Chapter 4.I. The Boy Angelo - the Dream of Nina Fulfilled.
The thread of my story transports us back to Rome. It was in a small
chamber, in a ruinous mansion by the base of Mount Aventine, that a young
boy sate, one evening, with a woman of a tall and stately form, but
somewhat bowed both by infirmity and years. The boy was of a fair and
comely presence; and there was that in his bold, frank, undaunted carriage,
which made him appear older than he was.
The old woman, seated in the recess of the deep window, was apparently
occupied with a Bible that lay open on her knees; but ever and anon she
lifted her eyes, and gazed on her young companion with a sad and anxious
expression.
"Dame," said the boy, who was busily employed in hewing out a sword of
wood, "I would you had seen the show today. Why, every day is a show at
Rome now! It is show enough to see the Tribune himself on his white steed
- (oh, it is so beautiful!) - with his white robes all studded with jewels.
But today, as I have just been telling you, the Lady Nina took notice of
me, as I stood on the stairs of the Capitol: you know, dame, I had donned
my best blue velvet doublet."
"And she called you a fair boy, and asked if you would be her little page;
and this has turned thy brain, silly urchin that thou art - "
"But the words are the least: if you saw the Lady Nina, you would own that
a smile from her might turn the wisest head in Italy. Oh, how I should
like to serve the Tribune! All the lads of my age are mad for him. How
they will stare, and envy me at school tomorrow! You know too, dame, that
though I was not always brought up at Rome, I am Roman. Every Roman loves
Rienzi."
"Ay, for the hour: the cry will soon change. This vanity of thine,
Angelo, vexes my old heart. I would thou wert humbler."
"Bastards have their own name to win," said the boy, colouring deeply.
"They twit me in the teeth, because I cannot say who my father and mother
were."
"They need not," returned the dame, hastily. "Thou comest of noble blood
and long descent, though, as I have told thee often, I know not the exact
names of thy parents. But what art thou shaping that tough sapling of oak
into?"
"A sword, dame, to assist the Tribune against the robbers."
"Alas! I fear me, like all those who seek power in Italy, he is more
likely to enlist robbers than to assail them."
"Why, la you there, you live so shut up, that you know and hear nothing, or
you would have learned that even that fiercest of all the robbers, Fra
Moreale, has at length yielded to the Tribune, and fled from his castle,
like a rat from a falling house."
"How, how!" cried the dame; "what say you? Has this plebeian, whom you
call the Tribune - has he boldly thrown the gage to that dread warrior? and
has Montreal left the Roman territory?"
"Ay, it is the talk of the town. But Fra Moreale seems as much a bugbear
to you as to e'er a mother in Rome. Did he ever wrong you, dame?"
"Yes!" exclaimed the old woman, with so abrupt a fierceness, that even that
hardy boy was startled.
"I wish I could meet him, then," said he, after a pause, as he flourished
his mimic weapon.
"Now Heaven forbid! He is a man ever to be shunned by thee, whether for
peace or war. Say again this good Tribune holds no terms with the Free
Lances."
"Say it again - why all Rome knows it."
"He is pious, too, I have heard; and they do bruit it that he sees visions,
and is comforted from above," said the woman, speaking to herself. Then
turning to Angelo, she continued, - "Thou wouldst like greatly to accept
the Lady Nina's proffer?"
"Ah, that I should, dame, if you could spare me."
"Child," replied the matron, solemnly, "my sand is nearly run, and my wish
is to see thee placed with one who will nurture thy young years, and save
thee from a life of licence. That done, I may fulfil my vow, and devote
the desolate remnant of my years to God. I will think more of this, my
child. Not under such a plebeian's roof shouldst thou have lodged, nor
from a stranger's board been fed: but at Rome, my last relative worthy of
the trust is dead; - and at the worst, obscure honesty is better than gaudy
crime. Thy spirit troubles me already. Back, my child; I must to my
closet, and watch and pray."
Thus saying, the old woman, repelling the advance, and silencing the
muttered and confused words, of the boy - half affectionate as they were,
yet half tetchy and wayward - glided from the chamber.
The boy looked abstractedly at the closing door, and then said to himself -
"The dame is always talking riddles: I wonder if she know more of me than
she tells, or if she is any way akin to me. I hope not, for I don't love
her much; nor, for that matter, anything else. I wish she would place me
with the Tribune's lady, and then we'll see who among the lads will call
Angelo Villani bastard."
With that the boy fell to work again at his sword with redoubled vigour.
