Chapter 2.II. The Interview, and the Doubt.
As Adrian turned from the palace of his guardian, and bent his way in the
direction of the Forum, he came somewhat unexpectedly upon Raimond, bishop
of Orvietto, who, mounted upon a low palfrey, and accompanied by some three
or four of his waiting-men, halted abruptly when he recognised the young
noble.
"Ah, my son! it is seldom that I see thee: how fares it with thee? - well?
So, so! I rejoice to hear it. Alas! what a state of society is ours, when
compared to the tranquil pleasures of Avignon! There, all men who, like
us, are fond of the same pursuits, the same studies, deliciae musarum, hum!
hum! (the Bishop was proud of an occasional quotation, right or wrong), are
brought easily and naturally together. But here we scarcely dare stir out
of our houses, save upon great occasions. But, talking of great occasions,
and the Muses, reminds me of our good Rienzi's invitation to the Lateran:
of course you will attend; 'tis a mighty knotty piece of Latin he proposes
to solve - so I hear, at least; very interesting to us, my son, - very!"
"It is tomorrow," answered Adrian. "Yes, assuredly; I will be there."
"And, harkye, my son," said the Bishop, resting his hand affectionately on
Adrian's shoulder, "I have reason to hope that he will remind our poor
citizens of the Jubilee for the year Fifty, and stir them towards clearing
the road of the brigands: a necessary injunction, and one to be heeded
timeously; for who will come here for absolution when he stands a chance of
rushing unannealed upon purgatory by the way? You have heard Rienzi, - ay?
quite a Cicero - quite! Well, Heaven bless you, my son! You will not
fail?"
"Nay, not I."
"Yet, stay - a word with you: just suggest to all whom you may meet the
advisability of a full meeting; it looks well for the city to show respect
to letters."
"To say nothing of the Jubilee," added Adrian, smiling.
"Ah, to say nothing of the Jubilee - very good! Adieu for the present!"
And the Bishop, resettling himself on his saddle, ambled solemnly on to
visit his various friends, and press them to the meeting.
Meanwhile, Adrian continued his course till he had passed the Capitol, the
Arch of Severus, the crumbling columns of the fane of Jupiter, and found
himself amidst the long grass, the whispering reeds, and the neglected
vines, that wave over the now-vanished pomp of the Golden House of Nero.
Seating himself on a fallen pillar - by that spot where the traveller
descends to the (so called) Baths of Livia - he looked impatiently to the
sun, as to blame it for the slowness of its march.
Not long, however, had he to wait before a light step was heard crushing
the fragrant grass; and presently through the arching vines gleamed a face
that might well have seemed the nymph, the goddess of the scene.
"My beautiful! my Irene! - how shall I thank thee!"
It was long before the delighted lover suffered himself to observe upon
Irene's face a sadness that did not usually cloud it in his presence. Her
voice, too, trembled; her words seemed constrained and cold.
"Have I offended thee?" he asked; "or what less misfortune hath occurred?"
Irene raised her eyes to her lover's, and said, looking at him earnestly,
"Tell me, my Lord, in sober and simple truth, tell me, would it grieve thee
much were this to be our last meeting?"
Paler than the marble at his feet grew the dark cheek of Adrian. It was
some moments ere he could reply, and he did so then with a forced smile and
a quivering lip.
"Jest not so, Irene! Last! - that is not a word for us!"
"But hear me, my Lord - "
"Why so cold? - call me Adrian! - friend! - lover! or be dumb!"
"Well, then, my soul's soul! my all of hope! my life's life!" exclaimed
Irene, passionately, "hear me! I fear that we stand at this moment upon
some gulf whose depth I see not, but which may divide us for ever! Thou
knowest the real nature of my brother, and dost not misread him as many do.
Long has he planned, and schemed, and communed with himself, and, feeling
his way amidst the people, prepared the path to some great design. But now
- (thou wilt not betray - thou wilt not injure him? - he is thy friend!)"
