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 sate, 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 which, by its solid
substance, and the sheet of iron with which 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 deemed 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, his brow somewhat knit, his lip slightly
compressed, that personage, indulged in meditations far other than the
indolent dreams of scholars. As the high and still moonlight shone upon
his countenance, it gave an additional and solemn dignity to features
which were naturally of a grave and majestic cast. Thick and auburn
hair, the colour of which, not common to the Romans, was ascribed to his
descent from the Teuton emperor, clustered in large curls above a high
and expansive forehead; and even the present thoughtful compression of
the brow could not mar the aspect of latent power, which it derived from
that great breadth between the eyes, in which the Grecian sculptors of
old so admirably 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, the 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 described, still extant at Rome, may
be traced a certain resemblance 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 considered by his contemporaries as eminently handsome, the
judgment was probably formed less from the more vulgar claims to such
distinction, than from the height of the stature, an advantage at that
time more esteemed than at present, and that nobler order of beauty
which cultivated genius and commanding 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 circumstance 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
father was the natural son of the Emperor, Henry VII.; (De Sade supposes
that the mother of Rienzi was the daughter of an illegitimate son 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 the relationship from his father “Di
vostro legnaggio sono--figlio di bastardo d’Enrico imperatore,” &c. A
more recent writer, il Padre Gabrini, cites an inscription in support of
this descent: “Nicolaus Tribunus...Laurentii Teutonici Filius,” &c.)
and it was the pride of the parents that probably gave to Rienzi
the unwonted advantages of education. This pride transmitted to
himself,--his descent from royalty 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 signors, 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
allusions 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 already undergone, deepened
the earnest and solemn qualities of his character; and, at length, all
the faculties of a very uncommon 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 indomitable soul of Cato! There shall
be a 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 her 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
sincere!
There was a slight knock at the door, and a servitor, in the rich
liveries worn by the pope’s officials, (Not the present hideous
habiliments, which are said to have been the invention of Michael
Angelo.) presented himself.
“Signor,” said he, “my Lord, the Bishop of Orvietto, is without.”
“Ha! that is fortunate. Lights there!--My Lord, this is an honour 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, these licentious contentions, in the very shrines
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 rebellious
children. Recollectest thou not how the noble 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, he 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, colouring 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 favour 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 to complete the insult. ‘Pardon, Lord Bishop,’ said he, as
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?” interrupted the Bishop, quickly. “Can we effect aught!
Dismiss thy enthusiastic dreamings--descend to the real earth--look
soberly round us. Against men so powerful, what can we do?”
“My Lord,” answered Rienzi, gravely, “it is the misfortune of signors of
your rank never to know the people, or the accurate 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
vapours--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 impressed 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 licence 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 how they are caitiff and uncertain.”
“My Lord,” answered Rienzi, “judge, by one fact, how strongly I am
surrounded by friends of no common class: thou knowest how loudly
I speak against the nobles--I cite them by their name--I beard the
Savelli, the Orsini, the Colonna, in their very hearing. Thinkest thou
that they forgive me? thinkest thou that, were only the plebeians my
safeguard and my favourers, they would not seize me by open force,--that
I had not long ere this found a gag in their dungeons, or been swallowed
up in the eternal dumbness of the grave? Observe,” continued he, as,
reading the Vicar’s countenance, he perceived the impression he had
made--“observe, that, throughout the 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 witnessed, 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 honours 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 plebeian,--which still draws the eyes of Europe to
the lowly cottage of Vaucluse,--which gives to the humble student the
all-acknowledged licence 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; (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.) 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, (Edward III., in whose reign opinions
far more popular than those of the following century began to work. The
Civil Wars threw back the action into the blood. It was indeed an age
throughout the world which put forth abundant blossoms, but crude and
unripened fruit;--a singular leap, followed by as singular a pause.)
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 but 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 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 to 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 at 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 linking 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 long delay. He who can
see all around him impatient--himself not less so--and yet suppress the
signal, and bide the hour, is not likely to lose his cause by rashness.”
“More, then, of this anon,” said the Bishop, resettling himself in his
seat. “As thy plans mature, fear not to communicate with me. Believe
that Rome has no firmer friend then he who, ordained to preserve order,
finds himself impotent against aggression. Meanwhile, to the object of
my present visit, which links itself, in some measure, perhaps, with the
topics on which we have conversed...Thou knowest that when his Holiness
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
pilgrimage to Rome on 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 and 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 perceives 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 consequences: 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,” rejoined 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 second
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 to
him, that if his wit can devise the method for 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 succour 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 this charge; at once I accept it--at once I pledge
myself to success. Let us, my Lord, let us, then, clearly understand
the limits ordained to my discretion. To curb the brigands without the
walls, I must have authority over those within. If I undertake, at peril
of my life, to clear all the avenues to Rome of the robbers who now
infest it, shall I have full licence for conduct bold, peremptory, and
severe?”
“Such conduct the very nature of the charge demands,” replied 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 the violation of the
law!” added Rienzi, firmly.
The Bishop did not reply in words, 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 justice 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 the violaters of law. Now I judge ye 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 the reality; but its
object was already finished, and the Bishop rose to depart. The outer
portal of the house was opened, the numerous servitors of the Bishop
held on high their torches, and he had just termed from Rienzi, who
had attended him to the gate, when a female passed hastily through the
Prelate’s train, and starting 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 for ever!”
“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 recounted to
Rienzi, in whom the reader has already recognised 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 nought.
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 Benedetta had
concluded; and turning to the Bishop, whose departure the narrative had
delayed--“you hear to what outrage the citizens of Rome are subjected.
My hat and sword! instantly! My Lord, forgive my abruptness.”
“Whither art thou bent, then?” asked Raimond.
“Whither--whither!--Ay, I forgot, my Lord, you have no sister. Perhaps
too, you had no brother?--No, no; one victim at least I will live to
save. Whither, you ask me?--to the palace of Martino di Porto.”
“To an Orsini alone, and for justice?”
“Alone, and for 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; “advance 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! to the palace of
Martino di Porto!”