In fact, the cold manner of this female, his sole nurse, companion,
substitute for parent, had repelled his affections without subduing his
temper; and though not originally of evil disposition, Angelo Villani was
already insolent, cunning, and revengeful; but not, on the other hand,
without a quick susceptibility to kindness as to affront, a natural
acuteness of understanding, and a great indifference to fear. Brought up
in quiet affluence rather than luxury, and living much with his protector,
whom he knew but by the name of Ursula, his bearing was graceful, and his
air that of the well-born. And it was his carriage, perhaps, rather than
his countenance, which, though handsome, was more distinguished for
intelligence than beauty, which had attracted the notice of the Tribune's
bride. His education was that of one reared for some scholastic
profession. He was not only taught to read and write, but had been even
instructed in the rudiments of Latin. He did not, however, incline to
these studies half so fondly as to the games of his companions, or the
shows or riots in the street, into all of which he managed to thrust
himself, and from which he had always the happy dexterity to return safe
and unscathed.
The next morning Ursula entered the young Angelo's chamber. "Wear again
thy blue doublet today," said she; "I would have thee look thy best. Thou
shalt go with me to the palace."
"What, today?" cried the boy joyfully, half leaping from his bed. "Dear
dame Ursula, shall I really then belong to the train of the great Tribune's
lady?"
"Yes; and leave the old woman to die alone! Your joy becomes you, - but
ingratitude is in your blood. Ingratitude! Oh, it has burned my heart
into ashes - and yours, boy, can no longer find a fuel in the dry crumbling
cinders."
"Dear dame, you are always so biting. You know you said you wished to
retire into a convent, and I was too troublesome a charge for you. But you
delight in rebuking me, justly or unjustly."
"My task is over," said Ursula, with a deep-drawn sigh.
The boy answered not; and the old woman retired with a heavy step, and, it
may be, a heavier heart. When he joined her in their common apartment, he
observed what his joy had previously blinded him to - that Ursula did not
wear her usual plain and sober dress. The gold chain, rarely assumed then
by women not of noble birth - though, in the other sex, affected also by
public functionaries and wealthy merchants - glittered upon a robe of the
rich flowered stuffs of Venice, and the clasps that confined the vest at
the throat and waist were adorned with jewels of no common price.
Angelo's eye was struck by the change, but he felt a more manly pride in
remarking that the old lady became it well. Her air and mien were indeed
those of one to whom such garments were habitual; and they seemed that day
more than usually austere and stately.
She smoothed the boy's ringlets, drew his short mantle more gracefully over
his shoulder, and then placed in his belt a poniard whose handle was richly
studded, and a purse well filled with florins.
"Learn to use both discreetly," said she; "and, whether I live or die, you
will never require to wield the poniard to procure the gold."
"This, then," cried Angelo, enchanted, "is a real poniard to fight the
robbers with! Ah, with this I should not fear Fra Moreale, who wronged
thee so. I trust I may yet avenge thee, though thou didst rate me so just
now for ingratitude."
"I am avenged. Nourish not such thoughts, my son, they are sinful; at
least I fear so. Draw to the board and eat; we will go betimes, as
petitioners should do."
Angelo had soon finished his morning meal, and sallying with Ursula to the
porch, he saw, to his surprise, four of those servitors who then usually
attended persons of distinction, and who were to be hired in every city,
for the convenience of strangers or the holyday ostentation of the gayer
citizens.
"How grand we are today!" said he, clapping his hands with an eagerness
which Ursula failed not to reprove.
"It is not for vain show," she added, "which true nobility can well
dispense with, but that we may the more readily gain admittance to the
palace. These princes of yesterday are not easy of audience to the over
humble."
"Oh! but you are wrong this time," said the boy. "The Tribune gives
audience to all men, the poorest as the richest. Nay, there is not a
ragged boor, or a bare-footed friar, who does not win access to him sooner
than the proudest baron. That's why the people love him so. And he
devotes one day of the week to receiving the widows and the orphans; - and
you know, dame, I am an orphan."
Ursula, already occupied with her own thoughts, did not answer, and
scarcely heard, the boy; but leaning on his young arm, and preceded by the
footmen to clear the way, passed slowly towards the palace of the Capitol.
