had already raised his standard against the Senator. 
 Fortifying himself in the ahnost impregnable fastness of Pales- 
 trina, he had assembled around him all the retainers of his 
 family, and his lawless soldiery now ravaged the neighboring 
 plains far and wide. 
 
 Adrian foresaw that the lapse of a few days would suffice tc 
 bring the Colonna and the Senator to open war. Could he 
 take part against those of his own blood ? The very circum- 
 stance of his love for Irene would yet more rob such a pro- 
 ceeding of all appearance of disinterested patriotism, and yet 
 more deeply and irremediably stain his knightly fame, v/hcr 
 ever the sympathy of his equals was enlisted with the causo 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 favorable 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 honored 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 
 
 j summoned Giulio. 
 
 i " 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 to-day is to be followed to-morrow 
 by a mask, to which all ranks are admitted. By Bacchus,* if 
 the Tribune only invited nobles, the smallest closet in the Cap- 
 itol would suffice to receive his maskers. I suppose a mask 
 has been resolved on in order to disguise the quality of the 
 visitors." 
 
 * Still a common Roman expletivCi 
 
364 RIENZI. 
 
 A-drian mused a moment ; and the result of his revery was a 
 determination to delay for another sun his departure for Pales- 
 trina ; 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 ostensi- 
 bly because it was one in which all his numerous and motley 
 supporters could be best received ; bu>t chiefly and secretly be- 
 cause it afforded himself and his confidential friends the occa- 
 sion 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 ad- 
 vantage 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 mask- 
 ers, more vehement than the rest, his vizard was deranged. 
 He hastily replaced it ; but not before one of the guests had 
 recognized his countenance. 
 
 From courtesy Rienzi and his family remained at first un- 
 masked. 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, always afterwards remarked, that the 
 place of that state festival was the place also of the state exe- 
 cutions. 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 365 
 
 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 lips quiver into smiles at some un- 
 told hope or half-unconscious recollection. A grave and 
 mournful expression gave to her face (still how sweet !) a grav- 
 ity beyond her years. The bloom, the flush, the April of the 
 heart, was gone; but yet neither time, norsorrow, 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 for- 
 gotten ! 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 revel- 
 ler'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 color 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 merri- 
 ment." 
 
 " 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 gray domino of Adrian, and he perceived that it 
 followed hii Bteps^ Approaching the privatt «?ritrAnQe of ih« 
 
$66 RTENZI, 
 
 Capitol, he for a few moments lost sight of his unwelcome pur« 
 suer : but just as he entered, turning abruptly, Rienzi perceived 
 him close at his side — the next moment the stranger had van- 
 ished amidst the throng. But that moment had sufficed to 
 Adrian ; he had reached Irene. " Adrian Colonna (he whis- 
 pered) 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 re- 
 vived 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 festi- 
 vals 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 brow of his wife as she clung fondly to his 
 bosom. " Thy smile is the sunlight," said he : **but this girl 
 disturbs me. Methinks «^2£/, 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. 
 1 will look to this. Let us forth, my Nina. I am 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 my 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 thttt spot had comparatively 
 bfc^ «4<$&erted, Mutic «nd the d«tn€« attracted th« maskers 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 3D7 
 
 to another quarter of the wide space. And Irene now ap« 
 preaching, 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 ! recognized 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 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 will- 
 ingly 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 / despair ! " 
 
 " What then, my vision did not deceive me ! It was you 
 who watched by my bed in that grim hour, whose love guard- 
 ed, whose care preserved me ! And I, wretch that I was ! — " 
 
 " Nay," answered Irene, "your thought was natural. Heav- 
 en 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 re- 
 turned, 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 
 %in ; 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. 
 
368 RIENZI, 
 
 "And now," murmured Irene, "now that we have met — ** 
 she paused, and her mask conceaicd her blushes. 
 
 "Now that we have met," said Adrian, filling up the silence 
 'wonlclst 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 de- 
 layed my departure to Palestrina. Could 1 but hope to bring 
 aiy young cousin into amity with thy brother, no barrier v. oulrj 
 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, 'Met me hope the best ; mean- 
 while, it is enough of comfort and of happmess 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 col- 
 umn, 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 honored our 
 revels this night? " 
 
 " Senator of Rome," answered Adrian, with equal stateli- 
 ness, " 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 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. $6^ 
 
 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 dishonor 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 to-morrow's dawn I depart for Palestrina^ 
 seeking to reconcile my young cousin to the choice of the Peo^ 
 pie and the Pontiff. Various reasons, which I need not now 
 detail, would have made me wnsh to undertake this heraldry of 
 peace without previous communication with you. But since 
 we ^avg met, intrust me with any terms of conciliation, and I 
 pledge to 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 proferred 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 mir- 
 rored back the truth. I trust you ! " 
 
 While thus speaking, he had mechanically led back the Co- 
 lonna 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 honored 
 
37© RIENZI, 
 
 presence. Forgetting all ancient feuds, ttiy Owil past exile^ 
 I have assured liim, 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 Stefa- 
 nello 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 honorable 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 ; i:"L 
 mine own honesty are my spear and buckler. Oh never," con- 
 tinued 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 en- 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 37 1 
 
 IshiWited and subdued. He kissed the hand he held, and said 
 earnestly : 
 
 "A doom that I will deem it my boast to share ; a career 
 t:hat it will be my glory to smooth. If I succeed in my present 
 nission — ** 
 
 " You are my brother ! " said Rienzi. 
 
 *' If I fail?" 
 
 "You may equally claim that alliance. You pause — you 
 .hange color." 
 
 " 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 recognize, 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 mercy of Him who 
 chasteneth — necessary, it may be, to correct my earlier daring 
 and sharpen yet more my intellect — if, in a word, thou be- 
 lievest me one whom, whatever be his faults, God hath pre- 
 served 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 III. 
 
 Adrian's adventures at palestrina. 
 
 It was yet noon when Adrian beheld before him the lofty 
 mountains that shelter Palestrina, the Prceneste of the ancient 
 -vorld. Back to a period before Romulus existed, in the earliest 
 ages of that mysterious civilization 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 neighboring 
 Rome. From that very citadel, the Mural Crown* of the 
 
 •Hence, apuartntly, its Greek naJttft of Siet)hane. Palestrina is yet ohe of the maz># 
 VrmCa wKi«h Wi* vMnHy of Rem« «ffor4« of th« fhi Gr««k civilitation of iHiklyi 
 
37* RfENzr, 
 
 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 spreads towards the 
 plain, were yet seen the shattered and roofless columns of 
 \he once celebrated Temple of Fortune ; and still the im- 
 memorial olives clustered gray 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 in- 
 cursions. In sight of that Prce7ieste^ which had been the 
 favorite retreat of the luxurious lords of Rome in its most pol- 
 ished day, the Age of Iron seemed renewed. 
 
 The banner of the Colonna, borne by Adrian's troop, ob- 
 tained ready admittance at the Porta del Sole. As he passed 
 up the irregular and narrow streets that ascended to the cita- 
 del, 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 de- 
 manded 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 rh.imbcr. The door was thrown open, and Adrian 
 found hiroseU in a rudf hall, to whiish som« appearan<?€ of 
 
tttE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 373 
 
 fiasty 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 Ital- 
 ian nobles, strangely contrasted the rough pavement, spread 
 with heaps of armor negh'gently 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 re- 
 clined 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 Hanni' 
 bal and Pyrrhus had ascended that very citadel to survey. 
 
 Stefanello himself, in the first bloom of youth, bore alreadj 
 on his beardless countenance those traces usually the work aj 
 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 animalt, 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 pre- 
 mature exhaustion. By him sat (reconciled by hatred to one 
 another) the hereditary foes of his race ; the soft, but cunning 
 and astute features of Lucadi 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; yon 
 are arrived in time to assist us with your well-known military 
 skill. Think you not we shall stand a long siege, if the inso- 
 ient plebeian dare adventure it? You know our friends, the 
 Orsini and the Savelli ? Thanks to St. Peter, or Peter's dele- 
 gate, we have now happily meaner throats to cut than those of 
 each other ! " 
 
 Thus saying, Stefanello again threw himself listlessly on hh 
 seat, and the shrill, woman's voice of Savelli took part in the 
 dialogue. 
 
 " I would, noble signor, that you had come a few hours 
 earlier: we arc still making merry at the recollection — he, he, 
 he!" 
 
 "Ah, excellent," cried Stefanello, joining in the laugh ; *'out 
 cousin has had a loss. Know, Adrian, that this base fellowj^ 
 
^74 RlENZi, 
 
 whom the Pope has had the impudence to create Senator, dared 
 but yesterday to send us a varlet, whom he called — by Our 
 Lady — his ambassador ! " 
 
 " Would you could have seen his mantle, Signer Adrian ! " 
 chimed in the Savelli : " purple velvet, as 1 live, decorated in 
 gold, with the arms of Rome : we soon spoiled his finery." 
 
 ** What ! " exclaimed Adrian, '* you did not break the laws 
 of all nobility and knighthood ? You offered no insult to a 
 herald ! " 
 
 "Herald, sayst thou?" cried Stefanello, frowning till his 
 eyes were scarce visible. *' It is for princes and barons alone 
 to employ heralds. An I had had my will, I would have sent 
 back the minion's head to the usurper." 
 
 " What did ye then ? " asked Adrian coldly. 
 
 *' Bade our swineherds dip the fellow in the ditch, and gave 
 him a night's lodging in a dungeon to dry himself withal." 
 
 "And this morning — he, he, he ! " added the Savelli, "we 
 had him before us, and drew his teeth one by one ; I would 
 you could have heard the fellow mumble out for mercy ! " 
 
 Adrian rose hastily, and struck the table fiercely with his 
 gauntlet. 
 
 " Stefanello Colonna," said he, coloring with noble rage, 
 ** answer me: did you dare to inflict this indelible disgrace 
 upon the name we jointly bear ! Tell me, at least, that you 
 protested against this foul treason to all the laws of civilization 
 and of honor. You answer not. House of the Colonna, can 
 such be thy representative ! " 
 
 " To me these words ! " said Stefanello, trembling with 
 passion. " Beware ! Methinks thou art the traitor, leagued 
 perhaps with yon rascal mob. Well do I remember that thou, 
 the betrothed of the demagogue's sister, didst not join with my 
 uncle and my father of old, but didst basely leave the city to 
 her plebeian tyrant." 
 
 "That did he ! " said the fierce Orsini, approaching Adrian 
 menacingly, while the gentle cowardice of Savelli sought in vain 
 to pluck him back by the mantle ; " that did he ! and but for 
 thy presence, Stefanello — " 
 
 " Coward and blusterer ! " interrupted Adrian, fairly beside 
 himself with indignation and shame, and dashing his gauntlet 
 in the very face of the advancing Orsini ; " wouldst thou 
 threaten one who has maintained, in every list of Europe, and 
 against the stoutest chivalry of the North, the honor of Rome, 
 which thy deeds the while disgraced ? By this gage, I spit 
 upon and defy thee. With lance and with brand, on horse and 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 
 
 375 
 
 on foot, I maintain against thee and all thy line, that thou art 
 no knight to have thus maltreated, in thy strongholds, a 
 peaceful and unarmed herald. Yes, even here, on the spot of 
 thy disgrace, I challenge thee to arms ! " 
 
 " To the court below ! Follow me," said Orsini sullenly, 
 and striding towards the threshold. *' What, ho there! my 
 hehnet and breastplate ! " 
 
 " Stay, noble Orsini," said Stefanello. "The insult offered 
 to thee is my quarrel — mine was the deed — and against me 
 speaks this degenerate scion of our Ime. Adrian di Castello — 
 sometime called Colonna — surrender your sword : you are my 
 prisoner !" 
 
 " Oh I " said Adrian, grinding his teeth, " that my ancestral 
 blood did not flow through thy veins — else — but enough ! Me ! 
 your equal, and the favored Knight of the Emperor, whose 
 advent now brightens the frontiers of Italy ! — me — you dare 
 not detain. For your friends, I shall meet them yet perhaps, 
 ere many days are over, where none shall separate our swords. 
 Till then, remember, Orsini, that it is against no unpractised 
 arm that thou wilt have to redeem thy honor ! " 
 
 Adrian, his drawn sword in his hand, strode towards the 
 door, and passed the Orsini, who stood, lowering and irreso- 
 lute, in the centre of the apartment. 
 
 Savelli whispered Stefanello. " He says, * Ere many days 
 be past ! ' Be sure, dear signor, that he goes to join Rienzi. 
 Remember, the alliance he once sought with the Tribune's 
 sister may be renewed. Beware of him ! Ought he to leave 
 the castle ? The name of a Colonna associated with the mob 
 would distract and divide half our strength." 
 
 *' Fear me not," returned Stefanello, with a malignant smile. 
 ''*Ere you spoke, I had determined ! " 
 
 The young Colonna lifted the arras from the wall, opened a 
 door, and passed into a low hall, in which sate twenty merce- 
 naries. 
 
 " Quick ! " said he. " Seize and disarm yon stranger in the 
 green mantle — but slay him not. Bid the guard below find 
 dungeons for his train. Quick ! ere he reach the gate." 
 
 Adrian had gained the open hall below, his train and his 
 steed were in sight in the court, when suddenly the soldiery 
 of the Colonna, rushing through another passage than that 
 which he had passed, surrounded and intercepted his retreat. 
 
 " Yield thee, Adrian di Castello," cried Stefanello from the 
 summit of the stairs ; " or your blood be on your own head." 
 
 Three steps did Adrian make through the press^ and three of 
 
376 RIENZI, 
 
 his enemies fell beneath his sword. ** To the rescue!" he 
 
 shouted to his band, and already those bold and daring troopers 
 had gained the hall. Presently the alarum bell tolled loud ; the 
 court swarmed with soldiers. Oppressed by numbers, beat 
 down rather than subdued, Adrian's little train was soon se- 
 cured, and the flower of the Colonna, wounded, breathless, 
 disarmed, but still uttering loud defiance, was a prisoner in the 
 iDrtress of his kinsmaiv. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE POSITION OF THE SENATOR. — THE WORK OF VEARS.-^THE 
 REWARDS OF AMBITION. 
 
 The indignation of Rienzi may readily be conceived on the 
 return of his herald mutilated and dishonored. His temper, so 
 naturally stern, was rendered yet more hard by the remem- 
 brance of his wrongs and trials ; and the result which attended 
 his overtures of conciliation to Stefanello Colonna stung him to 
 the soul. 
 
 The bell of the Capitol tolled to arms within ten minutes 
 after the return of the herald. The great gonfalon of Rome 
 was unfurled on the highest tower ; and the very evening after 
 Adrian's arrest, the forces of the Senator, headed by Rienzi in 
 person, were on the road to Palestrina. The troopers of the 
 barons had, however, made incursions as far as Tivoliwith the 
 supposed connivance of the inhabitants, and Rienzi halted at 
 that beautiful spot to raise recruits, and receive the allegiance 
 of the suspected, while his soldiers, with Arimbaldo and Bret- 
 tone at their head went in search of the marauders. The 
 brothers of Montreal returned late at night with the intelligence 
 that the troopers of the barons had secured themselves amidst 
 the recesses of the wood of Pantano. 
 
 The red spot mounted to Rienzi's brow. He gazed hard at 
 Brettone, who stated the news to him, and a natural suspicion 
 shot across his mind. 
 
 " How ! — escaped ! " he said. " Is it possible ? Enough of 
 such idle skirmishes with these lordly robbers. Will the hour 
 ever come when I shall meet them hand to hand? Brettone," 
 and the brother of Montreal felt the dark eye of Rienzi pierce 
 to his very heart ; ** Bretlone I " said he, with an abrupt change 
 of voice, '* are your men to be tn^sted ^ Is there no connivancy 
 Ci'ith the barons ? " 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 377 
 
 ** How ! " said Brettone sullenly, but somewhat confused. 
 
 " How me no hows ! " quoth the Tribune-Senator fiercely. 
 * I know that thou art a valiant captain of valiant men. Thou 
 and thy brother Arimbaldo have served me well, and I have 
 rewarded ye well ! Have I not? Speak ! " 
 
 "Senator," answered Arimbaldo, taking up the word, "you 
 have kept your word to us. You have raised us to the highest 
 rank your power could bestow, and this has amply atoned our 
 humble services." 
 
 "I am glad ye allow thus much," said the Tribune, 
 
 Arimbaldo proceeded somewhat more loftily, " I trust, my 
 lord, you do not doubt us ? " 
 
 "Arimbaldo," replied Rienzi, in a voice of deep but half- 
 suppressed emotion ; " you are a lettered man, and you have 
 seemed to share my projects for the regeneration of our com- 
 mon kind. Vou ought not to betray me. There is something 
 in unison between t^s. But, chide me not, I am surrounded by 
 treason, and the very air I breathe seems poison to my lips." 
 
 There was a pathos mingled with Rienzi's words which 
 touched the milder brother of Montreal. He bowed in silence. 
 Rienzi surveyed him wistfully, and sighed. Then, changing 
 the conversation, he spoke of their intended siege of Palestrina, 
 and shortly afterwards retired to rest. 
 
 Left alone, the brothers regarded each other for some mo- 
 ments in silence. "Brettone," said Arimbaldo at length, in a 
 whispered voice, " my heart misgives me. I like not Walter's 
 ambitious schemes. With our own countrymen we are frank 
 and loyal, why play the traitor with this high-souled Roman ? "* 
 
 " Tush ! " said Brettone. " Our brother's hand of iron 
 alone can sway this turbulent people ; and if Rienzi be be- 
 trayed, so also are his enemies the barons. No more of this ! 
 I have tidings from Montreal ; he will be in Rome in a few 
 days." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Rienzi, weakened by the barons (for he must not conquer)— 
 the barons, weakened by Rienzi — our Northmen seize the Capi 
 itol, and the soldiery, now scattered throughout Italy, will flj 
 to the standard of the Great Captain. Montreal must be first 
 Podesta, then King, of Rome." 
 
 Arimbaldo moved restlessly in his seat, and the brethrei] 
 conferred no more on their projects. 
 
 * The anonymous biofjrapher of Rienzi m.^kes the following just remark '. " Pono'.i 
 tedeschi, come discendon de la Alema^na, seniplici, puri. senza Iraude, come si allocau*; 
 tra taliani, diventano mastro coduli, viziosi, che sentono ognj maiizia." — ^V/. de Co{. di 
 /v/t«2/, lib. ii., cap. t6. 
 
378 RIENZI, 
 
 The situation of Rienzi was precisely that which tends the 
 most to sour and to harden the fairest nature. With an intel- 
 lect capable of the grandest designs, a heart that beat with the 
 loftiest emotions, elevated to the sunny pinnacle of power and 
 surrounded by loud-tongued adulators, he knew not among 
 men a single breast in which he could confide. He was as 
 one on a steep ascent, whose footing crumbles, while every 
 bough at which he grasps seems to rot at his touch. He found 
 the people more than ever eloquent in his favor, but while they 
 shouted raptures as he passed, not a man was capable of 
 making a sacrifice for hitn ! The liberty of a State is never 
 achieved by a single individual ; if not the people — if not the 
 greater number — a zealous and fervent minority, at least, must 
 go hand in hand with him. Rome demanded sacrifices in all 
 who sought the Roman regeneration — sacrifices of time, ease, 
 and money. The crowd followed the procession of the Senator, 
 but not a single Roman devoted his life, unpaid^ to his stand- 
 ard ; not a single coin was subscribed in the defence of free- 
 dom. Against him were arrayed the most powerful and the 
 most ferocious barons of Italy ; each of whom could maintain, 
 at his own cost, a little army of practised warriors. With 
 Rienzi were traders and artificers who were willing to enjoy the 
 fruits of liberty, but not to labor at the soil ; who demanded, 
 in return for empty shouts, peace and riches ; and who ex- 
 pected that one man was to effect in a day what would be 
 cheaply purchased by the struggle of a generation. All their 
 dark and rude notion of a reformed State v/as to live unbutch- 
 ered by the barons and untaxed by their governors. Rome, I 
 say, gave to her Senator not a free arm or a voluntary florin.* 
 Well aware of the danger which surrounds the ruler who de- 
 fends his State by foreign swords, the fondest wish and the 
 most visionary dream of Rienzi was to revive amongst the 
 Romans, in their first enthusiasm at his return, an organized 
 and voluntary force, who, in protecting him, would protect 
 themselves ; not, as before, in his first power, a nominal force of 
 twenty thousand men, who at any hour might yield (as they 
 did yield) to one hundred and fifty ; but a regular, well disci- 
 plined, and trusty body, numerous enough to resist aggres- 
 sion, not numerous enough to become themselves the aggres- 
 sors. 
 
 Hitherto all his private endeavors, his public exhortations, 
 had failed ; the crowd listened — shouted — saw him quit the 
 
 ♦ f his plain fact is thoroughly borne oat by every authority. 
 
THE LAST OiP TtlE TRIBUNES. 379 
 
 City to meet their tyrants, and returned to their shops saying 
 to each other, ** What a great man ! " 
 
 The character of Rienzi has chiefly received for its judges 
 men of the closet, who speculate upon human beings as if they 
 were machines ; who gauge the great, not by their merit, but 
 their success ; and who have censured or sneered at the Trib- 
 une, where they should have condemned the people ! Had 
 but one-half the spirit been found in Rome which ran through 
 a single vein of Cola di Rienzi, the august Republic, if not the 
 majestic Empire, of Rome might be existing now ! Turning 
 from the people, the Senator saw his rude and savage troops, 
 accustomed to the license of a tyrant's camp, and under com- 
 manders in whom it was ruin really to confide, whom it was 
 equal ruin openly to distrust. Hemmed in on every side by 
 dangers, his character daily grew more restless, vigilant, and 
 stern ; and still, with all the aims of the patriot, he felt all the 
 curses of the tyrant. Without the rough and hardening 
 career which, through a life of warfare, had brought Crom- 
 well to a similar power ; with more grace and intellectual soft- 
 ness in his composition, he resembled that yet greater man in 
 some points of character: in nis religious enthusiasm; his 
 rigid justice, often forced by circumstance into severity, but 
 never wantonly cruel or bloodthirsty; in his singular pride of 
 country ; and his mysterious command over the minds of 
 others. But he resembled the giant Englishman far more in 
 circumstance than original nature, and that circumstance as- 
 similated their characters at the close of their several careers. 
 Like Cromwell, beset by secret or open foes, the assassin's 
 dagger ever gleamed before his eyes ; and his stout heart, un- 
 awed by the real, trembled at imagined terrors. The coun- 
 tenance changing suddenly from red to white ; the bloqdsliot. 
 restless eye, belying the composed majesty of mien ; the mut 
 tering lips — the broken slumber ; the secret corselet — these to 
 both were the rewards of Power ! 
 
