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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 The Last. The Close Of The Chase |
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_ 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 theirs." "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." Leaning over his wife, he then dictated different letters, interrupting the task at times by such observations as crossed his mind. "So, now to Annibaldi! By the way, young Adrian should join us today; 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 armour 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 thine, Senator. I heard rumours 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 themselves 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. He 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 farther, but the doors were secured without. It was evident that all egress had been cut off, save by the private door below,--and that 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." "Hark!" interrupted Rienzi, whose senses had of late been preternaturally quickened. "I hear a distant shout--a familiar shout, 'Viva 'l Popolo!' Why, so say I! These must be friends." "Deceive not thyself; thou hast scarce a friend 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 massacred with me. Without me ye are safe. Yes, even the Senator'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 multitude. "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, now, 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 huntsmen 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 advancing." Irene tore herself from Adrian, and fell at the feet of Rienzi--she clasped his knees. "Come, my brother, come! Why lose these precious moments? Rome forbids you to cast away a life in which her very self is bound up." "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 impatient 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 'l 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 command 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 convulsive 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 armour 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 from his bed, fastened it to the 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. She found the doors opening 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 waking now only to the danger of Irene, the Colonna in bitter grief turned away, lightly sped down the descent, and hastened to the riverside, 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 communicated 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 towers was devoted to the armory, the other contained the 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 neighbourhood! 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 proceeded 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 prisoners, 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 l' traditore che ha fatta la gabella!--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 desolate,--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 grey 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 recognised Cecco del Vecchio. "Hear him not! down with the tyrant!" cried a more shrill and youthful tone; and by the side of the artisan stood Angelo Villani. "Hear him not! death to the death-giver!" cried a voice close at hand, and from the grating of the neighbouring prison glared near upon him, as the eye of a tiger, the vengeful 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 persuasion 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 knowledge 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, beating 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 retired from the storm into the desolate hall. He sat down;--and tears, springing from no weak and 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 little worthy!--Let Rome perish!--I feel, at last, that I am nobler than my country!--she deserves not so high a sacrifice!" 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" ("Fantastic smile or laugh.")--"When all other friends desert me, I may well forsake myself!" 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 deserted 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 smouldering 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 traditore!" (Down, down with the traitor.) 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 own) 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 touch 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 grey 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 greatness of their victim. Silent he stood, and turned his face around; nor could the squalor of his garb, nor the terror of 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 spurning 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 clamour. 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 blow of the conflagration cast its reflection upon the placid and glassy stream: fair beyond description was the landscape; soft beyond all art of Painter and of Poet, the sunlight quivering over the autumnal herbage, and hushing into tender calm the waves of the golden River! Adrian's eyes were strained towards the towers of the Capitol, distinguished by the flames from the spires and domes around;--senseless, and clasped to his guardian breast, Irene was happily unconscious of the horrors of the time. "They dare not--they dare not," said the brave Colonna, "touch a hair of that sacred head!--if Rienzi fall, the liberties of Rome fall for ever! 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 a vast volume of smoke obscured the fires afar off, a dull crash (deadened by the distance) travelled 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 TRIBUNES!
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