A wonderful thing would it have been to a more observant eye, to note the
change which two or three short months of the stern but salutary and wise
rule of the Tribune had effected in the streets of Rome. You no longer
beheld the gaunt and mail-clad forms of foreign mercenaries stalking
through the vistas, or grouped in lazy insolence before the embattled
porches of some gloomy palace. The shops, that in many quarters had been
closed for years, were again open, glittering with wares and bustling with
trade. The thoroughfares, formerly either silent as death, or crossed by
some affrighted and solitary passenger with quick steps, and eyes that
searched every corner, - or resounding with the roar of a pauper rabble, or
the open feuds of savage nobles, now exhibited the regular, and wholesome,
and mingled streams of civilized life, whether bound to pleasure or to
commerce. Carts and waggons laden with goods which had passed in safety by
the dismantled holds of the robbers of the Campagna, rattled cheerfully
over the pathways. "Never, perhaps," - to use the translation adapted from
the Italian authorities, by a modern and by no means a partial historian
(Gibbon.) - "Never, perhaps, has the energy and effect of a single mind
been more remarkably felt than in the sudden reformation of Rome by the
Tribune Rienzi. A den of robbers was converted to the discipline of a camp
or convent. 'In this time,' says the historian, ("Vita di Cola di Rienzi",
lib. i. c. 9.) 'did the woods begin to rejoice that they were no longer
infested with robbers; the oxen began to plough; the pilgrims visited the
sanctuaries; (Gibbon: the words in the original are "li pellegrini
cominciaro a fere la cerca per la santuaria.") the roads and inns were
replenished with travellers: trade, plenty, and good faith, were restored
in the markets; and a purse of gold might be exposed without danger in the
midst of the highways.'"
Amidst all these evidences of comfort and security to the people - some
dark and discontented countenances might be seen mingled in the crowd, and
whenever one who wore the livery of the Colonna or the Orsini felt himself
jostled by the throng, a fierce hand moved involuntarily to the sword-belt,
and a half-suppressed oath was ended with an indignant sigh. Here and
there too, - contrasting the redecorated, refurnished, and smiling shops -
heaps of rubbish before the gate of some haughty mansion testified the
abasement of fortifications which the owner impotently resented as a
sacrilege. Through such streets and such throngs did the party we
accompany wend their way, till they found themselves amidst crowds
assembled before the entrance of the Capitol. The officers there stationed
kept, however, so discreet and dexterous an order, that they were not long
detained; and now in the broad place or court of that memorable building,
they saw the open doors of the great justice-hall, guarded but by a single
sentinel, and in which, for six hours daily, did the Tribune hold his
court, for "patient to hear, swift to redress, inexorable to punish, his
tribunal was always accessible to the poor and stranger." (Gibbon.)
Not, however, to that hall did the party bend its way, but to the entrance
which admitted to the private apartments of the palace. And here the pomp,
the gaud, the more than regal magnificence, of the residence of the
Tribune, strongly contrasted the patriarchal simplicity which marked his
justice court.
Even Ursula, not unaccustomed, of yore, to the luxurious state of Italian
and French principalities, seemed roused into surprise at the hall crowded
with retainers in costly liveries, the marble and gilded columns wreathed
with flowers, and the gorgeous banners wrought with the blended arms of the
Republican City and the Pontifical See, which blazed aloft and around.
Scarce knowing whom to address in such an assemblage, Ursula was relieved
from her perplexity by an officer attired in a suit of crimson and gold,
who, with a grave and formal decorum, which indeed reigned throughout the
whole retinue, demanded, respectfully, whom she sought? "The Signora
Nina!" replied Ursula, drawing up her stately person, with a natural,
though somewhat antiquated, dignity. There was something foreign in the
accent, which influenced the officer's answer.
"Today, madam, I fear that the Signora receives only the Roman ladies.
Tomorrow is that appointed for all foreign dames of distinction."
Ursula, with a slight impatience of tone, replied -
"My business is of that nature which is welcome on any day, at palaces. I
come, Signor, to lay certain presents at the Signora's feet, which I trust
she will deign to accept."
"And say, Signor," added the boy, abruptly, "that Angelo Villani, whom the
Lady Nina honoured yesterday with her notice, is no stranger but a Roman;
and comes, as she bade him, to proffer to the Signora his homage and
devotion."
The grave officer could not refrain a smile at the pert, yet not
ungraceful, boldness of the boy.
"I remember me, Master Angelo Villani," he replied, "that the Lady Nina
spoke to you by the great staircase. Madam, I will do your errand. Please
to follow me to an apartment more fitting your sex and seeming."
With that the officer led the way across the hall to a broad staircase of
white marble, along the centre of which were laid those rich Eastern
carpets which at that day, when rushes strewed the chambers of an English
monarch, were already common to the greater luxury of Italian palaces.