 The elasticity of youth had left the Tribune ! His frame 
 which had endured so many shocks, had contracted a painfu 
 disease in the dungeon at Avignon ; * his high soul still sup- 
 ported himi, but the nerves gave way. Tears came readily into 
 his eyes, and often, like Cromwell, he was thought to weep 
 from hypocrisy, when in truth it was the hysteric of overwrought 
 and irritable emotion. In all his former life singularly tem- 
 perate, he now fled from his goading thoughts to the beguiling 
 
 * " Dicea che ne la prigione era stato ascarmato."— FzV di Col di Rienzi, lib. ii., cap. x8* 
 
380 RIENZI, 
 
 excitement of wine.f He drank deep, though its effects were 
 never visible upon him except in a freer and wilder mood, and 
 the indulgence of that racy humor, half-mirthful, half-bitter, 
 for which his younger day had been distinguished. Now the 
 mirth had more loudness, but the bitterness more gall. 
 
 Such were the characteristics of Rienzi at his return to 
 power — made more apparent with every day. Nina he still 
 loved with the same tenderness, and, if possible, she adored 
 him more than ever ; but, the zest and the freshness of tri- 
 umphant ambition gone, somehow or other, their intercourse 
 together had not its old charm. Formerly they talked con- 
 stantly of the future — of the bright days in store for them. 
 Now, with a sharp and uneasy pang, Rienzi turned from all 
 thought of that *' gay to-morrow." There was no *' gay to-mor- 
 row " for him ! Dark and thorny as was the present hour, all 
 beyond seemed yet less cheering and more ominous. Still he 
 had some moments, brief but brilliant, when, forgetting the 
 iron race amongst vvliom he was thrown, he plunged into scho- 
 lastic reveries of the worshipped Past, and half fancied that 
 he was of a People worthy of his genius and his devotion. 
 Like most men who have been preserved through great dangers, 
 he continued with increasing fondness to nourish a credulous 
 belief in the grandeur of his own destiny. He could not im- 
 agine that he had been so delivered, and for no end ! He was 
 the Elected, and therefore the Instrument, of Heaven. And 
 thus, that Bible which in his loneliness, his wanderings, and 
 his prison, had been his solace and support, was more than 
 ever needed in his greatness. 
 
 It was another cause of sorrow and chagrin to one who, 
 amid such circumstances of public danger, required so pecu- 
 liarly the support and sympathy of private friends, that he 
 found he had incurred amongst his old coadjutors the common 
 penalty of absence. A few were dead ; others, wearied with 
 the storms of public life, and chilled in their ardor by the tur- 
 bulent revolutions to which, in every effort for her ameliora- 
 tion, Rome had been subjected, had retired, — some altogether 
 from the city, some from all participation in political affairs. 
 In his halls, the Tribune-Senator was surrounded by unfamiliar 
 faces, and a new generation. Of the heads of the popular 
 party, most were animated by a stern dislike to the Pontifical 
 domination, and looked with suspicion and repugnance upon 
 
 t " Solea prima esser sobrio, temperato, astinente, ora e diventato distemperatissimo bevL 
 tore," etc.— //'/V/. 
 
 "At first he used to be sober, temperate, abstinent ; now he is become a most intern* 
 (crate drinker," etc. — Li/e 0/ Cola di Rien&i, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 381 
 
 one who, if he governed for the People, had been trusted and 
 honored by the Pope. Rienzi was not a man to forget former 
 friends, however lowly, and had already found time to seek an 
 interview with Cecco del Vecchio. But that stern Republican 
 had received him with coldness. His foreign mercenaries, and 
 his title of Senator, were things that the artisan could not di- 
 gest. With his usual bluntness, he had said so to Rienzi. 
 
 "As for the last," answered the Tribune affably, "names do 
 not alternatures. When I forget that to be delegate to the 
 Pontiff is to be the guardian of his flock, forsake me. As for 
 the first, let me but see five hundred Romans sworn to stand 
 armed day and night for the defence of Rome, and 1 dismiss 
 the Northmen." 
 
 Cecco del Vecchio was unsoftened ; honest, but uneducated ; 
 impracticable, and by nature a malcontent, he felt as if he were, 
 no longer necessary to the Senator, and this offended his pride. 
 Strange as it may seem, the sullen artisan bore, too, a secret 
 grudge against Rienzi, for not having seen and selected him 
 from a crowd of thousands on the day of his triumphal entry. 
 Such are the small offences which produce deep danger to the 
 great ! 
 
 The artisans still held their meetings, and Cecco del Vec- 
 chio's voice w^s heard loud in grumbling forebodings. But 
 what wounded Rienzi yet more than the alienation of the rest 
 was the confused and altered manner of his old friend and 
 familiar, Pandulfo di Guido. Missing that popular citizen 
 among those who daily offered their homage at the Capitol, he 
 had sent for him, and sought in vain to revive their ancient in- 
 timacy. Pandulfo affected great respect, but not all the con- 
 descension of the Senator could conquer his distance and his 
 restraint. In fact, Pandulfo had learned to form ambitious 
 projects of his own ; and but for the return of Rienzi, Pandulfo 
 di Guido felt that he might now, with greater safety, and in- 
 deed with some connivance from the barons, have been the 
 Tribune of the People. The facility to rise into popular emi- 
 nence which a disordered and corrupt State, unblest by a regu- 
 lar constitution, offers to ambition, breeds the jealousy and the 
 rivalship which destroy union, and rot away the ties of party. 
 
 Such was the situation of Rienzi, and yet, wonderful to say, 
 he seemed to be adored by the multitude ; and law and lib- 
 erty, life and death, were in his hands ! 
 
 Of all those who attended his person, Angelo Villani was the 
 most favored ; that youth, vvlio had accompanied Rienzi in his 
 long exile, had filso, at the wish of Nina, attended him frgfti 
 
^82 RIENZI, 
 
 Avignon, through his sojourn in the camp of Albornoz. His 
 zeal, intelligence, and frank and evident affection blinded the 
 Senator to the faults of his character, and established him 
 more and more in the gratitude of Rienzi. He loved to feel 
 that one faithful heart beat near him, and the page, raised to 
 the rank of his chamberlain, always attended his person, and 
 slept in his ante-chamber. 
 
 Retiring that night at Tivoli, to the apartment prepared for 
 him, the Senator sat down by the open casement, through 
 which were seen, waving in the starlight, the dark pines that 
 crowned the hills, while the stillness of the hour gave to his 
 ear the dash of the waterfalls heard above the regular and 
 measured tread of the sentinels below. Leaning his cheek upon 
 his hand, Rienzi long surrendered himself to gloomy thought, 
 and, when he looked up, he saw the bright blue eye of Villani 
 fixed in anxious sympathy on his countenance. 
 
 " Is my lord unwell ? " asked the young chamberlain, hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 *' Not so, my Angelo ; but somewhat sick at heart. Methinks, 
 for a September night, the air is chill ! " 
 
 "Angelo," resumed Rienzi, who had already acquired that 
 uneasy curiosity which belongs to an uncertain power, ** An- 
 gelo, bring me hither yon writing implements ; hjist thou heard 
 aught what the men say of our probable success against Pales- 
 trina?" 
 
 " Would my lord wish to learn all their gossip, whether it 
 please or not ? " answered Villani. 
 
 " If I studied only to hear what pleased me, Angelo, I should 
 never have returned to Rome." 
 
 '* Why, then, I heard a constable of the Northmen say, 
 meaningly, that the place will not be carried." 
 
 " Humph ! And what said the captains of my Roman Le- 
 gion ? 
 
 " My lord, I have heard it whispered that they fear defeat 
 less than they do the revenge of the barons, if they are suc- 
 cessful." 
 
 " And with such toois the living race of Europ? and mis- 
 judging posterity will deem that the workman is to shape out 
 the Ideal and the Perfect ! Bring me yon Bible." 
 
 As Angelo reverently brought to Rienzi the sacred book, he 
 said : 
 
 *' Just before I left tuy companions below, there was a rumor 
 that the Lord Adria*^ t^olonna had been imprisoned by his 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. SSj 
 
 ^^I too heard, and I believe as much," returned Rienzi ; 
 ^"^these barons would gibbet their own children in irons, if 
 there were any chance of the shackles growing rusty for want 
 of prey. But the wicked shall be brought low, and their strong 
 places shall be made desolate." 
 
 *'I would, my lord," said Villani, ^ chat our Northmen had 
 other captains than these Provencals." 
 
 "Why?" asked Rienzi abruptly. 
 
 " Have the creatures of the Captain of the Grand Company 
 ever held faith with any man whom it suited the avarice or the 
 ambition of Montreal to betray ? Was he not a few months 
 ago, the right arm of John di Vico, and did he not sell his ser- 
 vices to John di Vico's enemy, the Cardinal Albornoz ? These 
 warriors barter men as cattle." 
 
 " Thou describest Montreal rightly ; a dangerous and an awful 
 man. But methinks his brothers are of a duller and meaner 
 kind ; they dare not the crimes of the Robber Captain. How- 
 beit, Angelo, thou hast touched a string that will make discord 
 with sleep to-night. Fair youth, thy young eyes have need of 
 slumber ; withdraw, and when thou hearest men envy Rienzi, 
 think that—" 
 
 *' God never made Genius to be envied ! " interrupted Vil- 
 lani, with an energy that overcame respect. *' We envy not 
 the sun, but rather the valleys that ripen beneath his beams." 
 
 " Verily, if I be the sun," said Rienzi, with a bitter and mel- 
 ancholy smile, " I long for night, — and come it will, to the 
 human as to the celestial Pilgrim ! Thank Heaven, at least, 
 that our ambition cannot make us immortal ! " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BITER BIT. 
 
 The next morning when Rienzi descended to the room 
 where his captains awaited him, his quick eye perceived that a 
 cloud still lowered upon the brow of Messere Brettone. Arim- 
 baldo, sheltered by the recess of tlie rude casement, shunned 
 his eye. 
 
 "A fair morning, gentles," said Rienzi; "the sun laughs 
 upon our enterprise. 1 have messengers from Rome betimes : 
 fresh troops will join us ere noon." 
 
 ".I am glad, Senator," answered Brettone, "that you hav^ 
 
384 r:en2i, 
 
 tidings which will counteract the ill of those I have to narrate 
 to thee. The soldiers murmur loudly — their pay is due to 
 them; and, I fear me, that without money they will not march 
 to Palestrina." 
 
 "As they will," returned Rienzi carelessly. " It is hut a few 
 days since they entered Rome ; pay did they receive in ad- 
 vance — if they demand more, the Colonna and Orsini may out- 
 bid me. Draw off your soldiers, Sir Knight, and farewell." 
 
 Brettone's countenance fell ; it was his object to get Kienzf 
 more and more in his power, and he wished not to suffer him 
 to gain that strength which would accrue to him from the falJ 
 of Palestrina: the indifference of the Senator foiled and en- 
 trapped him in his own net. 
 
 *'That must not be," said the brother of Montreal, after a 
 confused silence, '* we cannot leave you thus to your enemies; 
 the soldiers, it is true, demand pay — " 
 
 " And should have it," said Rienzi. "I know these mer- 
 cenaries ; it is ever with them, mutiny or money. I will throw 
 myself on my Romans, and triumph — or fall, if so Heaven de- 
 crees, with them. Acquaint your constables with my resolve." 
 
 Scarce were these words spoken, ere, as previously concerted 
 with Brettone, the chief constable of the mercenaries appeared 
 at the door. " Senator," said he, with a rough semblance of 
 respect, " your orders to march have reached me, I have sought 
 to marshal my men — but — " 
 
 " I know what thou wouldst say, friend," interrupted Rienzi, 
 waving his hand : " Messere Brettone will give you my reply. 
 Another time. Sir Captain, more ceremony with the Senator of 
 Rome. You may withdraw." 
 
 The unforeseen dignity of Rienzi rebuked and abashed the 
 constable; he looked at Brettone, who motioned him to depart. 
 He closed the door and withdrew. 
 
 *' What is to be done ?" said Brettone. 
 
 '' Sir Knight," said Rienzi gravely, "let us understand each 
 other. Would you serve me or not ? If the first, you are not 
 my equal, but subordinate — and you must obey and not dictate ; 
 if the last, my debt to you shall be discharged, and the world 
 is wide enough for both." 
 
 "We have declared allegiance to you," answered Brettone, 
 " and it shall be given." 
 
 " One caution before I re-accept your fealty," replied Rienzi, 
 very slowly. " For an open foe, 1 have my sword ; for a trai- 
 tor, mark me, Rome has the axe ; of the first I have no fear j 
 for the last, no mercy." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 385 
 
 "These are not words that should pass between friends," 
 said Brettone, turning pale with suppressed emotion. 
 
 "Friends! Ye are my friends, then! — your hands ! Friends, 
 so ye are ! — and shall prove it ! Dear Arimbaldo, thou, like 
 myself, art book-learned, — a clerkly soldier. Dost ihou remem- 
 ber how in the Roman history it is told that the Treasury 
 lacked money for the soldiers ? The Consul convened the 
 nobles. ' Ye,* said he, * that have the offices and dignity siionld 
 be the first to pay for them.* Ye heed me, my friends ; the^, 
 nobles took the hint, they found the money — the army was 
 paid. This example is not lost on you. I have made you the 
 leaders of my force, Rome hath showered her honors on you. 
 Your generosity shall commence the example which the Romans 
 shall thus learn of strangers. Ye gaze at me, my friends ! I 
 read your noble souls, and thank ye beforehand. Ye have the 
 dignity and the office ; ye have also the wealth ! — pay the hire- 
 lings, pay them ! "* 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Brettone, he could 
 not have been more astounded than at this simple suggestion 
 of Rienzi's. He lifted his eyes to the Senator's face, and saw 
 there that smile which he had already, bold as he was, learned 
 to dread. He felt himself fairly sunk in the pit he had digged 
 for another. There was that in the Senator-Tribune's brow 
 that told him to refuse was to declare open war, and the mo- 
 ment was not ripe for that. 
 
 " Ye accede," said Rienzi ; "ye have done well.'* 
 
 The Senator clapped his hands — h's guard appeared. 
 
 " Summon the head constables of the soldiery." 
 
 The brothers still remained dumb. 
 
 The constables entered. 
 
 ** My friends," said Rienzi, "Messere Brettone and Messere 
 Arimbaldo have my directions to divide amongst your force a 
 thousand florins. This evening we encamp beneath Palestrina." 
 
 The constables withdrew in visible surprise. Rienzi gazed 
 a moment on the brothers, chuckling within himself, for his 
 sarcastic humor enjoyed his triumph. "You lament not your 
 devotion, my friends ! " 
 
 " No," said Brettone, rousing himself ; " the sum but trivially 
 swells our debt." 
 
 " Frankly said — your hands once more ! The good people 
 of Tivoli expect me in the Piazza — they require some admoni- 
 tions. Adieu till noon." 
 
 When the door closed on Rienzi, Brettone struck the handle 
 
 * See the anonymous biographer, lib. ii., cap. 19. 
 
3^6 l:IEN2I, 
 
 cf his sword fiercely. "The Roman laughs at us," said he. 
 ** But let Walter de Montreal once appear in Rome, and thr 
 proud jester sliall pay us dearly for this." 
 
 " Hush," said Arimbaldo, " walls have ears, and that imp of 
 Satan, young Villani, seems to me ever at our heels i " 
 
 " A thousand Horins ! I trust his heart halh as many drops," 
 growled the chafed Brettone, unheeding his brother. 
 
 The soldiers were paid — the army marched — the eloquence 
 of the Senator had augmented his force by volunteers from 
 Tivoli, and wild and half-armed peasantry joined his standard 
 from the Campagna and the neighboring mountains. 
 
 Palestrina was besieged : Rienzi continued dexterously to 
 watch the brothers of Montreal. Under pretext of imparting 
 to the Italian volunteers the advantage of their military science, 
 he separated them from their mercenaries, and assigned to 
 them the command of the less disciplined Italians, with whom, 
 he believed, they could not venture to tamper. He himself as- 
 sumed the lead of the Northmen ; and, despite themselves, 
 they were fascinated by his artful yet dignified affability, and 
 the personal courage he displayed in some sallies of the be- 
 sieged barons. But as the uuntsmen upon all the subtlest 
 windings of their prey, so pressed the relentless and speeding 
 Fates upon Cola di Rienzi ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE EVENTS GATHER TO THE END. 
 
 While this the state of the camp of the besiegers, Luca di 
 Savelli and Stefanello Colonna were closeted with a stranger, 
 v/ho had privately entered Palestrina on the night before the 
 Romans pitched their tents beneath its walls. This visitor, 
 •vho might have somewhat passed his fortieth year, yet re- 
 tained, scarcely diminished, the uncommon beauty of form and 
 countenance for which his youth had been remarkable. But 
 it was no longer thnt character of beauty which has been de- 
 scribed in his first introduction to the reader. It was no longer 
 the almost womanly delicacy of feature and complexion, or 
 +.he highborn polish and graceful suavity of manner which dis- 
 tinguished Waller de Montreal : a life of vicissitude and war 
 ■lad at length done its work. His bearing was now abrupt and 
 imperious, as that of one accustomed to rule wild spirits, and 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 387 
 
 he had exchanged the grace of persuasion for the stemnccs of 
 command. His athletic form had grown more spare and sin- 
 ewy, and instead of the brow half-shaded by fair and cluster- 
 ing curls, his forehead, though yet but slightly v/rinkled, was 
 completely bald at the temples ; and, by its unwonted height, 
 increased the dignity and manliness of his aspect. The bloom 
 of his complexion was faded, less by outward exposure than 
 inward thought, into a bronzed and settled paleness ; and his 
 features seemed more marked and prominent, as the flesh had 
 somewhat sunk froia the contour of the cheek. Yet the 
 change suited tho change of age and circumstance; and if the 
 Proven9al now less realized the idea of the brave and fair hnight- 
 errant, he but looked the more what the knight-errant had be- 
 come — the sagacious counsellor and the mighty leader. 
 
 " You must be aware," said Montreal, continuing a discourse 
 which appeared to have made great impression on his compan- 
 ions, ' that in this contest between yourselves and the Senator, 
 I alone hold the balance. Rienzi is utterly in my power — my 
 brothers, the leaders of his army ; myself his creditor. It 
 rests with me to secure him on the throne, or to send him to 
 the scaffold. I have but to give the order, and the Grand 
 Company enter Rome ; but without their agency, methinks 
 if you keep faith with me, our purpose can be effected." 
 
 " In the mean while, Palestrina is besieged by j^our broth- 
 ers ! " said Stefanello sharply. 
 
 " But they have my orders to waste their time before its 
 walls. Do you not see, that by this very siege, fruitless as, if I 
 will, it shall be, Rienzi loses fame abroad, and popularity in 
 Rome." 
 
 " Sir Knight," said Luca di Savelli, " you speak as a man 
 versed in the profound policy of the times ; and under all 
 the circumstances which menace us, your proposal seems but 
 fitting and reasonable. On the one hand, you undertake to 
 restore us and the other barons to Rome ; and to give Rienzi 
 to the Staircase of the Lion — " 
 
 *' Not so, not so," replied Montreal quickly. *' I will con- 
 sent either so to subdue and cripple his power, as to render .him 
 a puppet in our hands, a mere shadow of authority ; or, if his 
 proud spirit chafe at its cage, to give it once more liberty 
 amongst the wilds of Germany. I would fetter or banish him, 
 but not destroy ; unless (added Montreal, after a moment's 
 pause) fate absolutely drives us to it. Power should not de- 
 ttiind victims ; but to secure it, victims may be necessary." 
 
 **1 Ufiii«cstAn4 your refinements," said JUwca di SavcIIi, with 
 
388 RIENZI, 
 
 his icy smile, " and am satisfied. The barons once restored, our 
 palaces once more manned, and I am willing to take the chance 
 of the Senator's longevity. This service you promise to 
 effect ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 '* And, in return, you demand our assent to your enjoying the 
 rank of Podesta for five years ? " 
 
 *' You say right." 
 
 " I, for one, accede to the terms," said the Savelli : " there 
 is my hand I am wearied of these brawls, even amongst our- 
 selves, and think that a foreign ruler may best enforce or 
 der : the more especially, if like you. Sir Knight, one whose 
 birth and renown are such as to make him comprehend the 
 difference between barons and plebeians." 
 
 '' For my part," said Stefanello, " I feel that we have but a 
 choice of evils : I like not a foreign Podesta ; but I like a ple- 
 beian Senator still less ; there too is my hand. Sir Knight." 
 
 *' Noble signors," said Montreal, after a short pause, and 
 turning his piercing gaze from one to the other with great delib- 
 eration, " our compact is sealed ; one word by way of codicil. 
 Walter de Montreal is no Count Pepin of Minorbino ! Once 
 before, little dreaming, I own, that the victory would be so fac- 
 ile, I intrusted your cause and mine to a deputy ; your cause 
 he promoted, mine he lost. He drove out the Tribune, and 
 then suffered the barons to banish himself. This time I 
 see to my own affairs ; and, mark you, I have learned in the 
 Grand Company one lesson : viz., never to pardon spy or de- 
 serter, of whatever rank. Your forgiveness for the hint. Let 
 us change the theme. So ye detain in your fortress my old 
 friend the Baron di Castello ? " 
 
 " Ay," said Luca di Savelli ; for Stefanello, stung by Mon- 
 treal's threat, which he dared not openly resent, preserved a 
 sullen silence ; "Ay, he is one noble the less to the Senator's 
 Council," 
 
 " You act wisely. I know his views and temper ; at present 
 dangerous to our interests. Yet use him well, I entreat you ; 
 he may hereafter serve us. And now, my lords, my eyes are 
 weary, PAilTer me to retire. Pleasant dreams of the New Rev- 
 olution to us all I " 
 
 " By your leave, noble Montreal, we will attend you to your 
 couch," said Luca di Savelli. 
 