"And thy brother! I would give my life for his! Say on!"
"But now, then," resumed Irene, "the time for that enterprise, whatever it
be, is coming fast. I know not of its exact nature, but I know that it is
against the nobles - against thy order - against thy house itself! If it
succeed - oh, Adrian! thou thyself mayst not be free from danger; and my
name, at least, will be coupled with the name of thy foes. If it fail, -
my brother, my bold brother, is swept away! He will fall a victim to
revenge or justice, call it as you will. Your kinsman may be his judge -
his executioner; and I - even if I should yet live to mourn over the boast
and glory of my humble line - could I permit myself to love, to see, one in
whose veins flowed the blood of his destroyer? Oh! I am wretched -
wretched! these thoughts make me well-nigh mad!" and, wringing her hands
bitterly, Irene sobbed aloud.
Adrian himself was struck forcibly by the picture thus presented to him,
although the alternative it embraced had often before forced itself dimly
on his mind. It was true, however, that, not seeing the schemes of Rienzi
backed by any physical power, and never yet having witnessed the mighty
force of a moral revolution, he did not conceive that any rise to which he
might instigate the people could be permanently successful: and, as for
his punishment, in that city, where all justice was the slave of interest,
Adrian knew himself powerful enough to obtain forgiveness even for the
greatest of all crimes - armed insurrection against the nobles. As these
thoughts recurred to him, he gained the courage to console and cheer Irene.
But his efforts were only partially successful. Awakened by her fears to
that consideration of the future which hitherto she had forgotten, Irene,
for the first time, seemed deaf to the charmer's voice.
"Alas!" said she, sadly, "even at the best, what can this love, that we
have so blindly encouraged - what can it end in? Thou must not wed with
one like me; and I! how foolish I have been!"
"Recall thy senses then, Irene," said Adrian, proudly, partly perhaps in
anger, partly in his experience of the sex. "Love another, and more
wisely, if thou wilt; cancel thy vows with me, and continue to think it a
crime to love, and a folly to be true!"
"Cruel!" said Irene, falteringly, and in her turn alarmed. "Dost thou
speak in earnest?"
"Tell me, ere I answer you, tell me this: come death, come anguish, come a
whole life of sorrow, as the end of this love, wouldst thou yet repent that
thou hast loved? If so, thou knowest not the love that I feel for thee."
"Never! never can I repent!" said Irene, falling upon Adrian's neck;
"forgive me!"
"But is there, in truth," said Adrian, a little while after this lover-like
quarrel and reconciliation, "is there, in truth, so marked a difference
between thy brother's past and his present bearing? How knowest thou that
the time for action is so near?"
"Because now he sits closeted whole nights with all ranks of men; he shuts
up his books, - he reads no more, - but, when alone, walks to and fro his
chamber, muttering to himself. Sometimes he pauses before the calendar,
which of late he has fixed with his own hand against the wall, and passes
his finger over the letters, till he comes to some chosen date, and then he
plays with his sword and smiles. But two nights since, arms, too, in great
number were brought to the house; and I heard the chief of the men who
brought them, a grim giant, known well amongst the people, say, as he wiped
his brow, - 'These will see work soon!'"
"Arms! Are you sure of that?" said Adrian, anxiously. "Nay, then, there
is more in these schemes than I imagined! But (observing Irene's gaze bent
fearfully on him as his voice changed, he added, more gaily) - but come
what may, believe me - my beautiful! my adored! that while I live, thy
brother shall not suffer from the wrath he may provoke, - nor I, though he
forget our ancient friendship, cease to love thee less."
"Signora! Signora! child! it is time! we must go!" said the shrill voice of
Benedetta, now peering through the foliage. "The working men pass home
this way; I see them approaching."
The lovers parted; for the first time the serpent had penetrated into their
Eden, - they had conversed, they had thought, of other things than Love.
