BOOK I. THE TIME, THE PLACE, AND THE MEN.
"Fu da sua gioventudine nutricato di latte di eloquenza; buono grammatico,
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 suo frate fu
ucciso, e non ne fu fatta vendetta di sua morte: non lo poteo aiutare;
pensa lungo mano vendicare 'l sangue di suo frate; pensa lunga mano
dirizzare la cittate di Roma male guidata." - "Vita di Cola di Rienzi" 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 Cola di
Rienzi."
Chapter 1.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 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 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 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 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 humbler 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 evident affection of the brothers - for
such their connexion - 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 you 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 save 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 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 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 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
buffoon. Yes, they would advance my fortunes - but how? 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 furnishes the excuse 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 fellow-
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
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 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 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 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 civilised 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 anticipating 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 become 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 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 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 accompany 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 and 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 recollected that his little 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 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 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 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 ostentatiously 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
swordsmen was more dreaded than a wild beast by the plebeians; but it was
already too late to fly - the train were 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 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."
"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 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 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 garrison 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 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 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 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. 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
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 elude the rushing chargers 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 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 onwards,
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 unresisted 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 and the
dying in their path. He was now at the spot in which his brother had left
him; hastily he glanced 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 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 descended, - 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, indeed, but the advanced-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. "How is this?" said the chief, reining
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 his hands, cried out in a scarce
articulate tone: "It is my brother, noble Stephen, - a boy, a mere child!
- the best - the mildest! See how his blood dabbles the grass; - back,
back - your horse's hoofs are in the stream! Justice, my Lord, justice! -
you are a great man."
"Who slew him? an Orsini, doubtless; you shall have justice."
"Thanks, thanks," murmured Rienzi, as he tottered once more to his
brother's side, turned the boy's 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 cheeks, 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 armour, 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? I fear me the mistake hath cost him dear. I could but suppose
him of the Orsini rabble, and so - and so - "
"You slew him!" cried Rienzi, in a voice of thunder, starting from the
ground. "Justice! then, my Lord Stephen, justice! you promised me
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 towards 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 muttering to
himself, "Justice, justice! I will have it yet."
The loud voice of the elder Colonna summoned Adrian, reluctantly 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 innocent
boy. "My brother! my brother!" groaned the survivor; "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 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 invocation; 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 inward 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
concentrated into a single point; and patriotism, before a vision, leapt
into the life and vigour of a passion, lastingly kindled, stubbornly
hardened, and awfully consecrated, - by revenge!