 " By my troth, and ye shall not. I am no Tribune to have 
 great signors for my pages ; but a plain ^etltleman, and a hardy 
 «Hd«<»f r your atutid«nts v/iW conduct ma tt whatevtr chambeC 
 
THE LAST OF iHE TRIBUNES. 389 
 
 your hospitality assigns to one who could sleep soundly beneath 
 the rudest hedge under your open skies." 
 
 Savelli, however, insisted on conducting the Podesta that 
 was to be to his apartment. He then returned to Stefanello, 
 whom he found pacing the saloon with long and disordered 
 strides. 
 
 " What have we done, Savelli ? " said he quickly ; " sold oui 
 city to a barbarian ! " 
 
 " Sold ! " said Savelli ; " to my mind it is the other part of 
 the contract in which we have played our share. We have 
 bought, Colonna, not sold — bought our lives from yon army ; 
 bought our power, our fortunes, our castles, from the Dema- 
 gogue Senator : bought, what is better than all, triumph and re- 
 venge. Tush, Colonna, see you not that if we had balked this 
 great warrior, we had perished ? Leagued with the Senator, 
 the Grand Company would have marched to Rome ; and, 
 whether Montreal assisted or murdered Rienzi (for methinks 
 he is a Romulus, who would brook no Remus), we had equally 
 been undone. Now^ we have made our own terms, and our 
 shares are equal. Nay, the first steps to be taken are in our 
 favor. Rienzi is to be snared, and we are to enter Rome." 
 " And then the Proven9al is to be despot of the city." 
 " Podesta, if you please. Podestas who offend the people 
 are often banished, and sometimes stoned ; Podestas who insult 
 the nobles are often stilettoed, and sometimes poisoned," said 
 Savelli. "* Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. * Mean- 
 while, say nothing to the bear, Orsini. Such men mar all 
 wisdom. Come, cheer thee, Stefanello." 
 
 " Luca di Savelli, you have not such a stake in Rome as I 
 have," said the young lord haughtily ; " no Podesta can take 
 ixovayou the rank of the first signor of the Italian metropolis ! '* 
 "An you had said so to the Orsini, there would have been 
 drawing of swords," said Savelli. " But cheer thee, I say ; is 
 noc our first care to destroy Rienzi, and then, between the 
 death of one foe and the rise of another, are there not such 
 preventives as Ezzelino da Romano has taught to wary men ? 
 Cheer thee, I say ; and, next year, if we but hold together, 
 Stefanello Colonna and Luca di Savelli will be joint Senators of 
 Rome, and these great me'a food for worms ! " 
 
 While thus conferred the barons, Montreal, ere he retired to 
 rest, stood gazing from the open lattice of his chamber over the 
 landscape below, which slept in the autumnal moonlight, while 
 at a distance gleamed, pale and steady, the lights round the 
 encampment of the besiegers^ 
 
390 RIENZI, 
 
 " Wi^e plains and broad valleys,*' thought the warrior, "soon 
 [;hall y: repose i i peace beneath a new sway, against which no 
 petty tyrant? shall dare rebel. And ye, white walls of canvas, 
 even while I {;aze, j'^ admonish me how realms are won. Even 
 as, of old, from the Nomad tents was built up the stately Baby- 
 lon, •• that ' was not till the Assyrian founded it for them that 
 dv/cll in the wilderness '; so by the new Ishmaelites of Europe 
 ::hall a race, undreamt of now, be founded ; and the camp of 
 yesterday be the city of to-morrow. Verily, when, for one soft 
 offence, the Pontiff thrust me from the bosom of the Church, 
 little guessed he what enemy he raised to Rome ! How solemn 
 \z the night I how still the heavens and earth ! the very stars 
 arc as hushed as if intent on the events that are to pass below ! 
 So solemn and so still feels mine own spirit, and an awe un- 
 knov/n till now warns me that I approach the crisis of my daring 
 fate I " 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 THE LION OF BASALT. 
 
 " Ora voglio contare la morte del Tribuno." — Fii. di Cola di Rienzi, lib. 
 ii , cap. 24. 
 
 " Now will I narrate the death of the Tribune."— Z//"^ #/ Oh di Rienzi, 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE CONJUNCTION OF HOSTILE PLANETS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 OF DEATH. 
 
 On the fourth day of the siege, and after beating back to 
 ihose almost impregnable walls the soldiery of the barons, 
 headed by the Prince of the Orsini, the Senator returned to his 
 tent, where despatches from Rome awaited him. He ran his 
 eye hastily over them, till he came to the last ; yet each con- 
 tained news that might have longer delayed the eye of a man 
 less inured to danger. From one he learned that Albornoz, 
 whose blessing had confirmed to him the rank of Senator, had 
 received with special favor the messengers of the Orsini and 
 
 ' Isaiah, c. xxii. 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 39I 
 
 Colonna. He knew that the Cardinal, whose views connected 
 him with the Roman patricians, desired his downfall ; but he 
 feared not Albornoz : perhaps in his secret heart he wished 
 that any open aggression from the Pontiff's Legate might throw 
 him wholly on the people. 
 
 He learned further, that, short as had been his absence, 
 Pandulfo di Guido had twice addressed the populace, not in 
 favor of the Senator, but in artful regrets of the loss to the 
 trade of Rome in the absence of her wealthiest nobles. 
 
 ' For this, then, he has deserted me," said Rienzi to himself. 
 "Let him beware ! " 
 
 The tidings contained in the next touched him home : 
 Walter de Montreal had openly arrived in Rome. The grasping 
 and lawless bandit, whose rapine filled with a robber's booty 
 every bank in Europe ; whose Company was the army of a 
 King ; whose ambition, vast, unprincipled, and profound, he so 
 well knew ; whose brothers were in his camp — their treason 
 already more than suspected ; — Walter de Montreal was in 
 Rome ! 
 
 The Senator remained perfectly aghast at this new peril ; 
 and then said, setting his teeth as in a vise : 
 
 *' Wild tiger, thou art in the Lion's den ! " Then pausing, 
 he broke out again : *' One false step, Walter de Montreal, and 
 all the mailed hands of the Grand Company shall not pluck 
 Ihee from the abyss ! But what can I do ? Return to Rome — 
 the plans of Montreal unpenetrated — no accusation against 
 him ! On what pretence can I with honor raise the siege? To 
 leave Palestrina is to give a triumph to the barons ; to abandon 
 Adrian, to degrade my cause. Yet, while away from Rome, 
 every hour breeds treason and danger. Pandulfo, Albornoz,Mor- 
 treal — all are at work against me. A keen and trusty spy, noA. 
 — ha, well thought of — Villani ! What, ho — Angelo Villani I'* 
 
 The young chamberlain appeared. 
 
 " I think," said Rienzi, " to have often heard that thou art an 
 orphan ? " 
 
 "True, my lord; the old Augustine nun who reared my 
 boyhood hac told me again and again that my parents are dead. 
 Both noble, my lord ; but I am the child of shame. And I 
 say it often, and think of it ever, in order to make Angelo 
 Villani remember that he has a name to win." 
 
 Young man, serve me as you have served, and if I live you 
 shall have no need to call yourself an orphan. Mark me ! I 
 want a friend — the Sen;it('r of Rome wants a friend — only one 
 friend — gentle Heaven ! only one } " 
 
392 RIENZI, 
 
 Angelo sank on his knee, and kissed the mantle of his lord 
 
 *' Say a follower. I am too mean to be Rienzi's friend." 
 
 "Too mean ! — go to ! There is nothing mean before God, 
 unless it be a base soul under high titles. With me, boy, there 
 is bet one nobility, and Nature signs its charter. Listen : thou 
 hearest daily of Walter de Montreal, brother to these Proven- 
 cals — great captain of great robbers ? " 
 
 *' Ay, and I have seen him, my lord." 
 
 " Well, then, he is in Rome. Some daring thought, some 
 well-supported and deep-schemed villany, could alone make 
 that bandit venture openly into an Italian city, whose territories 
 he ravaged by fire and sword a few months back. But his 
 brothers have lent me money — assisted my return ; for their 
 own ends, it is true : but the seeming obligation gives them 
 real power. These Northern swordsmen would cut my throat 
 if the Great Captain bade them. He counts on my supposed 
 weakness. I know him of old. I suspect, nay I read, his pro- 
 jects ; but I cannot prove them. Without proof I cannot 
 desert Palestrina in order to accuse and seize him. Thou art 
 shrewd, thoughtful, acute ; couldst thou go to Rome ? — watch 
 day and night his movements ; see if he receive messengers 
 from Albornoz or the barons ; if he confer with Pandulfo di 
 Guido ; watch his lodgment, I say, night and day. He affects 
 no concealment ; your task will be less difficult than it seems. 
 Apprise the Signora of all you learn. Give me your news daily. 
 Will you undertake this mission ? " 
 
 " I will, my lord." 
 
 " To horse, then, quick ! And mind, save the wife of my 
 bosom, I have no confidant in Rome." 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 MONTREAL AT ROME. — HIS RECEPTION OF ANGELO VILLANl. 
 
 The danger that threatened Rienzi by the arrival of Mont« 
 real was indeed formidable. The Knight of St. John, having 
 marched his army into Lombardy, had placed it at the disposal 
 of the Venetian State i.i its war v/ith the Archbishop of Milar.. 
 For this service he received an immense sum ; while he pro- 
 vided winter quarters for his troop, for v/hom he proposed 
 am[)lc work in the ensuing spring. I,eaving Palestrina secretly 
 and in disguise, with bu( a slender train, whigh Riet him 9,t 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 393 
 
 Tivoli, Montreal repaired to Rome. His ostensible object was, 
 partly to congratulate the Senator on his return, partly to 
 receive the moneys lent to Rienzi by his brother. 
 
 His secret object we have partly seen ; but not contented 
 with the support of the barons, he trusted, by the corrupting 
 means of his enormous wealth, to form a third party in support 
 of his own ulterior designs. Wealth, indeed, in that age and 
 in that land, was scarcely less the purchaser of diadems than it 
 had been in the later days of the Roman Empire. And in 
 many a city torn by hereditary feuds the hatred of faction rose 
 to that extent, that a foreign tyrant, willing and able to expel 
 one party, might obtain at least the temporary submission of 
 the other. His after-success was greatly in proportion to his 
 power to maintain his state by a force which was independent 
 of the citizens, and by a treasury which did not require the 
 odious recruit of taxes. But more avaricious than ambitious, 
 more cruel than firm, it was by griping exaction, or unneces- 
 sary bloodshed, that such usurpers usually fell. 
 
 Montreal, who had scanned the frequent revolutions of the 
 time with a calm and investigating eye, trusted that he should 
 be enabled to avoid both these errors ; and, as the reader has 
 already seen, he had formed the profound and sagacious pro- 
 ject of consolidating his usurpation by an utterly new race of 
 nobles, who, serving him by the feudal tenure of the North, 
 and ever ready to protect him, because in so doing they pro- 
 tected their own interests, should assist to erect, not the rotten 
 and unsupported fabric of a single tyranny, but the strong 
 fortress of a new, hardy, and compact aristocratic State. Thus 
 iiad the great dynasties of the North been founded, in which a 
 king, though seemingly curbed by the barons, was in reality 
 supported by a common interest, whether against a subdued 
 population or a foreign invasion. 
 
 Such were the vast schemes — extending into yet wider fields 
 of glory and conquest, bounded only by the Alps — with which 
 the Captain of the Grand Company beheld the columns and 
 arches of the Seven-hilled City. 
 
 No fear disturbed the long current of his thoughts. His 
 brothers were the leaders of Rienzi's hireling army — that army 
 were his creatures. Over Rienzi himself he assumed the right 
 of a creditor. Thus against one party he deemed himself 
 secure. For the friends of the Pope, he had supported himself 
 with private, though cautious letters from Albornoz, who de- 
 sired only to make use of hira for the return of the Roman 
 barons ; and with tb? heads of the letter we have already wit- 
 
394 RIENZI, 
 
 nessed liis negotiations. Thus was he fitted, as he thought, to 
 examine, to tamper with all parties, and to select from each 
 the materials necessary for his own objects. 
 
 The open appearance of Montreal excited in Rome no incon- 
 siderable sensation. The friends of the barons gave out that 
 Rienzi was in league with the Grand Company ; and that he j 
 was to sell the Imperial City to the plunder and pillage of bar- I 
 barian robbers. The effrontery with which Montreal (against I 
 whom, more than once, the Pontiff had thundered his bulls) 
 appeared in the Metropolitan City of the Church, was made 
 yet more insolent by the recollection of that stern justice which j 
 had led the Tribune to declare open war against all the rob- 
 bers of Italy ; and this audacity was linked with the obvious 
 reflection, that the brothers of the bold Provencal were the in- 
 struments of Rienzi's return. So quickly spread suspicion i 
 through the city, that Montreal's presence alone would in a 3 
 few weeks have sufficed to ruin the Senator. Meanwhile, the 
 natural boldness of Montreal silenced every whisper of pru- 
 dence ; and, blinded by the dazzle of his hopes, the Knight 
 of St. John, as if to give double importance to his coming, 
 took up his residence in a sumptuous palace, and his 
 retinue rivalled, in the splendor of garb and pomp, 
 the display of Rienzi himself in his earlier and more bril- 
 liant power. 
 
 Amidst the growing excitement Angelo* Villani arrived at 
 Rome. The character of this young man had been formed by 
 his peculiar' circumstances. He possessed qualities which 
 often mark the illegitimate as with a common stamp. He was 
 insolent — like most of those who hold a doubtful rank ; and 
 while ashamed of his bastardy, was arrogant of the supposed 
 nobility of his unknown parentage. The universal ferment and 
 agitation of Italy at that day rendered ambition the most com- 
 mon of all the passions, and thus ambition, in all its many 
 shades and varieties, forces itself into our delineations of 
 character in this history. Though not for Angelo Villani 
 were the dreams of the more lofty and generous order of that 
 sublime infirmity, he was strongly incited by the desire and 
 resolve to rise. He had warm affections and grateful im- 
 pulses ; and his fidelity to his patron had been carried to a 
 virtue : but from his irregulated and desultory education, and 
 the reckless profligacy of those with whom, in ante-chambers 
 and guard-rooms, much of his youth had been passed, he had 
 neither high principles nor an enlightened honor. Like most 
 Jtaliar^s cunning and shrewd, he scrupled not at any deceit that 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 395 
 
 served a purpose or a friend. His strong attachment to Rienzi 
 had been unconsciously increased by the gratification of pride 
 and vanity, flattered by the favor of so celebrated a man. 
 Both self-interest and attachment urged him to every effort to 
 promote the views and safety of one at once his benefactor 
 and patron ; and on undertaking his present mission, his only 
 thought was to fulfil it with the most complete success. Far 
 more brave and daring than was common with the Italians, 
 something of the hardihood of an Ultramontane race gave 
 nerve and vigor to his craft ; and from what his art suggested 
 his courage never shrunk. 
 
 When Rienzi had first detailed to him the objects of his 
 present task, he instantly called to mind his adventure with 
 the tall soldier in the crowd at Avignon. " If ever thou want- 
 est a friend, seek him in Walter de Montreal," were words that 
 that had often rung in his ear, and they now recurred to him 
 with prophetic distinctness. He had no doubt that it was 
 Montreal himself whom he had seen. Why the Great Captain 
 should have taken this interest in him Angelo little cared to 
 conjecture. Most probably it was but a crafty pretence — one 
 of the common means by which the Chief of the Grand Company 
 attracted to himself the youths of Italy, as well as the war- 
 riors of the North, He only thought now how he could turn 
 the knight's promise to account. What more easy than to pre- 
 sent himself to Montreal — remind him of the v/ords — enter his 
 service — and thus effectually watch his conduct ? The office 
 of spy was not that which would have pleased every mind, but 
 it shocked not the fastidiousness of Angelo Villani : and the 
 fearful hatred with which his patron had often spoken of the 
 avaricious and barbarian robber — the scourge of his native 
 land — had infected the young man, who had much of the arro- 
 gant and mock patriotism of the Romans, with a similar senti- 
 ment. More vindictive even than grateful, he bore, too, a 
 secret grudge against Montreal's brothers, whose rough address 
 had often wounded his pride ; and, above all, his early recol- 
 lections of the fear and execration in which Ursula seemed 
 ever to hold the terrible Fra Moreale, impressed him with a 
 vague belief of some ancient wrong to himself or his race 
 perpetrated by the Proven9al, which he was not ill-pleased to 
 have the occasion to avenge. In truth, the words of Ursula, 
 mystic and dark as they were in their denunciation, had left 
 upon Villani'p boyish impressions an unaccountable feeling of 
 antipathy and hatred to the man it was now his object to be- 
 tray. For the rest, every device seemed to him decorous and 
 
396 RiEN^t 
 
 justifiable, so that it saved his master, served his country, and 
 advanced himself. 
 
 Montreal was alone in his chamber when it was announced to 
 him that a young Italian craved an audience. Professionally 
 open to access, he forthwith gave admission to the applicant. 
 
 The Knight of St. John instantly recognized the page he had 
 encountered at Avignon ; and when Angelo Villani said, with 
 easy boldness, " I have come to remind Sir Walter de Montreal 
 of a promise — " 
 
 The knight interrupted him with cordial frankness : " Tho« 
 needest not — I remember it. Dost thou now require my 
 friendship ? " 
 
 *' I do, noble signor ! " answered Angelo ; " I know not where 
 else to seek a patron." 
 
 " Canst thou read and write ? I fear me not." 
 
 *' I have been taught those arts," replied Villani. 
 
 *' It is well. Is thy birth gentle ? " 
 
 **It is." 
 
 *' Better still ; thy name ? " 
 
 ** Angelo Villani." 
 
 " I take thy blue eyes and low broad brow,** said Montreal, 
 with a slight sigh, " in pledge of thy truth. Henceforth, Angelo 
 Villani, thou art in the list of my secretaries. Another time 
 thou shalt tell me more of thyself. Thy service dates fiom this 
 day. For the rest, no man ever wanted wealth who served 
 Walter de Montreal ; nor advancement, if he served him faith- 
 fully. My closet, through yonder door, is thy waiting-room. 
 Ask for, and send hither, Lusignan of Lyons ; he is my chief 
 scribe, and will see to thy comforts, and instruct thee in thy 
 business." 
 
 Angelo withdrew ; Montreal's eye followed him. 
 
 " A strange likeness ! " said he, musingly and sadly ; " my 
 heart leaps to that boy I " 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Montreal's banquet. 
 
 Some few days after the date of the last chapter Rienzi re- 
 ceived news from Rome which seemed to produce in him a joy- 
 ous and elated excitement. His troops still lay before Pales- 
 trina, and still the banners of the barons waved over its uncoiv 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 397 
 
 quered walls. In truth, the Italians employed half their time 
 in brawls amongst themselves ; the Velletritrani had feuds with 
 the people of Tivoli, and the Romans were still afraid of con- 
 quering the barons : "The hornet," said they, "stings worse 
 after he is dead ; and neither an Orsini, a Savelli, nor a Co- 
 lonna, was ever known to forgive." 
 
 Again and again had the captains of his army assured the 
 indignant Senator that the fortress was impregnable, and that 
 time and money were idly wasted upon the siege. Rienzi knew 
 better, but he concealed his thoughts. 
 
 He now summoned to his tent the brothers of Provence, and 
 announced to them his intention of returning instantly to Rome. 
 "The mercenaries shall continue the siege under our lieutenant, 
 and you, with my Roman Legion, shall accompany me. Your 
 brother, Sir Walter, and I, both want your presence ; we have 
 affairs to arrange between us. After a few days I shall raise 
 recruits in the city, and return." 
 
 This was what the brothers desired ; they approved, with evi 
 dent joy, the Senator's proposition. 
 
 Rienzi next sent for the lieutenant of his body-guard, the 
 same Riccardo Annibaldi whom the reader will remember in 
 the earlier part of this work, as the antagonist of Montreal's 
 lance. This young man — one of the few nobles who espoused 
 the cause of the Senator — had evinced great courage and mili- 
 tary ability, and promised fair (should Fate spare his life *) to 
 become one of the best captains of his time. 
 
 " Dear Annibaldi," said Rienzi ; " at length I can fulfil the 
 project on which we have privately conferred. I take with me 
 to Rome the two Proven9al captains — I leave you chief of the 
 army. Palestrina will yield now — eh ! ha, ha, ha ! Palestrina 
 will yield now ! " 
 
 " By my right hand, I think so, Senator," replied Annibaldi. 
 ' These foreigners have hitherto only stirred up quarrels amongst 
 ourselves, and if not cowards are certainly traitors ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush, hush ! Traitors ! The learned Arimbaldo, 
 the brave Brettone, traitors ! Fie on it ! No, no ; they are 
 very excellent, honorable men, but not lucky in the camp — not 
 lucky in the camp ; better speed to them in the city ! And 
 now to business." 
 
 The Senator then detailed to Annibaldi the plan he himself 
 had formed for taking the town, and the military skill of Anni- 
 baldi at once recognized its feasibility. 
 
 * It appears that this was the same Annibaldi Who was al'terwards siftin «n an «Sray I 
 
398 RIENZI, 
 
 With his Roman troop, and Montreal's broth'eiS, one at 
 either hand, Rienzi then departed to Rome. 
 
 That night Montreal gave a banquet to Pandulfo di Guido, 
 and to certain of the principal citizens, whom one by one he 
 had already sounded, and found hollow at heart to the cause 
 of the Senator. 
 
 Pandulfo sate at the right hand of the Knight of St. John, 
 and Montreal lavished upon him the most courteous attentions. 
 
 " Pledge me in this — it is from the Vale of Chiana, near 
 Monte Pulciano," said Montreal. *' I think I have heard book- 
 men say (you know, Signor Pandulfo, we ought all to be book- 
 men now !) that the site was renowned of old. In truth, the 
 wine hath a racy flavor." 
 