Opening a door at the first flight, he ushered Ursula and her young charge
into a lofty ante-chamber, hung with arras of wrought velvets; while over
the opposite door, through which the officer now vanished, were blazoned
the armorial bearings which the Tribune so constantly introduced in all his
pomp, not more from the love of show, than from his politic desire to
mingle with the keys of the Pontiff the heraldic insignia of the Republic.
"Philip of Valois is not housed like this man!" muttered Ursula. "If this
last, I shall have done better for my charge than I recked of."
The officer soon returned, and led them across an apartment of vast extent,
which was indeed the great reception chamber of the palace. Four-and-
twenty columns of the Oriental alabaster which had attested the spoils of
the later emperors, and had been disinterred from forgotten ruins, to grace
the palace of the Reviver of the old Republic, supported the light roof,
which, half Gothic, half classic, in its architecture, was inlaid with
gilded and purple mosaics. The tesselated floor was covered in the centre
with cloth of gold, the walls were clothed, at intervals, with the same
gorgeous hangings, relieved by panels freshly painted in the most glowing
colours, with mystic and symbolical designs. At the upper end of this
royal chamber, two steps ascended to the place of the Tribune's throne,
above which was the canopy wrought with the eternal armorial bearings of
the Pontiff and the City.
Traversing this apartment, the officer opened the door at its extremity,
which admitted to a small chamber, crowded with pages in rich dresses of
silver and blue velvet. There were few amongst them elder than Angelo;
and, from their general beauty, they seemed the very flower and blossom of
the city.
Short time had Angelo to gaze on his comrades that were to be: - another
minute, and he and his protectress were in the presence of the Tribune's
bride.
The chamber was not large - but it was large enough to prove that the
beautiful daughter of Raselli had realised her visions of vanity and
splendour.
It was an apartment that mocked description - it seemed a cabinet for the
gems of the world. The daylight, shaded by high and deep-set casements of
stained glass, streamed in a purple and mellow hue over all that the art of
that day boasted most precious, or regal luxury held most dear. The
candelabras of the silver workmanship of Florence; the carpets and stuffs
of the East; the draperies of Venice and Genoa; paintings like the
illuminated missals, wrought in gold, and those lost colours of blue and
crimson; antique marbles, which spoke of the bright days of Athens; tables
of disinterred mosaics, their freshness preserved as by magic; censers of
gold that steamed with the odours of Araby, yet so subdued as not to deaden
the healthier scent of flowers, which blushed in every corner from their
marble and alabaster vases; a small and spirit-like fountain, which seemed
to gush from among wreaths of roses, diffusing in its diamond and fairy
spray, a scarce felt coolness to the air; - all these, and such as these,
which it were vain work to detail, congregated in the richest luxuriance,
harmonised with the most exquisite taste, uniting the ancient arts with the
modern, amazed and intoxicated the sense of the beholder. It was not so
much the cost, nor the luxury, that made the character of the chamber; it
was a certain gorgeous and almost sublime phantasy, - so that it seemed
rather the fabled retreat of an enchantress, at whose word genii ransacked
the earth, and fairies arranged the produce, than the grosser splendour of
an earthly queen. Behind the piled cushions upon which Nina half reclined,
stood four girls, beautiful as nymphs, with fans of the rarest feathers,
and at her feet lay one older than the rest, whose lute, though now silent,
attested her legitimate occupation.
But, had the room in itself seemed somewhat too fantastic and overcharged
in its prodigal ornaments, the form and face of Nina would at once have
rendered all appropriate; so completely did she seem the natural Spirit of
the Place; so wonderfully did her beauty, elated as it now was with
contented love, gratified vanity, exultant hope, body forth the brightest
vision that ever floated before the eyes of Tasso, when he wrought into one
immortal shape the glory of the Enchantress with the allurements of the
Woman.
Nina half rose as she saw Ursula, whose sedate and mournful features
involuntarily testified her surprise and admiration at a loveliness so rare
and striking, but who, undazzled by the splendour around, soon recovered
her wonted self-composure, and seated herself on the cushion to which Nina
pointed, while the young visitor remained standing, and spell-bound by
childish wonder, in the centre of the apartment. Nina recognised him with
a smile.
"Ah, my pretty boy, whose quick eye and bold air caught my fancy yesterday!
Have you come to accept my offer? Is it you, madam, who claim this fair
child?"
