Rienzi ... By the author of 'Eugene Aram' [Lord Lytton], etc

Front matter

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Preface

. 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 sometime 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 aud times of Rienzi.

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 iu Romance, to all the leading events of the pnblic 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. Such is the indisputable prerogative of Romance. But it is a view, in all its main features, which I believe (aud think I could prove) myself to be warranted in taking, not less by the facts of History than the laws of Fiction. In the meanwhile, as I have given the acts from which I have drawn my interpretation of the principal agent, the reader has sufficient data for his own judgment.

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 characters 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 denouement 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. A work which takes for its subject the crimes and errors of a nation, which ventures, however unsuccessfully, to seek the Actual aud the Real in the highest stage of passion or action, can, I think, rarely adopt with advantage the inelo-dramatic effects produced by a vulgar mystery, or that stage-effect humour, which, arising from small peculiarities of character, draws the attention of the reader from greatness or from crime, to a weakness or a folly.

Nor does a Fiction, dealing in such subjects, admit very frequently, or with minute detail, superfluous descriptions of Costume and Manners.— Of costume and manners I have had indeed a less ambitious and less disputable motive for brevity in delineation ; (though what there be, is, I trust, sufficiently faithful,)— I write of a feudal century, and I have no desire to write more than is necessary of feudal manners, after the inimitable and everlasting portraitures of Sir Walter Scott. I say thus much iu order to prepare the mind of the reader as to what he is to expect in the following volumes— a duty I think incumbent upon every Author of discretion aud benevolence, and a precaution which, if sometimes preventing mortifi cation to himself— prevents, no less frequently, disappointment to the reader.— I must allow this prelude seems somewhat ominous !— little of Costume, less of Mystery,* nothing of Humour !

What is there then left to interest or amuse ? Alas, in Passion, Character, and Action, there remaiu enough materials, if the poor workman can but weave them properly ! In the picture of the Roman Populace, as iu 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. In much of my work those who think that the Many— no matter in what age, no matter in what land, are always right, will possibly detect (what indeed I could scarcely be suspected of by others) a comervative moral. But it must be by very ingenious minds indeed that these volumes can be perverted to the party purposes of the day,— nothing at least is farther from my own wish,— my own intention. The fiction composed from history, like history itself, may deal with the calm aud acknowledg..! lessons of the Past, but it deserts its dignity if it warp inappropriate analogies to the heated and equivocal contests of the Present.

I cannot conclude without rendering the tribute of my humble praise and homage to the versatile and gifted Author of the beautiful Tragedy of Rienzi. Considering that our hero be the same— con- * What mystery there be, is intentionally left under a very thin veil. Terror is sometimes made the greater when traced afar off.

PREFACE.

. sidering 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 conduct and none on the fate of the hero, I am not aware of any resemblance between the two works ; and even this coincidence I could easily have removed, had I deemed it the least advisable : — but it would be almost discreditable if I had nothing that resembled a performance possessing so much it were an honour to imitate. In fact, the prodigal materials of the story — the rich and exuberant complexities of Rienzi's character— joined to the advantage possessed by the Nov .list of embracing all that the Dramatist must reject* — are sufficient to prevent Dramatist and Novelist from interfering with each other.

If I differ from Gibbon in his view of Rienzi's character, I differ also in many respects from Miss Mitford, — I differ yet more from her in the moral to be drawn from his fate ; but of the two, I own that I think Miss Mitford is more just than Gibbon. Of men who become great by enthusiasm (which is a poetry of temperament), poets arc often the most profound historians. London, December 1, 1S35. * Thus the slender space permitted to the Dramatist does not allow Miss Mitford to be very faithful to facts — to distinguish between Rieuzi's earlier and his later period of power ; or to detail the true but somewhat intricate causes of his rise, his splendour, and his fall.

Chapter I

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 ai _u round the form of his comrade, not only in their manner and gait, but in their youth and evident affection, there was a .grace and sentiment about the brothers — for such their connection — which elevated the lowliness of their apparent condition. " Dear brother," said the elder, " I cannot express to thee how I enjoy these evening hours. To yon alone I feel as if I were not a mere visionary and idler when I talk of the uncertain future, and build up my palaces 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 I ever dare look from my Livy, and cry, ' Thus should Rome be again!' they stare, and gape, and frown, as though I had broached an heresy.

But you, sweet brother, though you share not my studies, sympathize so kindly with all their results — you seem so 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, 6ave that of the Teuton Emperor, flowed through our veins." "Methinks, dear Cola," said the younger brother, "that Nature played us an unfair trick— to you she transmitted the royal soul, derived, though obscurely, from our father's parentage ; and to me only the quiet and lowly spirit of my mother's humble lineage." "Nay," answered Cola, quickly, "you would then have the brighter share, — for I should have but the Bar barian 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, aud that will content me," said the younger, smiling affectionately; "a great scholar all confess you to bo already: our mother predicts your fortunes 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 knowledge 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 buf foon. Yes, they would advance my fortunes — but how ? THE BE OTHERS. The name which these volumes bear 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 s_m walking beside the banks of the Tiber, not far from that pai _ of its winding course which sweeps by the base of Mount Aventine. The path they had selected was remote and tranquil. It was only at a distance that were seen the scattered and 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 the one side the river, behind the cottages of the fishermen, rose Mount Janiculum, dark with massive foliage, from which gleamed, at frequent intervals, the grey walls of many a castellated palace, and the spires and columns of a hundred churches ; on the other side, the deserted Aventine rose abrupt and steep, covered with thick brushwood ; while, on the height, from concealed but numerous convents, rolled, not unmusically, along the quiet landscape and the rippling waves, the sound of the holy bell.