 "I hear," said Bruttini, one of the lesser barons (a stanch 
 friend to the Colonna), " thr.t in this respect the innkeeper's 
 son has put his book-learninf^ to some use : he knows every 
 place where the wine grows richest/* 
 
 " What ! the Senator is turned wine-bibber ! " said Mon- 
 treal, quaffing a vast goblet full ; " that must unfit him for 
 business — 'tis a pity." 
 
 " Verily, yes," said Pandulfo ; " a man at the head of a state 
 should be temperate — /never drink wine unmixed." 
 
 " Ah," whispered Montreal, " if your calm good sense ruled 
 Rome, then, indeed, the metropolis of Italy might taste of 
 peace„ Signor Vivaldi," — and the host turned towards a 
 wealthy draper — " these disturbances are bad for trade." 
 
 " Very, very ! " groaned the draper. 
 
 ** The barons are your best customers," quoth the minor noble. 
 
 " Much, much ! " said the draper. 
 
 " 'Tis a pity that they are thus roughly expelled," said Mon- 
 treal, in a melancholy tone. *' Would it not be possible, if the 
 Senator (/ drink his health) were less rash — less zealous, 
 rather, — to unite free institutions with the return of the 
 barons ? — Such should be the task of a truly wise statesman ! " 
 
 "It surely might be possible," returned Vivaldi; "the Sa- 
 velli alone spend more with me than all the rest of Rome." 
 
 "I know not if it be possible," said Bruttini; "but I do 
 know that it is an outrage to all decorum that an innkeeper's son 
 should be enabled to make a solitude of the palaces of Rome." 
 
 "It certainly seems to indicate too vulgar a desire of mob 
 favor," said Montreal. "However, I trust we shall harmonize 
 all these diipFerenees. Kiensi, perhaps«~-*nay. doubtless — m^aus 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ^gy 
 
 "I would," said Vivaldi, who had received his cue, "tViat we 
 might form a mixed constitution — Plebeians and Patricians, 
 each in their separate order." 
 
 "But," said Montreal gravely, "so new an experiment woul' 
 demand great physical force." 
 
 "Why, true; but we might call in an umpire — a foreigner 
 who had no interest in either faction ; who might protect the 
 new Buono Stato ,• a Podesta, as we have done before — Bran- 
 :aleone, for instance. How well and wisely he ruled ! that was 
 a golden age for Rome. A Podesta forever ! — that's my theory." 
 
 "You need not seek far for the president of your council," 
 said Montreal, smiling at Pandulfo ; "a citizen at once popu- 
 lar, well-born, and wealthy, may be found at my right hand." 
 
 Pandulfo hemmed and colored. 
 
 Montreal proceeded. "A committee of trades might fu^nis^, 
 an honorable employment to Signor Vivaldi ; and the treat- 
 ment of all foreign affairs — the employment of armies, etc., 
 might be left to the barons, with a more open competition, 
 Signor di Bruttini, to the barons of the second order than has 
 hitherto been conceded to their birth and importance. Sirs, 
 will you taste the Malvoisie .•*" 
 
 "Still," said Vivaldi after a pause — (Vivaldi anticipated at 
 least the supplying with cloth the whole of the Grand Com- 
 pany) — " still, such a moderate and well-digested constitution 
 would never be acceded to by Rienzi." 
 
 "Why should it? what need of Rienzi?" exclaimed Brut- 
 tini. "Rienzi may take another trip to Bohemia." 
 
 "Gently, gently," said Montreal; "I do not despair. All 
 open violence against the Senator would strengthen his power. 
 No, no, humble him ; admit the barons, and then insist on 
 your own terms. Between the two factions you might then 
 establish a fitting balance. And in order to keep your new 
 constitution from the encroachment of either extreme, there 
 arg warriors and knights, too, who for a certain rank in the 
 great city of Rome would maintain horse and foot at its ser- 
 vice. We Ultramontanes are often harshly judged ; we are 
 wanderers and Ishmaelites, solely because we have no honor- 
 able place of rest. Now, if / — " 
 
 "Ay, if you, noble Montreal !" said Vivaldi. 
 
 The company remained hushed in breathless attention, when 
 suddenly there was heard — deep, solemn, muffled, — the great 
 bell of the Capitol ! 
 
 " Hark ! " said Vivaldi, "the bell : it tolls for execution : aa 
 unwonted hour I " 
 
406 klENZl, 
 
 "Sure, the Senator has not returned !" exclaimed Pandiilfo 
 di Guido, turning pale. 
 
 " No, no," quoth Bruttini, "it is but a robber, caught two 
 nights ago at Romagna. 1 heard that he was to die to-night." 
 
 "At the word "robber" Montreal changed countenance 
 slightly. The wine circulated — the bell continued to toll ; it« 
 suddenness over, it ceased to alarm. Conversation How 
 again. 
 
 "What were you saying, Sir Knight?" said Vivaldi. 
 
 "Why, let me think on't ; oh, speaking of the necessity . 
 supporting a new State by force, I said that if / — " 
 
 "Ah, that was it !" quoth Bruttini, thumping the table. 
 
 "If /were summoned to your aid — summoned^ mind ye, and 
 absolved by the Pope's Legate of my former sins — (they weigh 
 heavily on me, gentles) — I would myself guard your city from 
 foreign foe and civil disturbance with my gallant swordsmen. 
 Not a Roman citizen should contribute a 'danaro* to the 
 cost." 
 
 ^^ Viva Fra Moreale /** cried Bruttini; and the shout was 
 echoed by all the boon companions, 
 
 "Enough for me," continued Montreal, "to expiate my 
 offences. Ye know, gentlemen, my order is vowed to God 
 and the Church — a warrior-monk am I ! Enough for me to 
 expiate my offences, I say, in the defence of the Holy City. 
 Yet I, too, have my private and more earthly views, — who is 
 above them ? I — the bell changes its note ! " 
 
 " It is but the change that preludes execution ; the poor 
 robber is about to die ! " 
 
 Montreal crossed himself, and resumed: "I am a knight 
 and a noble," said he proudly; "the profession I have fol- 
 lowed is that of arms ; but — I will not disguise it — mine 
 equals have regarded me as one who has stained his scutcheon 
 by too reckless a pursuit of glory and of gain. I wish to rec- 
 oncile myself with my order ; to purchase a new name ; to 
 vindicate myself to the Grand Master and the Pontiff. I have 
 had hints, gentles, — hints that I might best promote my interest 
 by restoring order to the Papal metropolis. The Legate Al- 
 bornoz (here is his letter) recommends me to keep watch upon 
 the Senator." 
 
 "Surely," interrupted Pandulfo, "I hear steps below." 
 
 "The mob going to the robber's execution," said Bruttini; 
 "proceed. Sir Knight !" 
 
 "And," continued Montreal, surveying his audience before 
 he proceeded farther, " what think ye- -(I do but ask your 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 4OI 
 
 Opinion, wiser than mine) — what think ye, as a fitting precau- 
 tion against too arbitrary a power in the Senator — what think 
 ye of the return of the Colonna, and the bold barons of 
 Palestrina?" 
 
 "Here's to their health !" cried Vivaldi, rising. 
 
 As by a sudden impulse, the company rose. **To the health 
 of the besieged barons ! " was shouted aloud. 
 
 " Next, what if — (I do but humbly suggest) — what if you 
 gave the Senator a colleague ? it is no affront to him. It was 
 but as yesterday that one of the Colonna, who was Senator, 
 received a colleague in Bertoldo Orsini." 
 
 "A most wise precaution," cried Vivaldi. "And where a 
 colleague like Pandulfo di Guido.**" 
 
 ^^ Viva Pandulfo di Guido T' cried the guests, and again 
 their goblets were drained to the bottom. 
 
 "And if in this I can assist ye by fair words with the Sena- 
 tor (ye know he owes me moneys — my brothers have served 
 him), command Walter de Montreal." 
 
 "And if fair words fail?" said Vivaldi. 
 
 "The Grand Company — (heed me, _y<f are the counsellors) — 
 the Grand Company is accustomed to forced marches ! " 
 
 ^^ Viva Fra Moreale I" cried Bruttini and Vivaldi simulta- 
 neously. "A health to all, my friends"; continued Bruttini; 
 "a health to the barons, Rome's old friends ; to Pandulfo di 
 Guido, the Senator's new colleague, and to Fra Moreale, 
 Rome's new Podesta." 
 
 " The bell has ceased," said Vivaldi, putting down his goblet 
 
 ** Heaven have mercy on the robber ! " added Bruttini. 
 
 Scarce had he spoken, ere three taps were heard at the door ; 
 the guests looked at each other in dumb amaze. 
 
 " New guests ! " said Montreal. " I asked some trusty 
 friends to join us this evening. By my faith, they are welcome ; 
 Enter ! " 
 
 The door opened slowly ; three by three entered, in com- 
 plete armor, the guards of the Senator. On they marched, 
 regular and speechless. They surrounded the festive board ; 
 they filled the spacious hall, and the lights of the banquet 
 Urere reflected upon their corselets as on a wall of steel. 
 
 Not a syllable was uttered by the feasters ; they were as if 
 turned to stone. Presently the guards gave way, and Ricnzi 
 himself appeared. He approached the table, and folding his 
 arms, turned his gaze deliberately from guest to guest, till at 
 last his eyes rested on Montreal, who had also risen, and who 
 alone of the party had recovered the amaze of the moment. 
 
402 RIEN2I, 
 
 And there, as these two men, each so celebrated, so proud, 
 able, and ambitious, stood, front to front, it was literally as i( 
 the rival Spirits of Force and Intellect, Order and Strife, of 
 the Falchion and the Fasces — the Antagonist Principles by 
 which empires are ruled and empires overthrown, had met to- 
 gether, incarnate and opposed. They stood, both silent, as 
 'if fascinated by each other's gaze, — loftier in stature and no- 
 Dler in presence than all around. 
 
 Montreal spoke first, and with a forced smile. 
 
 " Senator of Rome ! dare I believe that my poor banquet 
 .empts thee, and may I trust that these armed men area grace- 
 ful compliment to one to whom arms have been a pastime ?" 
 
 Rien/.i answered not, but waved his hands to his guards. 
 Montreal was seized on the instant. Again he surveyed the 
 guests ; as a bird from the rattlesnake, shrunk Pandulfo di 
 Guido, trembling, motionless, aghast, from the glittering eye of 
 the Senator. Slowly Rienzi raised his fatal hand towards the 
 unhappy citizen ; Pandulfo saw, — felt his doom, — shrieked, — 
 and fell senseless in the arms of the soldiers. 
 
 One other and rapid glance cast the Senator round the 
 \)oard, and then, with a disdainful smile, as if anxious for no 
 tneaner prey, turned away. Not a breath had hitherto passed 
 his lips ; all had been dumb show ; and his grim silence had 
 imparted a more freezing terror to his unguessed-for appari- 
 tion. Only, when he reached the door, he turned back, gazed 
 upon the Knight of St. John's bold and undaunted face, and 
 said, almost in a whisper, " Walter de Montreal ! you heard 
 the death-knell ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SENTENCE OF WALTER DE MONTREAL, 
 
 iN silence the Captain of the Grand Company was borne to 
 rhe prison of the Capitol. In the same building lodged the 
 rivals for the government of Rome ; the one occupied the 
 prison, the other the palace. The guards forebore the 
 ceremony of fetters, and leaving a lamp on the table, Montreal 
 perceived he was not alone, — his brothers had preceded him. 
 
 *' Ye are happily met," said the Knight of St. John ;" we 
 have passed together pleasanter nights than this is likely 
 to be." 
 
 "Can you jest, Walter?" said Arimbaldo, half-weeping, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 403 
 
 **Know you not that our doom is fixed? Death scowls 
 upon us." 
 
 " Death ! " repeated Montreal, and for the first time his 
 countenance changed ; perhaps for the first time in his life he 
 felt the thrill and agony of fear. 
 
 " Death ! " he repeated again. " Impossible ! He dare not, 
 Brettone ; the soldiers, the Northmen ! they will mutiny, they' 
 will pluck us back from the grasp of the headsman I " 
 
 ** Cast from you so vain a hope," said Brettone sullenly ; 
 "the soldiers are encamped at Palestrina." 
 
 '' How ! Dolt ! Fool ! Came you then to Rome alone! 
 Are we alone with this dread man ? " 
 
 " You are the dolt ! Why came you hither?" answered the 
 brother. , 
 
 " Why, indeed ! but that I knew thou wast the captain of 
 the army : and — but thou saidst right — the folly is mine, to 
 have played against the crafty Tribune so unequal a brain as 
 thine. Enough ! Reproaches are idle. When were ye ar- 
 rested?" 
 
 "At dusk — the instant we entered the gates of Rome. 
 Rienzi entered privately." 
 
 " Humph ! What can he know against me ? Who can have 
 betrayed me ? My secretaries are tried — all trustworthy — ex- 
 cept that youth, and he so seemingly zealous — that Angeio 
 Villani ! " 
 
 " Villani ! Angeio Villani ! " cried the brothers in a breath. 
 "Hast thou confided aught to him ? " 
 
 "Why, I fear he must have seen — at least in part — my cor- 
 respondence with you, and with the barons — he was among 
 my scribes. Know you aught of him ? " 
 
 "Walter, Heaven hath demented you !" returned Brettone. 
 "Angeio Villani is the favorite menial of the Senator." 
 
 " Those eyes deceived me, then," muttered Montreal, sol- 
 emnly and shuddering ; "and, as if her ghost had returned to 
 earth, God smites me from the grave • " 
 
 There was 0. long silence. At length Montreal, whose bold 
 and sanguine temper was never long clouded, spoke again. 
 
 " Are the Senator's coffers full ? But that is impossible." 
 
 "Bare as a Dominican's." 
 
 "We are saved, then. He shall name his price for our 
 heads. Money must be more useful to him than blood." 
 
 And as if with that thought all further i?^editation were ren- 
 dered unnecessary, Montreal doffed his mantle, uttered a short 
 prayeri and flung himself on a paikt in a corner of the c€U^ 
 
404 RIENZI, 
 
 *'Ihave slept on worse beds," said the Knight, stretching 
 himself ; and in a few minutes he was fast asleep. 
 
 The brothers listened to his deep-drawn but regular breathing 
 with envy and wonder, but they were in no mood to converse. 
 Still and speechless, they sate like statues beside the sleeper. 
 Time passed on, and the first cold air of the hour that succeeds 
 to midnight crept through the bars of their cell. The bolts 
 crashed, the door opened, six men-at-arms entered, passed thf 
 brothers, and one of them touched Montreal. 
 
 " Ha ! " said he, still sleeping, but turning round. "Ha !' 
 said he in the soft Provengal tongue, " sweet Adeline, we wili 
 not rise yet — it is so long since we met ! " 
 
 " What says he ? " muttered the guard, shaking Montreal 
 roughly. The knight sprang up at once, and his hand grasped 
 the head of his bed as for his sword. He stared round bewil- 
 dered, rubbed his eyes, and then gazing on the guard, became 
 alive to the present. 
 
 " Ye are early risers in the Capitol," said he. ** What want ye 
 of me?" 
 
 " // waits you ! " 
 
 " //./ What ? " said Montreal. 
 
 "The rack ! " replied the soldier, with a malignant scowl. 
 
 The great Captain said not a word. He looked for one 
 moment at the six swordsmen, as if measuring his single strength 
 against theirs. His eye then wandered round the room. The 
 rudest bar of iron would have been dearer to him than he had 
 ever yet found the proofest steel of Milan. He completed his 
 survey with a sigh, threw his mantle over his shoulders, nodded 
 at his brethren, and followed the guard. 
 
 In a hall of the Capitol, hung with the ominous silk of white 
 rays on a blood-red ground, sate Rienzi and his councillors. 
 Across a recess was drawn a black curtain. 
 
 *' Walter de Montreal," said a small man at the foot of the 
 table, " Knight of the illustrious order of St. John of Jeru- 
 salem — " 
 
 " And Captain of the Grand Company ! " added the prisoner, 
 in a firm voice. 
 
 " You stand accused of divers counts : robbery and murder, 
 in Tuscany, Romagna, and Apulia — " 
 
 " F'or robbery and murder, brave men and belted knights,'* 
 said Montreal drawing himself up, " would use the words * war 
 and victory.' To those charges I plead guilty ! Proceed." 
 
 " You are next accused of treasonable conspiracy against the 
 iib«rti«fi of Kome Cor the restoration of the proscribed barons » , 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 40$ 
 
 and of traitorous correspondence with Stefanello Colonna at 
 Palestrina." 
 
 ** My accuser ? " 
 
 " Step forth, Angelo Villani ! " 
 
 " You are my betrayer, then ? " said Montreal steadily. " I 
 deserved this. I beseech you, Senator of Rome, let this young 
 man retire. I confess my correspondence with the Colonna, 
 and my desire to restore the barons." 
 
 Rienzi motioned to Villani, who bowed and withdrew. 
 
 " There rests only then for you, Walter de Montreal, to relate 
 fully and faithfully, the details of your conspiracy." 
 
 " That is impossible," replied Montreal carelessly. 
 
 *' And why ? " 
 
 " Because, doing as I please with my own life, I will nc 
 betray the lives of others." 
 
 " Bethink thee — thou wouldst have betrayed the life of thy 
 judge ! " 
 
 " Not betrayed — thou didst not trust me.** 
 
 " The law, Walter de Montreal, hath sharp inquisitors — 
 behold ! " 
 
 The black curtain was drawn aside, and the eye of Montreal 
 rested on the executioner and the rack ! His proud breast 
 heaved indignantly. 
 
 " Senator of Rome," said he, " these instruments are for serfs 
 and villeins. I have been a warrior and a leader ; life and 
 death have been in my hands- — I have used them as I listed ; 
 but to mine equal and my foe I never proffered the insult of 
 the rack." 
 
 "Sir Walter de Montreal,** returned the Senator gravely, but 
 with some courteous respect, "your answer is that which rises 
 naturally to the lips of brave men. But learn from me, whom 
 fortune hath made thy judge, that no more for serf and villein 
 than for knight and noble are such instruments the engines of 
 law, or the tests of truth. I yielded but to the desire of these 
 reverend councillors to test thy nerves. But, wert thou the 
 meanest peasant of the Campagna, before my judgment-seat 
 thou needst not apprehend the torture. Walter ie Montreal, 
 amongst the princes of Italy thou hast known, amongst the 
 Roman barons thou wouldst have aided, is there one who could 
 make that boast ? " 
 
 " I desired only," said Montreal, with some hesitation, ** to 
 unite the barons with thee ; nor did I intrigue against thy 
 Ufer' 
 
 Rienzi frowned. *^ Enough," he said hastily. " Knight of 
 
4o6 RIENZI, 
 
 St. John, I know thy secret projects ; subterfuge and evasion 
 neither befit nor avail thee. If thou didst not intrigue against 
 my life, thou didst intrigue against the life of Rome. Thou 
 has but one favor left to demand on earth, it is the manner of 
 thy death." 
 
 Montreal's lip worked convulsively. 
 
 " Senator," said he in low voice, " may I crave audience with 
 thee a/o/ie for one minute ? " 
 
 The councillors looked up. 
 
 " My lord," whispered the eldest of them, " doubtless he hath 
 concealed weapons — trust him not." 
 
 "Prisoner," returned Rienzi, after a moment's pause ; "if 
 thou seekest for mercy, thy request is idle, and before my coad- 
 jutors I have no secret ; speak out what thou hast to say ! " 
 
 " Yet listen to me," said the prisoner, folding his arms ; " it 
 concerns not my life, but Rome's welfare." 
 
 " Then," said Rienzi, in an altered tone,''thy request is granted. 
 Thou mayst add to thy guilt the design of the assassin, but for 
 Rome I would dare greater danger." 
 
 So saying, he motioned to the councillors, who slowly with- 
 drew by the door which had admitted Villani, while the guards 
 retired to the farthest extremity of the hall. 
 
 **Now, Walter de Montreal, be brief, for thy time is short." 
 
 " Senator," said Montreal, " my life can but little profit you ; 
 men will say that you destroy your creditor in order to cancel 
 your debt. Fix a sum upon my life, estimate it at the price of 
 a monarch's ; every florin shall be paid to you, and your 
 treasury will be filled for five years to come. If the *" Buono 
 Stato ' depends on your government, what I have asked your 
 solicitude for Rome will not permit you to refuse." 
 
 " You mistake me, bold robber," said Rienzi sternly ; " your 
 treason I could guard against, and therefore forgive ; your a7nbi' 
 tion, never ! Mark me, I know you ! Place your hand on your 
 heart and say whether, could we change places, you, as Rienzi, 
 would suffer all the gold of earth to purchase the life of Walter 
 de Montreal? For men's reading of my conduct, that must I 
 bear ; for mine own reading, mine eyes must be purged from 
 corruption. I am answerable to God for the trust of Rome, 
 And Rome trembles while the head of the Grand Company 
 lives in the plotting brain and the daring heart of Walter de 
 Montreal. Man — wealthy, great, and subtle as you are, your 
 hours are numbered ; with the rise of the sun you die ! " 
 
 Montreal's eyes, fixed upon the Senator's face, saw hope wa3 
 over ; his pride and his fortitude returned to hiio 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 407 
 
 "We have wasted words," said he. **I played for a great 
 stake, I have lost, and must pay the forfeit ! I am prepared. 
 On the threshold of the Unknown World the dark spirit of 
 prophecy rushes into us. Lord Senator, I go before thee to 
 announce, that in Heaven or in Hell, ere many days be over, 
 room must be given to one mightier than I am ! " 
 
 As he spoke, his form dilated, his eye glared ; and Rienzi, 
 cowering as never had he cowered before, shrunk back, and 
 shaded his face with his hand. 
 
 *' The manner of your death ? " he asked in a hollow voice. 
 
 "The axe: it is that which befits knight and warrior. Foi 
 thee, Senator, Fate hath a less noble death." 
 
 "Robber, be dumb ! " cried Rienzi passionately; "Guards, 
 bear back the prisoner. At sunrise, Montreal — " 
 
 " Sets the sun of the scourge of Italy," said the knight bit- 
 terly. "Be it so. One request more ; the Knights of St. John 
 claim affinity with the Augustine order ; grant me an Augus- 
 tine confessor." 
 
