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Rienzi, Last of the Roman Tribunes, a novel by Edward Bulwer-Lytton |
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Book 10. The Lion Of Basalt - Chapter 10.8. The Threshold Of The Event |
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_ 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 welcome 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 demeanour. 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 now 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, repaired towards his private apartments, previous to the banquet given to the Ambassadors. Villani met him with his wonted sombre aspect. "No sadness today, 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?" "Till Roman virtue revives, perhaps--yes! But thus are we fools of Fortune;--today glad--tomorrow dejected!" "Tomorrow," repeated Villani, mechanically: "Ay--tomorrow 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 (column 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 soon 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 turbulence of his later life, Memory had long slept; but at that hour, she re-asserted her shadowy reign with a despotism that seemed prophetic. He was wandering--a boy, with his young brother, hand in hand, by the riverside at eve: anon he saw a pale face and gory side, and once more uttered his imprecations of revenge! 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 recognised Cecco del Vecchio and Angelo Villani. They saw him 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 churlish in me!" He re-entered the Place of the Capitol--he stood by the staircase of the Lion; there was a red stain upon the pavement, unobliterated since Montreal's execution, and the Senator drew himself aside with an inward shudder. Was it the ghastly and spectral light of the Moon, or did the face of that old Egyptian Monster wear an aspect that was as of life? The stony eyeballs seemed bent upon him with a malignant scowl; and as he passed on, and looked behind, they appeared almost preternaturally to follow his steps. A chill, he knew not why, sunk into his heart. He hastened to regain his palace. The sentinels made way for him. "Senator," said one of them, doubtingly, "Messere Angelo Villani is our new captain--we are to obey his orders?" "Assuredly," returned the Senator, passing on. The man lingered uneasily, as if he would have spoken, but Rienzi observed it not. Seeking his chamber, he found Nina and Irene waiting for him. His heart yearned to his wife. Care and toil had of late driven her from his thoughts, and he felt it remorsefully, as he gazed upon her noble face, softened by the solicitude of untiring and anxious love. "Sweetest," said he, winding his arms around her tenderly; "thy lips never chide me, but thine eyes sometimes do! We have been apart too long. Brighter days dawn upon us, when I shall have leisure to thank thee for all thy care. And you, my fair sister, you smile on me!--ah, you have heard that your lover, ere this, is released by the cession of Palestrina, and tomorrow's sun will see him at your feet. Despite all the cares of the day, I remembered thee, my Irene, and sent a messenger to bring back the blush to that pale cheek. Come, come, we shall be happy again!" And with that domestic fondness common to him, when harsher thoughts permitted, he sate himself beside the two persons dearest to his hearth and heart. "So happy--if we could have many hours like this!" murmured Nina, sinking on his breast. "Yet sometimes I wish--" "And I too," interrupted Rienzi; "for I read thy woman's thought--I too sometimes wish that fate had placed us in the lowlier valleys of life! But it may come yet! Irene wedded to Adrian--Rome married to Liberty--and then, Nina, methinks you and I would find some quiet hermitage, and talk over old gauds and triumphs, as of a summer's dream. Beautiful, kiss me! Couldst thou resign these pomps?" "For a desert with thee, Cola!" "Let me reflect," resumed Rienzi; "is not today the seventh of October? Yes! on the seventh, be it noted, my foes yielded to my power! Seven! my fated number, whether ominous of good or evil! Seven months did I reign as Tribune--seven (There was the lapse of one year between the release of Rienzi from Avignon, and his triumphal return to Rome: a year chiefly spent in the campaign of Albornoz.) years was I absent as an exile; tomorrow, that sees me without an enemy, completes my seventh week of return!" "And seven was the number of the crowns the Roman Convents and the Roman Council awarded thee, after the ceremony which gave thee the knighthood of the Santo Spirito!" (This superstition had an excuse in strange historical coincidences; and the number seven was indeed to Rienzi what the 3rd of September was to Cromwell. The ceremony of the seven crowns which he received after his knighthood, on the nature of which ridiculous ignorance has been shown by many recent writers, was, in fact, principally a religious and typical donation, (symbolical of the gifts of the Holy Spirit,) conferred by the heads of convents--and that part of the ceremony which was political, was republican, not regal.) said Nina, adding, with woman's tender wit, "the brightest association of all!" "Follies seem these thoughts to others, and to philosophy, in truth, they are so," said Rienzi; "but all my life long, omen and type and shadow have linked themselves to action and event: and the atmosphere of other men hath not been mine. Life itself a riddle, why should riddles amaze us? The Future!--what mystery in the very word! Had we lived all through the Past, since Time was, our profoundest experience of a thousand ages could not give us a guess of the events that wait the very moment we are about to enter! Thus deserted by Reason, what wonder that we recur to the Imagination, on which, by dream and symbol, God sometimes paints the likeness of things to come? Who can endure to leave the Future all unguessed, and sit tamely down to groan under the fardel of the Present? No, no! that which the foolish-wise call Fanaticism, belongs to the same part of us as Hope. Each but carries us onward--from a barren strand to a glorious, if unbounded sea. Each is the yearning for the GREAT BEYOND, which attests our immortality. Each has its visions and chimeras--some false, but some true! Verily, a man who becomes great is often but made so by a kind of sorcery in his own soul--a Pythia which prophesies that he shall be great--and so renders the life one effort to fulfil the warning! Is this folly?--it were so, if all things stopped at the grave! But perhaps the very sharpening, and exercising, and elevating the faculties here--though but for a bootless end on earth--may be designed to fit the soul, thus quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny beyond the earth! Who can tell? not I!--Let us pray!" While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her various quarters presented less holy and quiet scenes. In the fortress of the Orsini lights flitted to and fro, through the gratings of the great court. Angelo Villani might be seen stealing from the postern-gate. Another hour, and the Moon was high in heaven; toward the ruins of the Colosseum, men, whose dress bespoke them of the lowest rank, were seen creeping from lanes and alleys, two by two; from these ruins glided again the form of the son of Montreal. Later yet--the Moon is sinking--a grey light breaking in the East--and the gates of Rome, by St. John of Lateran, are open! Villani is conversing with the sentries! The Moon has set--the mountains are dim with a mournful and chilling haze--Villani is before the palace of the Capitol--the only soldier there! Where are the Roman legions that were to guard alike the freedom and the deliverer of Rome? _ |
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