Of 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 presence remarkable and almost noble, despite the homeliness of his garb, which consisted of the long, loose gown and the plain tunic, both of dark-grey serge, which distinguished, at that time, the dress of the humbler scholars who frequented the monasteries 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 wMdh so usually denotes a propensity to reverie and contemplation, and betrays that the past or future is more congenial to the mind within than the enjoyment and action of the present hour.

The 3'ounger, 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 humbler classes, though somewhat neater, perhaps, and newer ; and the fond vanity of a mother might be detected in the care RIENZI, THE LAST OF TBE TRIBUNES. 10 a flower over that desolate spot), he again seated himself, and began weaving them into one of those ffarlands tor 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 the loud shouting of men were heard at a distance.

They came near, and nearer. " Some baron's procession, perhaps, returning from a feast," thought the boy ; " it'll 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 pro cession, 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, thensteeds caparisoned superbly— their plumes waving gaily, and the gleam of their corslets glittering through the shades of the dusky twilight. A large and miscellaneous crowd, all armed— some with pikes and mail, others with less warlike or worse fashioned weapons, followed the cavaliers, and high above plume and pike, floated the blood-red banner of the Orsini, with the motto and device (in which was ostensibly displayed the Guelfic badge of the keys of St. Peter) wrought in burnished gold.

A momentary fear crossed the boy's mind, for at that time, and in that city, a nobleman begirt with his swordmen was more dreaded than a wild beast by the plebeians, but it was already too late to fly — the train were upon him. " Ho, hoy !" 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 half an hour ago," answered the boy, terrified by the rough voice and imperious bearing of the cavalier. " Sailing right a-head, 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." "Au Orsini, an Orsini!" shouted the multitude, "on, on V 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 unwilling 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 learnt 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 beeu thus lucklessly entrained, to intercept the provisions, and divert it to the garrison of Martino di Porto. This news somewhat increased his consternation, for the boy be longed to a family that claimed the patronage of the Colonna. by some place in the public offices, which would fill a dishonoured coffer, by wringing, yet more sternly, the hard-earned coins from our famishing citizens ! If there be a vile thing in the world, it is a plebeian, advanced 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 becomes a puppet for these tyrant hypocrites to lift up their hands, and cry, * See what liberty exists in Rome, when we, the patricians, thus elevate a plebeian!' Did they ever elevate a plebeian if he sympathized with plebeians . No, brother ; 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 feUow-citizens, forget how dear you are to us. No greatness could ever reconcile me to the thought that it brought you danger." " And I could laugh at all danger, if it led to greatness. But greatness— greatness ! Vain dream ! Let us keep it for our night 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 projects 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 aud a merry lip conjure up to the vague sentiment 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 recur to him, when he shrank from asking his own heart which ambi tion was the wiser. "And then," continued the younger brother, "by degrees I 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 conld 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 pro vide for your wishes ! — yet methinks the masters of yon vessel have 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 anticipative of a foe. The bark soon, however, glided out of sight, and the brothers fell back upon those themes, which require only the Future for a text, to be so attractive to the young.

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 be guiled me ! Father Uberto promised me a rare manu script, which the good friar confesses hath pnzzled 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." 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 brought suddenly before them the object of their pursuit, as, seen by the light of the earliest stars, it scudded rapidly down the stream.

" Now, the Saints be blest," quoth tho chief, " she is ours ! ' ' " Can I not accompany you?" "Nay," returned Cola, with considerate kindness, " you have borne toil all the day, and must be wearied ; my labours, 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 accom pany his brother ; but he was of a meek and yielding temper, and seldom resisted the lightest command of those he loved. He sat him 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 aud melancholy foliage. At first he sat very quietly, enjoying the cool air, and thinking over all the stories of ancient Rome that his brother had told him in their walk.

At length he recol lected that his little sister, Irene, had begged him to bring her home some flowers, and, gathering such as he could find at hand (and wild and clustering grew many "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 ou !" With renewed shouts those ou foot pushed forward, till, as they had nearly gained the copse referred to by the Germau, 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. "AColonna! aColonna!" "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 hri"- " cried the Orsini, as down went his antagonist, rider and steed before his lance. The contest was short and fierce ; the complete armour 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 ruthless havoc amongst their undisciplined ranks. Aud Martino, who cared little how many of his mere m#b were butchered, seeing that his foe were for the moment em barrassed 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 to wards 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 Co lonna 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 he had first raised for advance, now gave the signal of retreat. Serried breast to breast and in complete order, the horsemen of Martino turned to fly ; the foot rabble who had come for spoil remained but for slaughter. They endeavoured to imitate their leaders, but how could they all hope to elude the rushing charger and sharp lance of their antagonists, whose blood was heated by the affray, and who regarded the lives at their mercy as the boy regards the wasps' nest he destroys. The crowd dispersing 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 on wards, served, by clogging the way of their enemy, to facilitate the flight of their leaders, but fell themselves, corpse upon corpse, butchered in the unrelenting and un resisted pursuit.

"No quarter to the ruffians— 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 the hoofs— the shouts— the curses— the fierce laughter of the foe as they bounded over the dead aud the dying in their path. He was now at the spot in which his brother had left him ; hastily he looked behind, 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 mountain, and bounding to his succour.

" 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 lance of the pursuer passing through and through him, from back to breast, and nail ing 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 descended, — was on the spot, — kneeling by his mur dered brother. Presently, to the sound of horn and trumpet, came by a nobler company than most of those hitherto engaged ; who had been, indeed, but the ad vanced-guard of the Colonna. At their head rode a man in years, whose long white hair escaped from his plumed cap and mingled with his venerable beard.