 " It is granted ; and in return for thy denunciations, I, who 
 can give thee no earthly mercy, will implore the Judge of all 
 for pardon to thy soul." 
 
 "Senator, I have done with man's mediation. My brethren ? 
 Their deaths are not necessary to thy safety or thy revenge ! " 
 
 Rienzi mused a moment : " No," said he, " dangerous tools 
 they were, but without the workman they may rust unharming. 
 They served me once, too. Prisoner, their lives are spared." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 
 
 The Council was broken up — Rienzi hastened to his own 
 apartments. Meeting Villani by the way, he pressed the 
 youth's hand affectionately. " You have saved Rome and me 
 from great peril," said he ; " the saints reward you ! " With- 
 out tarrying for Villani's answer, he hurried on. Nina, anxious 
 and perturbed, awaited him in their chamber. 
 
 "Not a-bed yet ? " said he : " fie, Nina, even thy beauty will 
 not stand these vigils." 
 
 " I could not rest till I had seen thee. I hear (all Rome has 
 heard it ere this) that thou hast seized Walter de Montreal, and 
 that he will perish by the beadsman," 
 
4o8 RIENZT, 
 
 ** The first robber that ever died so brave a death," returned 
 Rienzi, slowly unrobing himself. 
 
 ** Cola, I have never crossed your schemes, your policy, even 
 by a suggestion. Enough for me to triumph in their success, 
 to mourn for their failure. Now I ask thee one request — spare 
 me the life of this man." 
 
 "Nina—" 
 
 " Hear me, — for thee I speak ! Despite his crimes, his valor 
 and his genius have gained him admirers, even amongst his 
 foes. Many a prince, many a State that secretly rejoices at 
 his fall, will affect horror against his judge. Hear me farther : 
 his brothers aided your return ; the world will term you un- 
 grateful. His brothers lent you moneys, the world — (out on 
 it !) — will term you — " 
 
 *' Hold I " interrupted the Senator. " All that thou sayest 
 my mind forestalled. But thou knowest me ; to thee I have 
 no disguise. No compact can bind Montreal's faith, no mercy 
 win his gratitude. Before his red right hand truth and jus- 
 tice are swept away. If I condemn Montreal I incur disgrace 
 and risk danger — granted. If I release him, ere the first 
 showers of April, the chargers of the Northmen will neigh in 
 the halls of the Capitol. Which shall I hazard in this alterna- 
 tive, myself or Rome ? Ask me no more — to bed, to bed ! " 
 
 " Couldst thou read my forebodings. Cola, mystic — gloomy- 
 unaccountable ?" 
 
 "Forebodings ! I have mine," answered Rienzi sadly, gaz- 
 ing on space, as if his thoughts peopled it with spectres. 
 Then, raising his eyes to Heaven, he said with that fanatical 
 energy which made much both of his strength and weakness ; 
 ** Lord, mine at least not the sin of Saul ! the Amalekite shall 
 not be saved ! " 
 
 While Rienzi enjoyed a short, troubled, and restless sleep, 
 over which Nina watched — unslumbering, anxious, tearful, and 
 oppressed with dark and terrible forewarnings — the accuser was 
 more happy than the judge. The last thoughts that floated 
 before the young mind of Angelo Villani, ere wrapped in sleep, 
 were bright and sanguine. He felt no honorable remorse that 
 ho had entrapped the confidence of another ; he felt only that 
 his scheme had prospered, that his mission had been fulfilled. 
 The grateful words of Rienzi rang in his ear, and hopes of 
 fortune and power, beneath the sway of the Roman Senator, 
 lulled him into slumber, and colored all his dreams. 
 
 Scarce, however, had he been two hours asleep, ere he was 
 wakened by one of the attendants of the palace, himself h^lf 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 409 
 
 awake. " Pardon me, Messere Villani," said he, "but there is 
 a messenger below from the good Sister Ursula ; he bids thee 
 haste instantly to the Convent ; she is sick unto death, and has 
 tidings that crave thy immediate presence," 
 
 Angelo, whose morbid susceptibility as to his parentage was 
 ever excited by vague but ambitious hopes, started up, dressed 
 hurriedly, and joining the messenger below, repaired to the 
 Convent. In the Court of the Capitol, and by the Staircase of 
 the Lion, was already heard the noise of the workmen, and 
 looking back, Villani beheld the scaffold, hung with black — 
 sleeping cloudlike in the gray light of dawn — at the same time, 
 the bell of the Capitol tolled heavily. A pang shot athwart 
 him. He hurried on ; despite the immature earliness of the 
 hour, he met groups of either sex, hastening along the streets 
 to witness the execution of the redoubted Captain of the Grand 
 Company. The Convent of the Augustines was at the farthest 
 extremity of that city, even then so extensive, and the red 
 light upon the hill-tops already heralded the rising sun, ere 
 the young man reached the venerable porch. His name ob- 
 tained him instant admittance. 
 
 " Heaven grant," said an old nun, who conducted him 
 through a long and winding passage, " that thou mayst bring 
 comfort to the sick sister. She has pined for thee grievously 
 since matins." 
 
 In a cell set apart for the reception of visitors (from the 
 outward world), to such of the Sisterhood as received the nec- 
 essary dispensation, sate the aged nun. Angelo had only seen 
 her once since his return to Rome, and since then disease had 
 made rapid havoc on her form and features. And now, in her 
 shroudlike garments and attenuated frame, she seemed by the 
 morning light as a spectre whom day had surprised above the 
 earth. She approached the youth, however, with a motion 
 ?Tiore elastic and rapid than seemed possible to her worn and 
 ghastly form. '' Thou art come," she said. *' Well, well ! 
 This morning after matins, my confessor, an Augustine, who 
 alone knows the secrets of my life, took me aside, and told me 
 that Walter de Montreal had been seized by the Senator ; that 
 he was adjudged to die, and that one of the Augustine broth- 
 erhood had been sent for to attend his last hours — is it so? " 
 
 " Thou v/crt told aright," said Angelo wonderingly. " The 
 man at whose name thou '\7crt wont to shudder ; against whom 
 thou hast so often warned mc ; will die at sunrise." 
 
 " So soon ! so soon ! Oh, Mother of Mercy ! fly ! thou art 
 about the person of the Senator ; thou hast high favor with 
 
^lO RIENZI, 
 
 him ; fly ! down on thy knees, and as thou hopest for God's 
 grace, rise not till thou hast won the Provencal's life." 
 
 '* She raves," muttered Angelo, with white lips. 
 
 " I do 7wt rave, boy I " screeched the Sister wildly, " know 
 that my daughter was his leman. He disgraced our house — a 
 house haughtier than his own. Sinner that I was, I vowed re- 
 venge. His boy — they had only one ! — was brought up in a 
 robber's camp ; a life of bloodshed — a death of doom — h. 
 futurity of hell — were before him. I plucked the child from 
 such a fate ; I bore him away ; I told the father he was dead ; 
 I placed him in the path to honorable fortunes. May my sin 
 be forgiven me ! Angelo Villani, thou art that child ; Walter 
 de Montreal is thy father. But now, trembling on the verge 
 of death, I shudder at the vindictive thoughts I once nour- 
 ished. Perhaps — " 
 
 *' Sinner and accursed ! " interrupted Villani, with a loud 
 shout; "sinner and accursed thou art indeed ! Know that it 
 was / who betrayed thy daughter's lover ! By the son's trea- 
 son dies the father ! " 
 
 Not a moment more did he tarry ; he waited not to witness 
 the effect his words produced. As one frantic — as one whom 
 a fiend possesses or pursues — he rushed from the convent, he 
 flew through the desolate streets. The death-bell came — first 
 indistinct, then loud upon his ear. Every sound seemed to 
 him like the curse of God ; on — on — he passed the more de- 
 serted quarter — crowds swept before him — he was mingled with 
 the living stream, delayed, pushed back — thousands on thou- 
 sands around, before him. Breathless, gasping, he still pressed 
 on — he forced his way — he heard not — he saw not — all was like 
 a dream. Up burst the sun over the distant hills ! The bell 
 ceased ! From right to left he pushed aside the crowd — his 
 strength was as a giant's. He neared the fatal spot. A dead 
 hush lay like a heavy air over the multitude. He heard a 
 voice as he pressed along, deep and clear ; it was the voice of 
 his father ! It ceased — the audience breathed heavily — they 
 murmured — they swayed to and fro. On, on, went Angelo 
 Villani. The guards of the Senator stopped his way ; he 
 dashed aside their pikes — he eluded their grasp— he pierced 
 the armed barrier — he stood on the Place of the Capitol. 
 "Hold, hold ! " he would have cried, but horror struck him 
 dumb. He beheld the gleaming axe, he saw the bended neck. 
 Ere another breath passed his lips, a ghastly and trunkless 
 face was raised on high — Walter de Montreal was no more! 
 
 Villani saw — swooned not — shrunk not — breathed not J but 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 4II 
 
 he turned his eyes from that lifted head, dropping gore, to the 
 balcony, in which, according to custom, sate, in solemn pomj), 
 the Senator of Rome — and the face of that young man was as 
 the face of a demon ! 
 
 " Ha ! " said he, muttering to himself, and recalling the 
 words of Rienzi seven years before; ''^ Blessed art thou who 
 hast no blood of kindred to avenge ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SUSPENSE. 
 
 Walter de Montreal was buried in the Church of St. 
 Maria dell' Aracelli. But the "evil that he did lived after 
 him ! " Although the vulgar had, until his apprehension, mur- 
 mured against Rienzi for allowing so notorious a freebooter to be 
 at large, he was scarcely dead ere they compassionated the 
 object of their terror. With that singular species of piety 
 which Montreal had always cultivated, as if a decorous and 
 natural part of the character of a warrior, no sooner was his 
 sentence fixed than he had surrendered himself to the devout 
 preparation for death. With the Augustine friar he consumed 
 the brief remainder of the night in prayer and confession, com- 
 forted his brothers, and passed to the scaffold with the step of 
 a hero and the self-acquittal of a martyr. In the wonderful de- 
 lusions of the human heart, far from feeling remorse at a life of 
 professional rapine and slaughter, almost the last words of the 
 brave warrior were in proud commendation of his own deeds. 
 **Be valiant like me," he said to his brothers, "and remember 
 liatye are now the heirs to the Humbler of Apulia, Tuscany, 
 and La Marca."* 
 
 This confidence in himself ^continued at the scaffold. "I 
 die," he said, addressing the Romans, " I die contented, since 
 my bones shall rest in the Holy City of St. Peter and St. Paul, 
 and the Soldier of Christ shall have the burial-place of the 
 Apostles. But I die unjustly. My wealth is my crime ; the 
 poverty of your State my accuser. Senator of Rome, tliou 
 mayst envy my last hour — men like Walter de Montreal perish 
 
 *" Pregovi che vi amiate e siate valorosi al mondo, come fui io, che mi feci fare obbedienza 
 a la Puglia, Toscana, e a La Marca." — Vit. di Cola di Rienzi, lib. ii.. cap. 22. 
 
 °' I pray you love one another, and be valorous as ^ r.-, I, who made Apulia, Tuscany^ 
 aud La Marca own obedience to me."— Z,7y> 0/ Cola di Rienzi. 
 
41 2 ftlENZtj 
 
 not unavenged." So saying, he turned to the East, murmured 
 a brief prayer, knelt down deliberately, and said as to himself, 
 " Rome guard my ashes ! — Earth my memory — Fate my re- 
 venge : — and, now, Heaven receive my soul ! Strike ! " At 
 the first blow the head was severed from the body. 
 
 His treason but imperfectly known, the fear of him forgot- 
 ten, all that remained of the recollection of Walter de Montreal * 
 in Rome was admiration for his heroism, and compassion for 
 his end. The fate of Pandulfo di Guido, which followed some 
 days afterwards, excited a yet deeper, though more quiet, sen- 
 timent against the Senator. "He was once Rienzi's friend ! " 
 said one man ; " He was an honest, upright citizen ! " mut- 
 tered another ; "He was an advocate of the people ! " growled 
 Cecco del Vecchio. But the Senator had wound himself up to 
 a resolve to be inflexibly just, and to regard every peril to Rome 
 as became a Roman. Rienzi remembered that he had never 
 confided but he had been betrayed ; he had never forgiven but 
 to sharpen enmity. He was amidst a ferocious people, uncertain 
 friends, wily enemies ; and misplaced mercy would be but a 
 premium to conspiracy. Yet the struggle he underwent was 
 visible in the hysterical emotions he betrayed. He now wept 
 bitterly, now laughed wildly. *' Can I never again have the 
 luxury to forgive ? " said he. The coarse spectators of that 
 passion deemed it — some imbecility, some hypocrisy. But the 
 execution produced the momentary effect intended. All sedi- 
 tion ceased, terror crept throughout the city, order and peace 
 rose to the surface; but beneath, in the strong expression of a con- 
 temporaneous writer, "Lo mormorito quetamente suonava." f 
 
 On examining dispassionately the conduct of Rienzi at this 
 awful period of his life, it is scarcely possible to condemn it of 
 a single error in point of policy. Cured of his faults, he ex- 
 hibited no unnecessary ostentation, he indulged in no exhibi- 
 tions of intoxicated pride ; that gorgeous imagination, rather 
 than vanity, which had led the Tribune into spectacle and 
 pomp, was now lulled to rest by the sober memory of grave 
 vicissitudes, and the stern calmness of a maturer intellect. 
 Frugal, provident, watchful, self-collected, " never was seen," 
 observes no partial witness, " so extraordinary a man." J " In 
 
 ♦The military renown and bold exploits of Montreal are acknowledged by all the Italian 
 authorities. One of them declares that since the time of Caesar, Italy had never known so 
 great a captain. The biographer of Rienzi, forgetting all the offences of the splendid and 
 Knightly robber, seems to fe»l only commiseration for his fate. He informs us, moreover, 
 that at Tivoli one of his servants (perhaps our friend, Kodolf of Saxony), hearinf; his 
 death, died of grief the following day. 
 
 t" The murmur quietly sounded." 
 
 :( Vit. di Cola di Rienzi, lib. ii., c. 23, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 413 
 
 him was concentrated every thought for every want of Rome. 
 Indefatigably occupied, he inspected, ordained, regulated all 
 things ; in the city, in the army, for peace, or for war. But he 
 was feebly supported, and those he employed were lukewarm 
 and lethargic. Still his arms prospered. Place after place, 
 fortress after fortress, yielded to the lieutenant of the Senator ; 
 and the cession of Palestrina itself was hourly expected. His 
 art and address were always strikingly exhibited in difficult 
 situations, and the reader cannot fail to have noticed how con- 
 spicuously they were displayed in delivering himself from the 
 iron tutelage of his foreign mercenaries. Montreal executed, 
 his brothers imprisoned (though their lives were spared), a 
 fear that induced respect was stricken into the breasts of those 
 bandit soldiers. Removed from Rome, and, under Annibaldi, 
 engaged against the barons, constant action and constant suc- 
 cess withheld those necessary fiends from falling on their 
 Master; v/hile Rienzi, willing to yield to the natural antipathy 
 of the Romans, thus kept the Northmen from all contact with 
 the city ; and, as he boasted, was the only chief in Italy who 
 reigned in his palace guarded only by his citizens. 
 
 Despite his perilous situation — despite his suspicions and 
 his fears, no wanton cruelty stained his stern justice. Montreal 
 and Pandulfo di Guido were the only state victims he de- 
 manded. If, according to the dark Machiavelism of Italian 
 wisdom, the death of those enemies was impolitic, it was not in 
 the act, but the mode of doing it. A prince of Bologna, or of 
 Milc.n, would have avoided the sympathy excited by the scaf- 
 lold, and the drug or the dagger would have been the safer 
 substitute for the axe. But with all his faults, real and im- 
 puted, no single act of that foul and murderous policy, which 
 : lade the science of the more fortunate princes of Italy, ever 
 advanced the ambition or promoted the security of the Last of 
 the Roman Tribunes. Whatever his errors, he lived and died 
 as became a man, who dreamed the vain but glorious dream 
 that in a corrupt and dastard populace he could revive the 
 jenius of the old Republic. 
 
 Of all who attended on the Senator, the most assiduous and 
 the most honored was still Angelo Villani. Promoted to a 
 high civil station, Rienzi felt it as a return of youth to find 
 one person entitled to his gratitude ; he loved and confided in 
 the youth as a son. Villani was nev^r absent from his side, 
 except in intercourse with the Various popular leaders in the 
 vartoUf? quarters of the city ; nticl in this intercourse his zeal 
 Wmi indefatigable— Ht letmed even to prey upon his healthy 
 
414 
 
 RIENZI. 
 
 and Rienzi chid him fondly, whenever, starting from his own 
 reveries, he beheld the abstracted eye and the livid paleness 
 which had succeeded thf^ sparkle and bloom of youth. 
 
 Such chiding the young man answered only by the same 
 unvarying words : 
 
 " Senator, I have a great trust to fulfil "; and at these words 
 he smiled. 
 
 One day Villani, while with the Senator, said rather abruptly. 
 *' Do you remember, my lord, that before Viterbo I acquitted 
 myself so in arms that even the Cardinal d'Albornoz was 
 pleased to notice me ?" 
 
 "I remember your valor well, Angelo ; but why the question ?" 
 
 " My lord, Bellini, the <^aptain of the Guard of the Capitol, 
 is dangerously ill." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 "Whom can my lord trust at the post?" 
 
 *' Why, the lieutenant." 
 
 " What ! a soldier that has served under the Orsini ! " 
 
 "True. Well ! there is Tommaso Filangieri." 
 
 "An excellent man ; but is he not kin by blood to Pandulfo 
 diGuido?" 
 
 " Ah — is he so ? It must be thought of. Hast thou any 
 friend to name? "said the Senator, smiling. " Methinks thy 
 cavils point that way." 
 
 " My lord," replied Villani, coloring ; '* I am too young, per- 
 haps ; but the post \z one that demands fidelity more than it 
 does years. Shall I own it ? My tastes are rather to serve 
 thee with my sword than with my pen." 
 
 "Wilt thou, indeec'p accept the office ? It is of less dignity 
 and emolument than the one you hold ; and you are full young 
 to lead these stubborn spirits." 
 
 " Senator, I led taller men than they are to the assault at 
 Viterbo. But be it zz neems best to your superior wisdom. 
 Whatever you do, i pray you to be cautious. If you select a 
 traitor to the command of the Capitol Guard ! — I tremble at 
 the thought ! " 
 
 "By my faith, thou dost turn pale at it, dear boy ; thy affec- 
 tion is a sweet drop in a bitter draught. Whom can I choose 
 better than thee? Thou shalt have the post, at least during 
 Bellini's illness. I will attend to it to-day. The business, too, 
 will less fatigue thy young mind than that which now employs 
 thee. Thou art over-labored in our cause." 
 
 •• Senator, I can <^«t repeat my usual answer— 4 have a great 
 trusuo fulfil r* 
 
THE LAST or TH£ TRIBUNES^ 41$ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE TAX. 
 
 These formidable conspiracies quelled, the jr.i'onc nearly 
 subdued, and three parts of the Papal territory 'jcunited to 
 Rome, Rienzi now deemed he might safely execute one of his 
 favorite projects for the preservation of the liberties of his na- 
 tive city ; and this was to raise and organize in each quarter of 
 Rome a Roman Legion. Armed in the defence of their own 
 institutions, he thus trusted to establish amongst her own citi- 
 zens the only soldiery requisite for Rome. 
 
 But so base were the tools with which this great man was 
 condemned to work out his noble schemes, that none could be 
 found to serve their own country, without a pay equal to that 
 demanded by foreign hirelings. With the insolence so peculiar 
 to a race that has once been great, each Roman said, " Am I 
 not better than a German ? Pay me, then, accordingly." 
 
 The Senator smothered his disgust ; he had learned at last 
 to know that the age of the Catos was no more. From a daring 
 enthusiast, experience had converted him into a practical 
 statesman. The Legions were necessary to Rome ; they were 
 formed ; gallant their appearance and faultless their capari- 
 sons. How were they to be paid ? There was but one means 
 to maintain Rome — Rome must be taxed. A gabelle was put 
 upon wine and salt. 
 
 The proclamation ran thus : 
 
 "Romans! raised to the rank of your Senator, my whole 
 thought has been for your liberties and welfare ; already trea- 
 son defeated in the City, our banners triumphant without, 
 attest the favor \7ith v/hich Ihc Deity regards men who seek to 
 unite liberty with law. Let us set an example to Italy and the 
 World ! Let us prove that the Roman sword can guard the 
 Roman Forum ! In each Rione of the City is provided a 
 Legion of the Citizens, collected from the traders and artisans 
 of the town ; they allege that they cannot leave their callings 
 without remuneration. Your Senator calls upon you willingly 
 to assist in your own defence. He has given you liberty ; he 
 has restored to you peace ; your oppressors are scattered over 
 the earth. He asks you now to preserve the treasures you 
 have gained. To be free, you must sacrifice something for 
 frccJcm ; v/hat sacrifice too great ? Confident of your sup- 
 port, I at length, for the first time, exert the right en« 
 
416 klENZI, 
 
 trusted to me by office — and for Rome's salvation I tax the 
 Romans ! " 
 
 Then followed the announcement of the gabelle. 
 
 The proclamation was set up in the public thoroughfares. 
 Round one of the placards a crowd assembled. Their gestures 
 were vehement and unguarded ; their eyes sparkled ; they con- 
 versed low, but eagerly. 
 
 " He dares to tax us, then ! Why, the barons or the Pope 
 could not do more than that ! " 
 
 "Shame ! shame ! " cried a gaunt female ; "we, who were 
 his friends ! How are our little ones to get bread ? " 
 
 " He should have seized the Pope's money ! " quoth an 
 honest winevender. 
 
 " Ah ! Pandulfo di Guido would have maintained an army 
 at his own cost. He was a rich man. What insolence in the 
 innkeeper's son to be a Senator ! " 
 
 " We are not Romans if we suffer this ! " said a deserter 
 from Palestrina. 
 
 ** Fellow-citizens ! " exclaimed gruffly a tall man, who had 
 hitherto been making a clerk read to him the particulars of the 
 taxed imposed, and whose heavy brain at length understood 
 that wine was to be made dearer. "Fellow-citizens, we must 
 have a new revolution ! This is indeed gratitude ! What 
 have we benefited by restoring this man ! Are we always to 
 be ground in the dust.^ To pay — pay — pay ! Is that all we 
 are fit for ? " 
 
 " Hark to Cecco del Vecchio ! " 
 
 ** No, no ; not now," growled the smith. " To-night the 
 artificers have a special meeting. We'll see — we'll see ! " 
 
 A young man muffled in a cloak, who had not been before 
 observed, touched the smith. 
 
 "Whoever storms the Capitol the day after to-morrow at 
 the dawn," he whispered, "shall find the guards absent ! " 
 
 He was gone before the smith could look round. 
 
 The same night Rienzi, retiring to rest, said to Angelo 
 Villani : " A bold but necessary measure this of mine. How 
 do the people take it ? " 
 
 " They murmur a little, but seem to recognize the necessity. 
 Cecco del Vecchio was the loudest grumbler, but is now the 
 loudest approver." 
 
 " The man is rough ; he once deserted me ; but then that 
 fatal excommunication ! He and the Romans learned a bitter 
 lesson in that desertion, and experience has, I trust, taught 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 417 
 
 them to be honest. Well, if this tax be raised quietly, in two 
 years Rome will be again the Queen of Italy; her army 
 manned— her Republic formed : and then — then — " 
 
 " Then- what, Senator ? " 
 
 " Wh'^ then, my Angelo, Cola di Rienzi may die in peace ! 
 There is a want which a profound experience of power and 
 pomp brings at last to us — a want gnawing as that of hunger, 
 wearing as that of sleep ! My Angela^ it is the want 
 to die!'" 
 
 " My lord, I would give this right hand," cried Villani ear- 
 nestly, "to hear you say you were attached to life ! " 
 
 " You are a good youth, Angelo ! " said Rienzi, as he passed 
 to NinaV. chamber ; and in her smile and wistful tenderness, 
 forgot for a while — that he was a great man ! 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF THE EVENT. 
 
 The next morning the Senator of Rome held high court in 
 the Capitol. From Florence, from Padua, from Pisa, even 
 from Milan (the dominion of the Visconti), from Genoa, from 
 Naples, came ambassadors to wt,'lcome his return, or to thank 
 him for having freed Italy from the freebooter De Montreal. 
 Venice alone, who held in her pay the Grand Company, stood 
 aloof. Never had Rienzi seemed more prosperous and more 
 powerful, and never had he exhibited a more easy and cheerful 
 majesty of demeanor. 
 
 Scarce was the audience over when a messenger arrived 
 from Palestrina. The town had surrendered, the Colonna had 
 departed, and the standard of the Senator waved from the 
 walls of the last hold of the rebellious barons. Rome might 
 at length consider herself free, and not a foe seemed left 
 to menace the repose of Rienzi. 
 
 The Court dissolved. The Senator, elated and joyous, re- 
 paired towards his private apartments, previous to the banquet 
 given to the ambassadors. Villani met him with his wonted 
 sombre aspect. 
 
 " No sadness to-day, my Angelo," said the Senator gaily; 
 ** Palestrina is ours ! " 
 
 '' I am glad to hear such news, and to see my lord of so fair 
 a mien," answered Angelo. " Does he not now desire life?" 
 
4l8 RIEN2I, 
 
 " Till Roman virtue revives, perhaps — yes ! But thus are 
 we fools of Fortune ; to-day glad, to-morrow dejected ! " 
 
 "To-morrow," repeated Villani mechanically: "Ay — to- 
 morrow perhaps dejected." 
 
 " Thou playest with my words, boy," said Rienzi, half angrily, 
 as he turned away. 
 
 But Villani heeded not the displeasure of his lord. 
 
 The banquet was thronged and brilliant ; and Rienzi that 
 day, without an effort, played the courteous host. 
 
 Milanese, Paduan, Pisan, Neapolitan, vied with each other 
 in attracting the smiles of the potent Senator. Prodigal were 
 their compliments; lavish their promises of support. No 
 monarch in Italy seemed more securely throned. 
 
 The banquet was over (as usual on state occasions) at an 
 early hour ; and Rienzi, somewhat heated with wine, strolled 
 forth alone from the Capitol. Bending his solitary steps 
 towards the Palatine, he saw the pale and veil-like mists that 
 succeed the sunset gather over the wild grass which waves 
 above the Palace of the Caesars. On a mound of ruins (col- 
 umn and arch overthrown) he stood, with folded arms, musing 
 and intent. In the distance lay the melancholy tombs of the 
 Campagna, and the circling hills, crested with the purple hues 
 ysoon to melt beneath the starlight. Not a breeze stirred the 
 dark cypress and unwaving pine. There was something awful 
 in the stillness of the skies, hushing the desolate grandeur of 
 the earth below. Many and mingled were the thoughts that 
 swept over Rienzi's breast : memory was busy at his heart. 
 How often, in his youth, had he trodden the same spot ! What 
 visions had he nursed ! what hopes conceived ! In the turbu- 
 lence of his later life, Memory had long slept ; but at that hour 
 she reasserted her shadowy reign with a despotism that seemed 
 prophetic. He was wandering, a boy, with his young brotlier, 
 hand in hand, by the river-side at eve : anon he saw a pale face 
 and gory side, and once more uttered his imprecations of re- 
 venge ! His first successes, his virgin triumphs, his secret love, 
 his fame, his power, his reverses, the hermitage of Maiella, the 
 dungeon of Avignon, the triumphal return to Rome, — all swept 
 across his breast with a distinctness as if he were living those 
 scenes again ! And now ! He shrunk from the present^ and 
 descended the hill. The moon, already risen, shed her light 
 over the Forum, as he passed through its mingled ruins. By 
 the Temple of Jupiter two figures suddenly emerged ; the 
 moonlight fell upon their faces, and Rienzi recognized 
 Cecco del Vecchio and Angelo Villani. They saw him 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 419 
 
 not ; but, eagerly conversing, disappeared by the Arch of 
 Trajan. 
 
 *' Villani ! ever active in my service '. " thought the Senator; 
 ^''methinks this morning I spoke to him harshly— it was churl- 
 ish in me j " 
 
 He re-entered the Place of the Capitol — he stood by the 
 Staircase of the Lion ; there was a red stain upon the pave- 
 ment, unobliterated since Montreal's execution, and the Senator 
 drew himself aside with an inward shudder. Was it the ghastly 
 and spectral light of the moon, or did the face of that old 
 Egyptian monster wear an aspect that was as of life ? The 
 stony eyeballs ceemed bent upon him with a malignant scowl ; 
 and as he passed on, and looked behind, they appeared almost 
 preternaturally to follow his steps. A chill, he knew not why, 
 sunk into his heart. He hastened to regain his palace. The 
 sentinels made way for him. 
 
 *' Senator," said one of them doubtingly, *' Messere Angelo 
 Villani is our new captain — we are to obey his orders .?" 
 
 "Assuredly," returned the Senator, passing on. The man 
 lingered uneasily, as if he would have spoken, but Rienzi ob- 
 served it not. Seeking his chamber, he found Nina and Irene 
 waiting for him. His heart yearned to his wife. Care and toil 
 had of late driven her from his thoughts, and he felt it remorse- 
 fully, as he gazed upon her noble face, softened by the solici- 
 tude of untiring and anxious love. 
 
 ** Sweetest," said he, winding his arms around her tenderly ; 
 ** thy lips never chide me, but thine eyes sometimes do ! We 
 have been apart too long. Brighter days dawn upon us, when 
 1 shall have leisure to thank thee for all thy care. And you, 
 my fair sister, you smile on me ! Ah, you have heard that 
 your lover, ere this, is released by the cession of Palestrina, 
 and to-morrow's sun will see him at your feet. Despite all the 
 carec of the day I remembered thee, my Irene, and sent a 
 messenger to bring back the blush to that pale cheek. Come, 
 come, wc shall be happy again ! " And with that domestic 
 fondness common to him, when harsher thoughts permitted, he 
 sate himself beside the two persons dearest to his hearth and 
 heart. 
 
 *' So happy — if we could have many hours like this ! " mur- 
 mured Nina, sinking on his breast. "Yet sometimes I wish — " 
 
 " And I too," interrupted Rienzi ; " for I read thy woman's 
 thought — / too sometimes wish that fate had placed us in the 
 lowlier valleys of life ! But it may come yet ! Irene wedded 
 1^ Admn — Kome married to Liberty, and then, Nina, methinks 
 
420 RIENZT, 
 
 you and I would find some quiet hermitage, and talk over old 
 gauds and triumphs, as of a summer's dream. Beautiful, kiss 
 me ! Couldst thou resign these pomps ? *' 
 
 " For a desert with ihee^ Cola ! " 
 
 " Let me reflect," resumed Rienzi ; " is not to-day the seventh 
 of Octoioer ? Yes ! on the seventh, be it noted, my foes 
 yielded to my power ! Seven ! my fated number, whether 
 ominous of good or evil ! Seven months did I reign as Trib- 
 une ; seven* years was I absent as an exile ; to-morrow, that 
 sees me without an enemy, completes my seventh week of 
 return ! " 
 
 "And seven was the number of the crowns the Roman Con- 
 vent : and the Roman Council awarded thee, after the ceremony 
 which gave thee the knighthood of the Sa?ito Spirttof"\ said 
 Nina, adding, with woman's tender wit, "the brightest associa- 
 tion of all ! " 
 
 " Follies seem these thoughts to others, and to philosophy, 
 in truth, they are so," said Rienzi ; "but all my life long, omen 
 and type and shadow have linked themselves to action and 
 event: and the atmosphere of other men hath not been mine. 
 Life itself a riddle, why should riddles amaze us ! The Future! 
 what mystery in the very word ! Had we lived all through the 
 Past, since Time was, our profoundest experience of a thou- 
 sand ages could not give us a guess of the events that wait the 
 very moment we are about to enter ! Thus deserted by Reason, 
 what wonder that we recur to the Imagination, on which, by 
 dream and symbol, God sometimes paints the likeness of things 
 to come? Who can endure to leave the Future all unguessed, 
 and sit tamely down to groan under the fardel of the Present? 
 No, no ! that which the foolish-wise call Fanaticism belongs 
 to the same part of us as Hope. Each but carries us on 
 ward — from a barren strand to a glorious, if unbounded sea 
 Each is the yearning for the Great Beyond, which attests our 
 immortality. Each has its visions and chimeras — some false, 
 but some true ! Verily, a man who becomes great is often but 
 made so by a kind of sorcery in his own soul — a Pythia which 
 prophesies that he shall be great — and so renders the life one 
 effort to fulfil the warning I Is this folly ? It were so, if all 
 
 ♦ There was the lapse of one year between the release of Rienzi from Avignon, and his 
 triumphal return to Rome : a year chiefly spent in the campaign of Albornoz. 
 
 + This superstition had an excuse in strange historical coincidences ; and the number 
 seven was indeed to Rienri what the ^d of September was to Cromwell. The ceremony of 
 the seven crowns which he received after his knighthood, on the nature of which ridicu- 
 lous ignovance has been shrtWh l>y many recent writers, was, in fact, prittcinally a religious 
 •nd typical donation (symbolicalot the gifts of the Holy Spirit), conferred by the headi 
 «f f vt«t i"Wi 4 tiltt fwt «l tlM tertme&sr which w«s pvltucaJ wtt ' tf ttMicMt) a«t n(«k 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. ^21 
 
 things stopped at the grave ! But perhaps the very sharpening, 
 and exercising, and elevating the faculties here — though but 
 for a bootless end on earth — may be designed to fit the soul, 
 thus quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny beyond the 
 earth ! Who can tell ? not I ! Let us pray ! " 
 
 While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her various 
 quarters presented less holy and quiet scenes. 
 
 In the fortress of the Orsini lights flitted to and fro through 
 the gratings of the great court. Angelo Villani might be seen 
 stealing from the postern gate. Another hour, and the moon 
 was high in heaven; toward the ruins of the Colosseum, men, 
 whose dress bespoke them of the lowest rank, were seen creep- 
 ing from lanes and alleys, two by two; from these ruins glided 
 again the form of the son of Montreal. Later yet — the moon 
 is sinking — a gray light breaking in the East — and the gates of 
 Rome, by St. John of Lateran, are open ! Villani is convers- 
 ing with the sentries ! The moon has set — the mountains are 
 dim with a mournful and chilling haze — Villani is before the 
 palace of the Capitol — the o?ily soldier there ! Where are the 
 Roman legions that were to guard alike the freedom and the 
 deliverer of Rome ? 
 
 CHAPTER THE LAST. 
 
 THE CLOSE OF THE CHASE. 
 
 It was the morning of the 8th of October, 1354. Rienzi, 
 who rose betimes, stirred restlessly in his bed. " It is yet early," 
 he said to Nina, whose soft arm was round his neck, " none of 
 my people seem to be astir. Howbeit, my day begins before 
 their s^ 
 
 " Rest yet, my Cola ; you want sleep." 
 
 " No; I feel feverish, and this old pain in the side torments 
 me. I have letters to write." 
 
 " Let me be your secretary, dearest," said Nina. 
 
 Rienzi smiled affectionately as he rose ; he repaired to his 
 closet adjoining his sleeping apartment, and used the bath as 
 was his wont. Then dressing himself, he returned to Nina, 
 who, already loosely robed, sate by the writing-table, ready for 
 her office of love. 
 
 *' How still are all things ! " said Rienzi. *' What a cool and 
 delicious prelude, in these early hours, to the toilsome day." 
 
422 RIENZT, 
 
 Leaning over his wife, he then dictated different letters, m« 
 terrupting the task at times by such observations as crossed 
 his mind. 
 
 " So, now to Annibaldi ! By the way, young Adrian should 
 join us to-day; how I rejoice for Irene's sake ! " 
 
 *' Dear sister — yes ! she loves, — if any, Cola, can so love, — 
 as we do." 
 
 " Well, but to your task, my fair scribe. Ha ! what noise is 
 that ? I hear an armed step — the stairs creak — some one shouts 
 my name." 
 
 Rienzi flew to his sword ! the door was thrown rudely open 
 and a figure in complete armor appeared within the chamber. 
 
 ** How ! what means this? "said Rienzi, standing before 
 Nina, with his drawn sword. 
 
 The intruder lifted his visor ; it was Adrian Colonna. 
 
 *' Fly, Rienzi ! hasten, Signora ! Thank Heaven, I can save 
 ye yet ! Myself and train released by the capture of Palestrina, 
 the pain of my wound detained me last night at Tivoli. The 
 town was filled with armed men — not f^i'/ie, Senator. I heard 
 rumors that alarmed me. I resolved to proceed onward ; I 
 reached Rome, the gates of the city were wide open ! " 
 
 " How ! " 
 
 " Your guard gone. Presently I came upon a band of the 
 retainers of the Savelli. My insignia, as a Colonna, misled 
 them. I learned that this very hour some of your enemies are 
 within the city, the rest are on their march, the people them- 
 selves arm against you. In the obscurer streets I passed 
 through the mob were already forming. They took me for thy 
 foe, and shouted. I came hither ; thy sentries have vanished. 
 The private door below is unbarred and open. Not a soul seems 
 left in thy palace. Haste — fly — save thyself ! Where is Irene ?" 
 
 "The Capitol deserted! — impossible !" cried Rienzi. Ho 
 strode across the chambers to the ante-room, where his night- 
 guard usually waited — it was empty ! He passed hastily to 
 Villani's room — it was untenanted ! He would have passed 
 .'arther, but the doors were secured with\)ut. It was evident 
 iViat all egress had been cut off, save by the private door be- 
 low, — and />^a/ had been left open to admit his murtherers ! 
 
 He returned to his room. Nina had already gone to rouse 
 and prepare Irene, whose chamber was on the other side, 
 within one of their own. 
 
 "Quick, Senator!" said Adrian. " Methinks there is yet 
 time. We must make across to the Tiber. I have stationed my 
 faithful squires and Northmen there. A boat waits us." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 423 
 
 " Hark ! " interrupted Rienzi, whose senses had of late been 
 preternaturally quickened. " I hear a distant shout — a familiar 
 shout, ' Viva '1 Popolo ! ' Why, so say I ! These must be 
 friends." 
 
 " Deceive not thyself ; thou hast scarce a friena at Rome." 
 
 "Hist," said Rienzi in a whisper; "save Nina — save Irene, 
 I cannot accompany thee." 
 
 "Art thou mad?" 
 
 " No ! but fearless. Besides, did I accompany, I might but 
 destroy you all. Were I found with you, you would be mas- 
 sacred with me. Without me ye are safe. Yes, even the Sen- 
 ator's wife and sister have provoked no revenge. Save them, 
 noble Colonna ! Cola di Rienzi puts his trust in God alone ! " 
 
 By this time Nina had returned, Irene with her. Afar was 
 heard the tramp — steady — slow — gathering — of the fatal mul- 
 titude. 
 
 " Now, Cola," said Nina, with a bold and cheerful air, and 
 she took her husband's arm, while Adrian had already found 
 his charge in Irene. 
 
 "Yes, no7v, Nina!" said Rienzi; "at length we part! If 
 this is my last hour — in my last hour I pray God to bless and 
 shield thee ! for verily, thou hast been my exceeding solace- 
 provident as a parent, tender as a child, the smile of my hearth, 
 the— the— " 
 
 Rienzi was almost unmanned. Emotions, deep, conflicting, 
 unspeakably fond and grateful, literally choked his speech. 
 
 " What ! " cried Nina, clinging to his breast, and parting her 
 hair from her eyes, as she sought his averted face. "Part ! 
 never ! This is my place ; all Rome shall not tear me 
 from it!" 
 
 Adrian, in despair, seized her hand, and attempted to drag 
 her thence. 
 
 " Touch me not, sir ! " said Nina, waving her arm with angry 
 majesty, while her eyes sparkled as a lioness whom the hunts- 
 men would sever from her young. " I am the wife of Cola di 
 Rienzi, the Great Senator of Rome, and by his side will I live 
 and die ! " 
 
 " Take her hence : quick ! quick ! I hear the crowd ad- 
 vancing." 
 
 Irene tore herself from Adrian, and fell at the feet of Rienzi; 
 she clasped his knees. 
 
 " Come, my brother, come ! Why lose these precious mo- 
 ments? Rome forbids you to cast away a life in which hef 
 very self is l^ound up." 
 
424 RIENZI, 
 
 " Right, Irene ; Rome is bound up with me, and we will 
 rise or fall together ! — no more ! " 
 
 " You destroy us all ! " said Adrian, with generous and im- 
 patient warmth. *'A few minutes more, and we are lost. 
 Rash man ! it is not to fall by an infuriate mob that you have 
 been preserved from so many dangers." 
 
 " I believe it," said the Senator, as his tall form seemed to 
 dilate as with the greatness of his own soul. " I shall triumph 
 yet! Never shall mine enemies — never shall posterity say that 
 a second time Rienzi abandoned Rome! Hark! * Viva 7 
 Popolo?' still the cry of 'The People.' That cry scares 
 none but tyrants ! I shall triumph and survive ! " 
 
 "And I with thee ! " said Nina firmly. Rienzi paused a 
 moment, gazed on his wife, passionately clasped her ,to his 
 heart, kissed her again and again, and then said, " Nina, I com- 
 mand thee, — Go ! " 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 He paused. Irene's face, drowned in tears, met his eyes. 
 
 "We will all perish with you," said his sister ; "you only, 
 Adrian, you leave us ! " 
 
 "Be it so," said the knight sadly ; " we will all remain," and 
 he desisted at once from further effort. 
 
 There was a dead but short pause, broken but by a con- 
 vulsive sob from Irene. The tramp of the raging thousands 
 sounded fearfully distinct. Rienzi seemed lost in thought ; 
 then lifting his head, he said, calmly, "Ye have triumphed — I 
 join ye ; I but collect these papers, and follow you. Quick, 
 Adrian, save them ! " and he pointed meaningly to Nina. 
 
 Waiting no other hint, the young Colonna seized Nina in his 
 strong grasp ; with his left hand he supported Irene, who with 
 terror and excitement was almost insensible. Rienzi relieved 
 him of the lighter load ; he took his sister in his arms, and 
 descended the winding stairs. Nina remained passive — she 
 heard her husband's step behind, it was enough for her — she 
 but turned once to thank him with her eyes. A tall Northman 
 clad in armor stood at the open door. Rienzi placed Irene, 
 now perfectly lifeless, in the soldier's arms, and kissed her pale 
 cheek in silence. 
 
 "Quick, my lord," said the Northman, "on all sides they 
 come!" So saying, he bounded down the descent with his 
 burthen. Adrian followed with Nina ; the Senator paused one 
 moment, turned back, and was in his room, ere Adrian was 
 aware that he had vanished. 
 
 Hastily he drew the coverlid fronm his bed, fastened it to the 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 425 
 
 casement bars, and by its aid dropped (at a distance of several 
 feet) into the balcony below. " I will not die like a rat," said 
 he, " in the trap they have set for me ! The whole crowd shall, 
 at least, see and hear me." 
 
 This was the work of a moment. 
 
 Meanwhile Nina had scarcely proceeded six paces, before 
 she discovered that she was alone with Adrian. 
 
 " Ha ! Cola ! " she cried, " where is he ? he has gone ! " 
 
 " Take heart, lady, he has returned but for some secret 
 papers he has forgotten. He will follow us anon." 
 
 " Let us wait, then." 
 
 " Lady," said Adrian, grinding his teeth, *' hear you not the 
 crowd? on, on!" and he flew with a swifter step. Nina 
 struggled in his grasp — Love gave her the strength of despair. 
 With a wild laugh she broke from him. She flew back — the 
 door was closed, but unbarred ; her trembling hands lingered 
 a moment round the spring. She opened it, drew the heavy 
 bolt across the panels, and frustrated all attempt from Adrian 
 to regain her. She was on the stairs, — she was in the room. 
 Rienzi was gone ! She fled, shrieking his name, through the 
 State Chambers — all was desolate. Slie found the doors open- 
 ing on the various passages that admitted to the rooms below 
 barred without. Breathless and gasping, she returned to the 
 chamber. She hurried to the casement ; she perceived the 
 method by which he had descended below ; her brave heart 
 told her of his brave design ; she saw they were separated. 
 "But the same roof holds us," she cried joyously, "and our 
 fate shall be the same ! " With that thought she sank in mute 
 patience on the floor. 
 
 Forming the generous resolve not to abandon the faithful 
 and devoted pair without another effort, Adrian had followed 
 Nina, but too late ; the door was closed against his efforts. The 
 crowd marched on ; he heard their cry change on a sudden ; it 
 was no longer *' Live the People ! " but, ** Death to the 
 Traitor ! " His attendant had already disappeared, and wak- 
 ing now only to the danger of Irene, the Colonna in bitter grief 
 turned away, lightly sped down the descent, and hastened to 
 the river-side, where the boat and his band awaited him. 
 
 The balcony on which Rienzi had alighted was that from 
 which he had been accustomed to address the people ; it com- 
 municated with a vast hall used on solemn occasions for State 
 festivals, and on either side were square projecting towers, 
 whose grated casements looked into the balcony. One of these 
 tpwers was devoted to the armory, the other contained the 
 
426 RIENZI, 
 
 prison of Brettone, the brother of Montreal. Beyond the latter 
 tower was the general prison of the Capitol. For then the 
 prison and the palace were in awful neighborhood ! 
 
 The windows of the hall were yet open, and Rienzi passed into 
 it from the balcony ; the witness of the yesterday's banquet was 
 still there — the wine, yet undried, crimsoned the floor, and 
 goblets of gold and silver shone from the recesses. He pro- 
 ceeded at once to the armory, and selected from the various 
 suits that which he himself had worn when, nearly eight years 
 ago, he had chased the barons from the gates of Rome. He 
 arrayed himself in the mail, leaving only his head uncovered ; 
 and then taking in his right hand, from the wall, the great 
 Gonfalon of Rome, returned once more to the hall. Not a man 
 encountered him. In that vast building, save the prisoner and 
 the faithful Nina, whose presence he knew not of, the Senator 
 was alone. 
 
 On they came, no longer in measured order, as stream after 
 stream — from lane, from alley, from palace, and from hovel—- 
 the raging sea received new additions. On they came, their 
 passions excited by their numbers — women and men, children 
 and malignant age — in all the awful array of aroused, released, 
 unresisted physical strength and brutal wrath ; " Death to the 
 traitor — death to the tyrant — death to him who has taxed the 
 people ! " — ''Mora V traditore che ha fatta lagabella ! — Mora ! ** 
 Such was the cry of the people ; such the crime of the Senator \ 
 They broke over the low palisades of the Capitol ; they filled 
 with one sudden rush the vast space — a moment before so des- 
 olate, now swarming with human beings athirst for blood ! 
 
 Suddenly came a dead silence, and on the balcony above 
 stood Rienzi ; his head was bared and the morning sun shone 
 over that lordly brow, and the hair, grown gray before its time, 
 in the service of that maddening multitude. Pale and erect 
 he stood, neither fear, nor anger, nor menace — but deep grief 
 and high resolve — upon his features ! A momentary shame, a 
 momentary awe, seized the crowd. 
 
 He pointed to the Gonfalon wrought with the Republican 
 motto and arms of Rome, and thus he began : 
 
 " I too am a Roman and a citizen ; hear me ! " 
 
 *' Hear him not ! hear him not ! his false tongue can charm 
 away our senses ! " cried a voice louder than his own : and 
 Rienzi recognized Cecco del Vecchio, 
 
 " Hear him not ! down with the tyrant ! " cried a more 
 shrill and youthful tone ; and by the side of the artisan stoo(J 
 Angelo ViUani, 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 4^7 
 
 "Hear him not! death to the death-giver !" cried a voice 
 close at hand, and from the grating of the neighboring prison 
 glared near upon him, as the eye of a tiger, the venn;eful gaze 
 of the brother of Montreal. 
 
 Then from Earth to Heaven rose the roar : " Down with 
 the tyrant — down with him who taxed the people ! " 
 
 A shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Senator, — still 
 he stirred not. No changing muscle betokened fear. His per- 
 suasion of his own wonderful powers of eloquence, if he could 
 but be heard, inspired him yet with hope ; he stood collected 
 in his own indignant, but determined thoughts ; but the knowl- 
 edge of that very eloquence was now his deadliest foe. The 
 leaders of the multitude trembled lest he should be heard ; 
 ** and doubtless^' says the contemporaneous biographer, " had, 
 he but spoken he would have changed them all^ and the work been 
 marred.'' 
 
 The soldiers of the barons had already mixed themselves 
 with the throng ; more deadly weapons than stones aided the 
 wrath of the multitude ; darts and arrows darkened the air ; 
 and now a voice was heard shrieking, " Way for the torches ! " 
 And red in the sunlight the torches tossed and waved, 
 and danced to and fro, above the heads of the crowd, as 
 if the fiends were let loose amongst the mob ! And what 
 place in hell hath fiends like those a mad mob can furnish ? 
 Straw, and wood, and litter, were piled hastily round the great 
 doors of the Capitol, and the smoke curled suddenly up, beat' 
 ing back the rush of the assailants. 
 
 Rienzi was no longer visible, an arrow had pierced his hand — ' 
 the right hand that supported the flag of Rome — the right 
 hand that had given a constitution to the Republic. He re- 
 tired from the storm into the desolate hall. 
 
 He sat down ; and tears, springing from no weak woman 
 source, but tears from the loftiest fountain of emotion — tears 
 that befit a warrior when his own troops desert him — a patriot 
 when his countrymen rush to their own doom — a father 
 when his children rebel against his love, — tears such as these 
 forced themselves from his eyes and relieved, but they changed^ 
 his heart ! 
 
 " Enough, enough ! " he said, presently rising and dashing 
 the drops scornfully away ; *' I have risked, dared, toiled 
 enough for this dastard and degenerate race. I will yet baffle 
 their malice ! I renounce the thought of which they are so 
 httle worthy ! Let Rome perish ! I feel, at last, that I am 
 nobler than my country ! she deserves not so high a sacrifice 1 ** 
 
428 RIENZI, 
 
 With that feeling, Death lost all the nobleness of aspect it 
 had before presented to him ; and he resolved, in very scorn 
 of his ungrateful foes, in very defeat of their inhuman wrath, 
 to make one effort for his life ! He divested himself of his 
 glittering arms ; his address, his dexterity, his craft, returned 
 to him. His active mind ran over the chances of disguise — of 
 escape ; he left the hall, passed through the humbler rooms 
 devoted to the servitors and menials, found in one of them a 
 coarse working garb*; indued himself with it, placed upon his 
 head some of the draperies and furniture of the palace, as if 
 escaping with them ; and said, with his old ^'' fantastico riso " * 
 *' When all other friends desert me, I may well forsake my- 
 self ! " With that he awaited his occasion. 
 
 Meanwhile the flames burnt fierce and fast ; the outer door 
 below was already consumed ; from the apartment he had de* 
 serted the fire burst out in volleys of smoke — the wood crackled, 
 the lead melted — with a crash fell the severed gates — the 
 dreadful entrance was opened to all the multitude — the proud 
 Capitol of the Caesars was already tottering to its fall ! 
 Now was the time ! He passed the flaming door — the smoul- 
 dering threshold ; he passed the outer gate unscathed — he was 
 in the middle of the crowd. *' Plenty of pillage within," he 
 said to the bystanders, in the Roman patois^ his face concealed 
 by his load : ^^ Suso^ suso a gliu tradiioref* The mob rushed 
 past him — he went on — he gained the last stair descending 
 into the open streets — he was at the last gate — liberty and life 
 were before him. 
 
 A soldier (one of his ov/n) seized him. " Pass not — whither 
 goest thou ? " 
 
 *' Beware, lest the Senator escape disguised ! " cried a voice 
 behind — it was Villani's. The concealing load was torn from 
 his head — Rienzi stood revealed ! 
 
 " I am the Senator ! " he said in a loud voice. "Who dare 
 louch the Representative of the People ?" 
 
 The multitude were round him in an instant. Not led, but 
 rather hurried and whirled along, the Senator was borne to the 
 Place of the Lion. With the intense glare of the bursting 
 flames, the gray image reflected a lurid light, and glowed — 
 (that grim and solemn monument !) — as if itself of fire ! 
 
 There arrived, the crowd gave way, terrified by the great- 
 ness of their victim. Silent he stood, and turned his face 
 around ; nor could the squalor of his garb, nor the terror o^ 
 
 ♦ " Fantastic smile or laugh." • 
 
 t" Down, down with the traitor." 
 
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. 429 
 
 the hour, nor the proud grief of detection, abate the majesty 
 of his mien, or reassure the courage of the thousands who 
 gathered, gazing, round him. The whole Capitol, wrapped in 
 fire, lighted with ghastly pomp the immense multitude. Down the 
 long vista of the streets extended the fiery light and the serried 
 throng, till the crowd closed with the gleaming standards of the 
 Colonna — the Orsini — the Savelli ! Her true tyrants were 
 marching into Rome ! As the sound of their approaching 
 horns and trumpets broke upon the burning air, the mob 
 seemed to regain their courage. Rienzi prepared to speak ; 
 his first word was as the signal of his own death. 
 
 " Die, tyrant ! " cried Cecco del Vecchio ; and he plunged 
 his dagger in the Senator's breast. 
 
 " Die, executioner of Montreal ! " muttered Villani ; '* thus 
 the trust is fulfilled ! " and his was the second stroke. Then, 
 as he drew back and saw the artisan, in all the drunken fury of 
 his brute passion, tossing up his cap, shouting aloud, and spurn- 
 ing the fallen lion, the young man gazed upon him with a look 
 of withering and bitter scorn, and said, while he sheathed his 
 blade, and slowly turned to quit the crowd : 
 
 " Fool, miserable fool ! thou and these at least had no blood of 
 kindred to avenge ! " 
 
 They heeded not his words — they saw him not depart : for 
 as Rienzi, without a word, without a groan, fell to the earth — 
 as the roaring waves of the multitude closed over him — a voice, 
 shrill, sharp, and wild, was heard above all the clamor. At the 
 casement of the palace (the casement of her bridal chamber) 
 Nina stood ! — through the flames that burst below and around, 
 her face and outstretched arms alone visible ! Ere yet the 
 sound of that thrilling cry passed from the air, down with a 
 mighty crash thundered that whole wing of the Capitol — a 
 blackened and smouldering mass ! 
 
 At that hour a solitary boat was gliding swiftly along the 
 Tiber. Rome was at a distance ; but the lurid glow of the 
 conflagration cast its reflection upon the placid and glassy 
 stream : fair beyond description was the landscape — soft be- 
 yond all art of painter and of poet, the sunlight qijvering over 
 the autumnal herbage, and hushing into tender calm the waves 
 of the golden river ! 
 
 Adrian's eyes were strained towards the towers of tne Capi- 
 tol, distinguished by the flames from the spires and domes 
 around ; senseless, and clasped to his guardian brea«t, Iren« 
 WAS happily unconscioufi of the horrors o4 thf iiro«v 
 
43^ APPENDIX. 
 
 "They dare not^ — they dare not," said the brave Col on n a, 
 "touch a hair of that sacred head! If Rienzi fall, the liberties 
 of Rome fall forever ! As those towers that surmount the 
 flames, the pride and monument of Rome, he shall rise above 
 the dangers of the hour. Behold, still unscathed amidst the 
 raging element, the Capitol itself is his emblem ! " 
 
 Scarce had he spoken, when avast volume of smoke obscured 
 the fires afar off, a dull crash (deadened by the distance) trav- 
 elled to his ear, and the next moment the towers on which he 
 gazed had vanished from the scene, and one intense and sullen 
 glare seemed to settle over the atmosphere, — making all Rome 
 itself the funeral pyre of the Last of the Roman Tri- 
 bunes ! 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 SOME REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF RIENZI. 
 
 The principal authority from which historians have taken their account of 
 the life and times of Rienzi is a very curious biography, by some unknown 
 contemporary ; and this, which is in the Roman patois of the time, has been 
 rendered not quite unfamiliar to the French and English reader by the work 
 of Pere du Cerceau, called *' Conjuration de Nicolas Gabini, dit de Rienzi," * 
 which has at once pillaged and deformed the Roman biographer. The 
 biography I refer to was published (and the errors of the former editions 
 revised) by Muratori in his great collection ; and has lately been reprinted 
 separately in an improved text, accompanied by notes of much discrimi- 
 nation and scholastic taste, and a comment upon that celebrated poem of 
 Petrarch, " Spirto Gentil," which the majority of Italian critics have con- 
 curred in considering addressed to Rienzi, in spite of the ingenious argu- 
 ments to the contrary by the Abbe de Sade. 
 
 This biography has been generally lauded for its rare impartiality. And the 
 author does, indeed, praise and blame alike with a most singular appearance 
 of stolid candor. The work, in truth, is one of those not uncommon proofs, 
 of which Boswell's "Johnson" is the most striking, that a very valuable 
 book may be written by a very silly man. The biographer of Rienzi appears 
 more like the historian of Rienzi's clothes, so minute is he on all details of 
 their color and quality ; so silent is he upon everything that could throw 
 light upon the motives of their wearer. In fact, granting the writer every 
 desire to be impartial, he is too foolish to be so. It requires some clever- 
 ness to judge accurately of a very clever man in very difficult circumstances ; 
 and the worthy biographer is utterly incapa])le of giving us any clue to the 
 actions of Rienzi — utterly unable to explain the conduct of the man by the 
 circumstances of the time. The weakness of his vision causes him, there- 
 fore, often to squint. We must add to his want of wisdom, a want of truth, 
 which the Herodotus-like simplicity of his style frequently conceals. He 
 describcf. things which had no witness, as precisely and distinctly as those 
 
 * Sit (ffT f apwpimen of the singular blunders oi tH* frenchman's work, Appendix lit 
 
APPENDIX. 431 
 
 vhich he himself had seen. For instance, before the death of Rienzi, in 
 those awful moments when the Senator was alone, unheard, unseen, he 
 coolly informs us of each motion and each thought of Rienzi's, with as much 
 detail as if Rienzi had returned from the grave to assist his narration. These 
 obvious inventions have been adopted by Gibbon and others with more good 
 faith than the laws of evidence would warrant. Still, however, to a patient 
 and cautious reader the biography may furnish a much better notion of 
 Rienzi's character than we can glean from the historians who have borrowed 
 from it piecemeal. Such a reader will discard all the writer's reasonings, 
 will think little of his praise or blame, and regard only the facts he narrates, 
 judging them true or doubtful, according as the writer had the opportunities 
 of being himself the observer. Thus examining, the reader will find evi- 
 dence sufficient of Rienzi's genius and Rienzi's failings : carefully distin- 
 guishing between the period of his power as Tribune, and that of his 
 power as Senator, he will find the Tribune vain, haughty, fond of display ; 
 but, despite the reasonings of the biographer, he will not recognize those 
 faults in the Senator. On the other hand, he will notice the difference be 
 tween youth and maturity — hope and experience ; he will notice in the 
 Tribune vast ambition, great schemes, enterprising activity, which sober 
 into less gorgeous and more quiet colors in the portrait of the Senator. He 
 will find that in neither instance did Rienzi fall from his own faults ; he will 
 find that the vulgar moral of ambition, blasted by its own excesses, is not 
 the true moral of the Roman's life : he will find that, both in his abdication 
 as Tribune, and his death as Senator, Rienzi fell from the vices of the Peo- 
 ple. The Tribune was a victim to ignorant cowardice ; the Senator, a vic- 
 tim to ferocious avarice. It is this which modern historians have failed to 
 represent. Gibbon records rightly that the Count of Minorbino entered 
 Rome with one hundred and fifty soldiers, and barricaded the quarter of the 
 Colonna — that the bell of the Capitol sounded — that Rienzi addressed the 
 People — that they were silent and inactive — and that Rienzi then abdicated 
 the government. But for this he calls Rienzi "pusillanimous." Is not that 
 epithet to be applied to the People ? Rienzi invoked them to move against the 
 Robber, — the People refused to obey. Rienzi wished to fight, — the People 
 refused to stir. It was not the cause of Rienzi alone which demanded their 
 exertions — it was the cause of the People — theirs, not his, the shame, if one 
 hundred and fifty foreign soldiers mastered Rome, overthrew their liberties, 
 and restored their tyrants ! Whatever Rienzi's sins, whatever his unpopu- 
 larity, their freedom, their laws, their republic, were at stake ; and these 
 they surrendered to one hundred and fifty hirelings ! This is the fact thai 
 damns them ! But Rienzi was not unpopular when he addressed and con- 
 jured them : they found no fault with him. " The sighs and the groans of 
 the People," says Sismondi, justly, "rephed to his" — they could weep, but 
 they would not fight. This strange apathy the modern historians have not 
 accounted for, yet the principal cause was obvious — Rienzi was excommuni- 
 cated ! * In stating the fact, these writers have seemed to think that excom- 
 
 * And this curse I apprehend to have been the more effective in the instance of Fienzi, 
 from a fact that it would be interesting and easy to establish : viz., that he owed his ns>e as 
 much to religious as to civil causes. He aimed evidently to be a religious Reformer. All 
 his devices, ceremonies, and watchwords, were of a religious character. The monki took 
 part with his enterprise, and joined in the revolution. His letters arc full of mystical fan- 
 aticism. His references to ancient heroes of Rome are always mingled with invoca- 
 tions to her Christian Saints. The Bible, at that time little re.*d by the public civilians of 
 Italy, is constantly in his hands, and his addresses studded with texts. His very garments 
 were adorned with sacred and mysterious emblems. No douht, the ceremony of his Knighu 
 hood, which Gibbon ridicules as an act of mere vanity, was hut another of his religious 
 extravagances; for he peculiarly dedicated his Knighthood to the service cC the Santo 
 
432 APPENDIX. 
 
 munication in Rome, in the fourteenth century, produced no effect ! The 
 effect it did produce I have endeavored in these pages to convey. 
 
 The causes of tlie second fall and rinal murder of Kienzi are equally mis- 
 stated by niodcrii narrators. It was from no fault of his — no injustice, no 
 crueltv. no extrava:Jance— it was not from ihe execution of Montreal nor that 
 of Pandulto di (luido ; it was from a gabelle on ivine and salt that he fell. To 
 preserve Rome from the tyrants it was necessary to manitain an armed force ; 
 to pay the force a tax was necessary , the tax was imposed, and the multi- 
 tude joined with the tyrants, and their cry was, " Perish the traitor who has 
 made the gabelle !'' 'I'his was their only charge ; this the only crime that 
 {heir passions and their fury could cite against him. 
 
 The faults of Rienzi are sufficiently visible, and I have not unsparingly 
 shown them ; but we must judge men, not according as they approach per- 
 fection, but according as their good or bad qualities preponderate — their 
 talents or their weaknesses — the benefits they effected, the evi' they wrought. 
 For a man who rose to so great a power. Rienzi's faults were singularly few— 
 crimes he committed none. He is almost the only man wiio ever rose from 
 the rank of a citizen to a power equal to that of monarchs without a single 
 act of violence or treachery. When in power, he was vain, ostentatious, 
 and imprudent ; always an enthusiast — often a fanatic ; but his very faults 
 had greatness of soul, and his very fanaticism at once supported his enthusi- 
 astic daring, and proved his earnest honesty. It is evident that no heinous 
 charge could be brought against him even by his enemies, for all the accusa- 
 tions to which he was subjected, when excommunicated, exiled, fallen, were 
 for two offences which Petrarch rightly deemed the proofs of his virtue and 
 his glory : first, for declaring Rome to be fiee ; secondly, for pretending 
 that the Romans had a right of choice in the election of the Roman Empe- 
 ror.* Stern, just, and inflexible, as he was when Tribune, his fault was 
 never that of wanton cruelty. The accusation against him, made by the 
 gentle Petrarch, indeed, was that he wr.s not determined enough ; that he 
 did not consummate the revolution by exterminating the patrician tyrants. 
 When Senator, he was, without sufficient ground, accused of avarice in the 
 otherwise just and necessary execution of Montreal. f It was natural 
 enough that his enemies and the vulgar should suppose that he executed a 
 creditor to get rid of a debt ; but it was inexcusable in later, and wiser, and 
 fairer writers to repeat so grave a calumny, without at least adding the obvi- 
 ous suggestion, that the avarice of Rienzi could have been much better grati- 
 .:ed by sparing than by destroying the life of one of the richest subjects in 
 
 Spirito ; and his bathing in the vase of Constantine was quite of a piece, not with the vanity 
 A the Tribune, but with the extravagance of the Fanatic. In fact, they tried hard to prove 
 aim a heretic ; but he escaped a charge under the mild Innocent, which a century or two 
 oeforc, or a century or two afterwards, would have sufficed to have sent a dozen Rienzis to 
 i'le stake. 1 have dwelt the more upon this point, because, if it be shown that religious 
 causer operated with those of liberty, we throw a new light upon the whole of that most 
 extraordinary revolution, and its suddenness is infinitely less striking. The deep impres- 
 sion Rienzi produced upon that populace was thus stamped with the spirit of the 
 religious enthusiast more than that of the classical demagogue. And, as in the time of 
 Cromwell, the desire for temporal liberty was warmed and colored by the presence ol a 
 holier and more spiritual fervor. — "The Good Estate" (Buono Stato) of Rienzi reminds 
 us a little of the Good Cause ot General Cromwcil. 
 
 * The charge of heresy was dropped. 
 
 t Gibbon in mentioning the execution of Montreal, omits to state that Montreal was 
 more than suspected of conspiracy and treason to restore the Colonna. Matthew Villani 
 records it as a common belief that such truly was the offence of the Provencal. The biog- 
 rapher of Rienzi gives additional evidence of the fact. Gibbon's knowledge of this time 
 was superficial. As one instance of this, he strangely enough represents Montreal as 
 the head of the. first free company that desolated Italy : he took that error from the Pere 
 i^x Cerceau, 
 
APPENDIX. 433 
 
 Europe. Montreal, we may be quite sure, would have purchased his life at 
 an immeasurably higher price than the pahry sum lent to Rienzi by his broth 
 ers. And this is not a probable hypothesis, but a certain fact, for we are 
 expressly told that Montreal, " knowing the Tribune was in want of money, 
 offered Rienzi that if he would let him go, he Montreal, would furnish \hv 
 not only with twenty thousand florms (four times the amount of Rienzi 'if 
 debt to him), but with as many soldiers and as much money as he pleased.'' 
 This offer Rienzi did not attend to. Would he have rejected it had avaricd 
 been his motive ? And what culpable injustice to mention the vague calumny 
 without citing the practical contradiction ! When Gibbon tells us, also, 
 that '* the mosi virtuous citizen of Rome, meaning Pandulfo, or Pandolficcio 
 di Guido,* was sacrificed to his jealousy, he a little exaggerates the expres- 
 sion bestowed upon Pandulfo, which is that of "virtuoso assai"; and that 
 expression, too, used by a man who styles the robber Montreal " eccel- 
 lente uomo — di quale fama suono per luita la Italia di virtude " f — (so good a 
 moral critic was the writer !) but he also altogether waives all mention of th?" 
 probabilities that are sufficiently apparent, of the scheming of Pandulfo tc 
 supplant Rienzi, ^and to obtain the "Signoria del PopolOo" Still, however, 
 if the death of Pandulfo may be considered a blot on the memory of Rienzi, 
 it does not appear that it was this which led to his own fate. The cry of the 
 mob surrounding the palace was not " Perish him who executed Pandulfo," 
 it was — and this again and again must be carefully noted — it was nothing 
 more nor less than, *' Perish him who has ?nade the gabelle 1 " 
 
 Gibbon sneers at the military skill and courage of Rienzi. For this sneer 
 there is no cause. His first attempts, his first rise attested sufficiently his 
 daring and brave spirit ; in every danger he was present — never shrinking 
 from a foe co long as he was supported by the People. He distinguished 
 himself at Viterbo when in the camp of Albornoz, 'in several feats of 
 arms,:|: and his end was that of a hero. So much for his courage ; as to his 
 military skill, it would be excusable enough if Rienzi — the eloquent and 
 gifted student, called from the closet and the rostrum to assume the com- 
 mand of an army — should have been deficient in the art of war ; yet, some- 
 how or other, upon the whole, his arms prospered. He defeated the chiv- 
 alry of Rome at her gates ; and if he did not, after his victory, march to 
 Marino, for which his biographer § and Gibbon blame him, the reason is 
 sufficiently clear ; " Volea pecunia per soldati" — he wanted money for the 
 soldiers ! On his return as Senator, it must be remembered that he had to 
 besiege Palestrina, which was considered even by the ancient Romans almost 
 impregnable by position ; but during the few weeks he was in power, Pales- 
 trina yielded — all his open enemies were defeated — the tyrants expelled — 
 Rome free; and this without support from any party, Papal or Popular, or, as 
 fiibbon well expresses it, "suspected by the People — abandoned by the prince." 
 
 On regarding what Rienzi did, we must look to his means, to the difficul- 
 ties that surrounded him, to the scantiness of his resources. We see a man 
 without rank, wealth, or friends, raising himself to the head of a popular 
 government in the metropolis of the Church — in the City of the Empire. 
 "We see him reject any title save that of a popular magistrate ; establish at 
 one stroke a free constitution, a new code of law. We see him first expel, 
 
 * Matthew Villani speaks of him as a wise and good citizen, of great repute among the 
 People — and this, it seems, he really was. 
 
 t " An excellent ni.in, whose fame for valor resounded throughout all Italy." 
 
 X Vit. di Col. di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 14. 
 
 § In this the anonj-^mous writer compares him gravely to Hannibal, who knew how tt 
 conquer, but not how to use his conquest. 
 
434 APPENDIX. 
 
 ihen subdu3, tV.j fiercest aristocracy in Europe *, Conquer the most stubborn 
 banditti, rule; impartially the iriost turbulent people, embruted by the 
 violence and sunk in the corruption of centuries. We see him restore trade, 
 establish order, create civilization as by r. miracle, receive from crov^'ned 
 heads homage and congratulation, outwit, conciliate, or awe, the wiliest 
 priesthood of the Papal diplomacy, and raise his native city at once to sud- 
 den yet acknowledged eminence over every other State, its supeiiur in arts, 
 wealth, and civilization ; we ask what errors we are to weigh in the oppo- 
 site balance, and we find an unnecessary ostentation, a fanatical extiava- 
 gance, and a certain insolent sternness. But what are such offences — what 
 the splendor of a banquet, or the ceremony of knighthood, or a few arrogant 
 words, compared with the vices of almost every prince who was his contem- 
 porary? This is the way to judge character : we must compare men with 
 men, and not with ideals of what men should be. We look to the amazing 
 benefits Rienzi conferred upon his country. We ask his means, and see but 
 his own abilities. His treasury becomes impoverished — his enemies revolt — 
 the Church takes advantage of his weakness — he is excommunicated — the 
 soldiers refuse to fight — the People refuse to assist — the Barons ravage the 
 country — the ways are closed, the provisions are cut off from Rome.* A 
 handful of banditti enter the city — Rienzi proposes to resist them — the People 
 desert — he abdicates. Rapine, Famine, Massacre, ensue — they who deserted 
 regret — repent — yet he is still unassisted, alone — now an exile, now a prisoner, 
 his own genius saves him from every peril, and restores him to greatness. He 
 returns, the Pope's Legate refuses him arms — the People refuse him money. 
 He re-establishes law and order, expels the tyrants, renounces his former 
 faults f — is prudent, wary, provident — reigns a few weeks — taxes the People, in 
 support of the People, and is torn to pieces I One day of the rule that fol- 
 lowed is sufficient to vindicate his reign and avenge his memory — and for 
 centuries afterwards, whenever that wretched and degenerate populace 
 dreamed of glory or sighed for justice, they recalled the bright vision of Iheir 
 own victim, and deplured the fate of Cola di Rienzi. That he was not a 
 tyrant is clear in this — when he was dead, he was bitterly regretted. The 
 People never regret a tyrant ! From the unpopularity that springs from 
 other faults there is often a reaction ; but there is no reaction in the popu- 
 lace towards their betrayer or oppressor. A thousand biographies cannot de- 
 
 * " Allora le strade furo chiuse, li massari de la terre non portavano grano, ogni die 
 nasceva nuove rumore." — Vit. di Col. di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 37. 
 
 t This, the second period of his power, has been represented by Gibbon and others as 
 that of his principal faults, and he is evidently at this time no favorite with his contem- 
 poraneous biographer ; but looking to what he did^ we find amazing dexterity, prudence, 
 and energy in the most difficult crisis, and none of his earlier faults. It is true, that he 
 does not show the same brilliant extravagance which, I suspect, dazzled his contemporaries, 
 more than his sounder qualities ; but we find that in a few weeks he had conquered all his 
 powerful enemies, that his eloquence was as great as ever, his promptitude greater, his dili- 
 gence indefatigable, his foresight unslumbering. " He alone," says the biographer, " carried 
 on the affairs of Roine, but his officials were slothful and cold." This too, tortured by a 
 painful disease — already — though yet young— broken and infirm. The only charges against 
 him, as Senator, were the deaths of Montreal and Pandulfo di Guido, the imposition of the 
 gabelle, and the renunciation of his former habits of rigid abstinence, for indulgence in wine 
 and fear/.in^. Of the first charges, the reader has already been enabled to form a judgment. 
 To the last, alas ! the reader must extend indulgence, and for it he may find excuse. We 
 must compassionate even more than condemn the man to whom excitement has become 
 nature, and who resorts to the physical stimulus or the momentary Lethe, when the mental 
 exhilarations of hope, youth, and glory begin to desert him. His alleged intemperance, 
 however, which the Romans (a peculiarly sober people) might perhaps exaggerate, and for 
 ■which he gave the excuse of a thirst produced by disease contracted in the dungeon of 
 Avignon, evidently and confessedly did not in the least diminish his attention to business^ 
 Wbich, according to his biographer, was at that time greater than ever* 
 
APPENDIX. 435 
 
 cide upon the faults or merits of a ruler like the one fact, whether he is 
 beloved or hated ten years after he is dead. But if the ruler has been mur- 
 dered by the People, and is then regretted by them, their repentance is his 
 acquittal. 
 
 1 have said that the moral of the Tribune's life, and of this fiction, is not 
 the stale and unprofitable moral that warns the ambition of an individual : 
 More vast, more solemn, and more useful, it addresses itself to nations. If 
 I judge not erringly, it proclaims that, to be great and free, a People must 
 trust not to individuals but themselves ; that ihere is no sudden leap from 
 servitude to liberty ; that it is to institutions, not to men, that they must look 
 for reforms that last beyond the hour; that their own passions are the real 
 despots they should subdue, their own reason the true regenerator of abuses. 
 With a calm and noble people, the individual ambition of a citizen can never 
 effect evil — to be impatient of chains, is not to be worthy of freedom — to mur- 
 der a magistrate is not to ameliorate the laws.* The People write their own 
 condemnation whenever they use characters of blood ; and theirs alone the 
 madness and the crime, if they crown a tyrant or butcher a victim. 
 
 APPENDIX II. 
 
 A WORD UPON THE WORK BY PERE DU CERCEAU AND PfeRE BRUMOY, 
 ENTITLED "CONJURATION DE NICHOLAS GABRINI^ DIT DE RIENZI, 
 TYRAN DE ROME." 
 
 Shortly after the romance of "Rienzi" first appeared, a translation of the 
 biography compiled by Cerceau and Brumoy was published by Mr. Whitta- 
 ker. The translator, in a short and courteous advertisement, observes, 
 " That it has always been considered as a work of authority ; and even Gib- 
 bon appears to have relied on it without further research :" \. . . .that " as a 
 record of facts, therefore, the work will, it is presumed, be acceptable to the 
 public." The translator has fulfilled his duty with accuracy, elegance, and 
 spirit — and he must forgive me, if, in justice to History and Rienzi, I point 
 out a very few from amongst a great many reasons, why the joint labor of 
 the two worthy Jesuits cannot be considered either a work of authority, or a 
 record of facts. The translator observes in his preface, " that the general 
 outline (of Du Cerceau's work) vi^s probably furnished by an Italian life writ- 
 ten by a contemporary of Rienzi." The fact, however, is, that Du Cerceau's 
 book is little more than a wretched paraphrase of that very Italian life men- 
 tioned by the translator — full of blunders, from ignorance of the peculiar and 
 antiquated dialect in which the original is written, and of assumptions by the 
 Jesuit himself, which rest upon no authority whatever. I will first show, in 
 support of this assertion, what the Italians themselves think of the work of 
 Fathers Brumoy and Du Cerceau. The Signer Zefirino Re, who has proved 
 himself singularly and minutely acquainted with the history of that time, and 
 
 * Rienzi was murdered because the Romans had been in the habit of murdering when- 
 ever they were displeased. They had, very shortly before, stoned one magistrate and torn 
 to pieces another. By the same causes and the same career a People may be made to 
 resemble the bravo whose hand wanders to his knife at the smallest affront, and if to-day 
 he poniards the enemy who assaults him, to-morrow -he strikes the fri«nd who woul«| 
 tvetrain. 
 
 ♦ Wtr^ h<»N»fi»v*n h* <low injosf toe to Gibbon-- 
 
43^ APPENDrX. 
 
 whose notes to the ** Life of Rienzi " are characterized by aclcnowledged 
 acuteness and research, thus describes the manner in which the two Jesuits 
 compounded this valuable " record of facts": 
 
 *' P'ather Du Cerceau for his work made use of a French translation 
 cf the life by the Italian contemporary printed in Bracciano, 1624, executed 
 by Father Sanadon, another Jesuit, from whom he received the MS. This 
 proves that Du Cerceau knew little of our ' volgar lingua' of the fourteenth 
 century. But the errors into which he has run show that even that little was 
 unknown to his guide, and still less to P^ather Brumoy (however learned and 
 reputed the latter might be in the French literature) who, after the death of 
 Du Cerceau, supplied the deficiencies in the first pages of the author's MS., 
 •which were, I know not hov/, lost : ana in this part are found the more strik- 
 ing errors in the work, which shall be noticed in the proper place ; in the 
 mean time, one specimen will suffice. In the third chapter, book i., Cola, 
 addressing the Romans, says : ' Che lo giubileo si approssima, che se la 
 gente, la quale verra al giubileo, li trova sproveduti di annona, le pietre (per 
 metatesi sta scritto le preite) ne porterannoda Roma per rabbia di fame, e le 
 pietre non basteranno a tanta moltitudine.' II francese traduce : *Le jubile 
 approche, et vous n'avez ni provisions, ni vivres ; les etrangers .... trou- 
 veront votre ville denue de tout. Ne comptez point sur les secours des gens 
 d'Eglise ; ils sortiront de la ville, s'ils n'y trouvent de quo! subsister : et 
 d'ailleurs pourroient-ils suffire a la multitude innombrable, que se trouvera 
 dans vos murs ? ' " * " Buon Dio ! " exclaims the learned Zefirino, " Buon 
 Dio ! le pietre prese per tanta gente di chiesa ! " | 
 
 Another blunder little less extraordinary occurs in chapter vi., in which 
 the ordinances of Rienzi's Buono Stato are recited. 
 
 It is set forth as the third ordinance : " Che nulla casa di Roma sia data 
 per terra per alcuna cagione, ma vada in commune "; which simply means 
 that the houses of delinquents should in no instance be razed, but added to 
 the community or confiscated. This law being intended partly to meet the 
 barbarous violences with which the excesses and quarrels of the Barons had 
 half dismantled Rome, and principally to repeal some old penal laws by 
 which the houses of a certain class of ofTenders might be destroyed ; but the 
 French translator construes it, " Que ntille maison de Kome ne saroit do7inde 
 en propre, pour quelque raison que ce put etre ; mais que les revenus en 
 appartiendroient au pubHc ! " % 
 
 But enough of the blunders arising from ignorance. I must now be per- 
 mitted to set before the reader a few of the graver offences of wilful 
 assumption and preposterous invention. 
 
 When Rienzi condemned some of the Barons to death, the Pere thus 
 writes ; I take the recent translation published by Mr. Whittaker : 
 
 " The next day the Tribune, resolving more than ever to rid himself of 
 his prisoners, ordered tapestries of two colors, red and white, to be laid over 
 khe place whereon he held his councils, and which he had made choice of to 
 be the theatre of this bloody tragedy, as the extraordinary tapestry seemed 
 to declare. lie afterward sent a cordelier to every one of the prisoners to 
 luiminister the sacraments, and then ordered the Capitol bell to be tolled. At 
 that fatal sound and the sight of the confessors, the lords no longer doubted 
 t>i sentence of death being passed upon them. They all confessed except 
 
 ♦ The English translator could not fail to adopt the Frenchman's ludicrous mistake. 
 
 t See Preface to Zefirino Re's edition of the " Life of Rienzi," p. q, note on T)u Cerceau. 
 
 X The English translator makes this law unintelligible ; *' That no family of Rome shall 
 appropriate to their own use what they thiixkfit, but that tho rcvenuct (b«U appertain tO 
 fat public " 1 \ 1'h« r«venuc4 of what } 
 
APPENDIX. 43^ 
 
 the old Colonna, and many received the communion. In tlie mean while 
 the people, naturally prompt to attejid, when their first itupetiiosity had time 
 to calm, could not zvithout pity behold the dismal prepaj-atious 7vhich were 
 making. The sight of the bloody color in the tapestry shocked them. On this 
 first impression they joined in opinion in relation to so many illustrious heads 
 now going to be sacrificed, and lamented more their unhappy catastrophe, as 
 no crime had been proved upon them to render them worthy of such bar- 
 barous treatment. Above all, the unfortunate Stephen Colonna, whose birth ^ 
 age, and affable behavior co?nmanded respect, excited a particular compassion. 
 An universal silence and sorrow reigned among them. Those who were near- 
 est Rienzi discovered an alteration. They took the opportunity of imploring 
 Jiis mercy towards the prisoners in terms the most affecting and moving." 
 
 Will it be believed, that in the original from which the Pere Du Cerceau 
 borrows or rather imagmes this touching recital, there is not a single syllable 
 about the pity of the people, nor their shock at the bloody colors of the tapestry, 
 nor their particular compassion for the unfortunate Stephen Colonna ? — in 
 fine, the People are not even mentioned at all. All that is said is, " Some 
 Roman citizens (alcuni cittadini Romani), considering the judgment Rienzi 
 was about to make, interposed with soft and caressing words, and at last 
 changed the opinion of the Tribune "; all the rest is the pure fiction of the 
 ingenious Frenchman ! Again, Du Cerceau, describing the appearance of 
 the Barons at this fatal moment, says: "Notwithstanding the grief and 
 despair visible in their countenances, they showed a noble indignation, gener- 
 ally attendant on innocence in the hour of death.'* What says the authority 
 from which alon^, except his own, the good Father could take his account ? 
 Why, not a wo<d about this noble indignation, or this parade of innocence ! 
 The original says simply, that " the Barons were so frozen with terror that 
 they were unable to speak " (diventaso si gelati che non poteano favellare) ; 
 " that the greater part humbled themselves " (e prese penitenza e comunione);' 
 that when Rienzi addressed them, " «'// the Barons (come dannati) stood in 
 sadness. "* Du Cerceau then proceeds to state, that ' ' although he (Rienzi) was 
 grieved at heart to behold his victims snatched from him, he endeavored to 
 make a merit of it in the eyes of the People." There is not a word of this in 
 the original ! 
 
 So, when Paenzi, on a later occasion, placed the Prefect John di Vico in 
 prison, this Jesuit says : " To put a gloss upon this action before the eyes of 
 the People, Rienzi gave out that the Governor, John di Vico, keeping a 
 correspondence with the conspirators, came wiih no other view than to 
 betray the Romans." And if this scribbler, who pretends to have consulted 
 the Vatican MSS., had looked at the most ordinary authorities, he would 
 have seen that John di Vico did come with that view. (See for Di Vico's 
 secret correspondence with the Barons, La Cron. Bologn. p. 406 ; and La 
 Cron. Est. p. 444.) 
 
 Again, in the battle between the Barons and the Romans at the gates, Du 
 Cerceau thus describes the conduct of the Tribune : " The Tribune, amidst 
 his troops, knew so little of what had passed, that seeing at a distance one of 
 his standards fall, he looked upon all as lost, and, casting up his eyes to 
 heaven full of despair, cried out, ' O God, will you then forsake me? ' But 
 no sooner was he informed of the entire defeat of his enemies, than his dread 
 and cowardice even turned to boldness and arrogance." 
 
 Now in the original all that is said of this is, " That it is true that the 
 standard of the Tribune fell — the Tribune astonished (or, if you please, dis' 
 
 ♦ See Vita di Col. di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 29. 
 
43^ 
 
 APPENDlJt, 
 
 tnayed, sbigottid) stood with his eyes raised to heaven, and could find no 
 other words than, ' O God, hast thou betrayed me ?' " This evinced, per- 
 haps, alarm or conslernalion at the fall of his standard — a consternation 
 natural, not to a coward, but a fanatic, at such an event. But not a word is 
 said about Rienzi's cowardice in the action itself ; it is not stated when the 
 accident happened — nothing bears out the implication that the Tribune was 
 remote from the contest, and knew little of what passed. And if this 
 ignorant Frenchman had consulted any other contemporaneous historian 
 whatever, he would have found it asserted by them all, that the fight was 
 conducted with great valor, both by the Roman populace and their leader on 
 the one side, and the Barons on the other, — G. Vill. lib. xii. cap. 105 , 
 Cron. Sen. torn. xv. Murat. p. II9 ; Cron. Est. p. 444. Yet Gibbon re^ts 
 his own sarcasm on the Tribune's courage solely on the baseless exaggeration 
 of this Pere Du Cerceau. 
 
 So little, indeed, did this French pretender know of the history of the time 
 and place he treats of, that he imagines the Stephen Colonna who was killeo* 
 in the battle above-mentioned was the old Stephen Colonna, and is very 
 pathetic about his " venerable appearance," etc. This error, with regard to 
 a mun so eminent as Stephen Colonna the elder, is inexcusable : for, had the 
 priest turned over the other pages of the very collection in which he found 
 the biography he deforms, he would have learned that old Stephen Colonna 
 was alive some time after that battle. — [Cron. Sen. Murat. tom. xv. p. 121.] 
 
 Again, just before Rienzi's expulsion from the office of Tribune, Du 
 Cerceau, translating in his headlong way the old biographer's account of the 
 causes of Rienzi's loss of popularity, says : *' He shut himself up in his 
 palace, and his presence was known only by the rigorous punishments which 
 he caused his agents to inflict upon the innocent." Not a word of this in 
 the original ! 
 
 Again, after the expulsion, Du Cerceau says, that the Barons seized upon 
 the "immense riches" he had amassed — the words in the original are 
 *' grandi ornamenti," which are very different things from immense riches. 
 But the most remarkable sins of commission are in this person's account of 
 the second rise and fall of Rienzi under the title of Senator. Of this I shall 
 give but one instance : 
 
 " The Senator, who perceived it, became only the more cruel. His jeal- 
 ousies produced only fresh murders. In the continual dread he was in, that 
 the general discontent would terminate in some secret attempt upon his per- 
 son, he determined to intimidate the most enterprising, by sacrificing some- 
 times one, sometimes another, and chiefly those whose riches rendered them 
 the more guilty in his eyes. Numbers were sent every day to the Capitol prison. 
 Happy were those who could get off with the confiscation of their estates." 
 
 Of these grave charges there is not a syllable in the original ! And so 
 much for the work of Pere Cerceau and Pere Brumoy, by virtue of which 
 historians have written of the life and times of Rienzi, and upon the figments 
 of which the most remarkable man in an age crowded with great characters 
 is judged by the general reader ! 
 
 I must bo pardoned for this criticism, which might not have been neces- 
 sary, had not the work to which it relates, in the English translation quotcrd 
 from (a trar:!ation that has no faults but those of the French original), been 
 actually received as an historical and indisputable authority, and opposed 
 with a triumphant air to some passages in my own narrative which were 
 iiteialiy takea from the authentic records of the time. 
 
 72i& £MOb 
 
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