"Lady," replied Ursula, "my business here is brief: by a train of events,
needless to weary you with narrating, this boy from his infancy fell to my
charge - a weighty and anxious trust to one whose thoughts are beyond the
barrier of life. I have reared him as became a youth of gentle blood; for
on both sides, lady, he is noble, though an orphan, motherless and
sireless."
"Poor child!" said Nina, compassionately.
"Growing now," continued Ursula, "oppressed by years, and desirous only to
make my peace with Heaven, I journeyed hither some months since, in the
design to place the boy with a relation of mine; and, that trust fulfilled,
to take the vows in the City of the Apostle. Alas! I found my kinsman
dead, and a baron of wild and dissolute character was his heir. Here
remaining, perplexed and anxious, it seemed to me the voice of Providence
when, yester-evening, the child told me you had been pleased to honour him
with your notice. Like the rest of Rome, he has already learned enthusiasm
for the Tribune - devotion to the Tribune's bride. Will you, in truth,
admit him of your household? He will not dishonour your protection by his
blood, nor, I trust, by his bearing."
"I would take his face for his guarantee, madam, even without so
distinguished a recommendation as your own. Is he Roman? His name then
must be known to me."
"Pardon me, lady," replied Ursula: "He bears the name of Angelo Villani -
not that of his sire or mother. The honour of a noble house for ever
condemns his parentage to rest unknown. He is the offspring of a love
unsanctioned by the church."
"He is the more to be loved, then, and to be pitied - victim of sin not his
own!" answered Nina, with moistened eyes, as she saw the deep and burning
blush that covered the boy's cheeks. "With the Tribune's reign commences a
new era of nobility, when rank and knighthood shall be won by a man's own
merit - not that of his ancestors. Fear not, madam: in my house he shall
know no slight."
Ursula was moved from her pride by the kindness of Nina: she approached
with involuntary reverence, and kissed the Signora's hand -
"May our Lady reward your noble heart!" said she: "and now my mission is
ended, and my earthly goal is won. Add only, lady, to your inestimable
favours one more. These jewels" - and Ursula drew from her robe a casket,
touched the spring, and the lid flying back, discovered jewels of great
size and the most brilliant water, - "these jewels," she continued, laying
the casket at Nina's feet, "once belonging to the princely house of
Thoulouse, are valueless to me and mine. Suffer me to think that they are
transferred to one whose queenly brow will give them a lustre it cannot
borrow."
"How!" said Nina, colouring very deeply; "think you, madam, my kindness can
be bought? What woman's kindness ever was? Nay, nay - take back the
gifts, or I shall pray you to take back your boy."
Ursula was astonished and confounded: to her experience such abstinence
was a novelty, and she scarcely knew how to meet it. Nina perceived her
embarrassment with a haughty and triumphant smile, and then, regaining her
former courtesy of demeanour, said, with a grave sweetness -
"The Tribune's hands are clean, - the Tribune's wife must not be suspected.
Rather, madam, should I press upon you some token of exchange for the fair
charge you have committed to me. Your jewels hereafter may profit the boy
in his career: reserve them for one who needs them."
"No, lady," said Ursula, rising and lifting her eyes to heaven; - "they
shall buy masses for his mother's soul; for him I shall reserve a
competence when his years require it. Lady, accept the thanks of a
wretched and desolate heart. Fare you well!"
She turned to quit the room, but with so faltering and weak a step, that
Nina, touched and affected, sprung up, and with her own hand guided the old
woman across the room, whispering comfort and soothing to her; while, as
they reached the door, the boy rushed forward, and, clasping Ursula's robe,
sobbed out - "Dear dame, not one farewell for your little Angelo! Forgive
him all he has cost you! Now, for the first time, I feel how wayward and
thankless I have been."
The old woman caught him in her arms, and kissed him passionately; when the
boy, as if a thought suddenly struck him, drew forth the purse she had
given him and said, in a choked and scarce articulate voice, - "And let
this, dearest dame, go in masses for my poor father's soul; for he is dead,
too, you know!"
These words seemed to freeze at once all the tenderer emotions of Ursula.
She put back the boy with the same chilling and stern severity of aspect
and manner which had so often before repressed him: and recovering her
self-possession, at once quitted the apartment without saying another word.
Nina, surprised, but still pitying her sorrow and respecting her age,
followed her steps across the pages' ante-room and the reception-chamber,
even to the foot of the stairs, - a condescension the haughtiest princess
of Rome could not have won from her; and returning, saddened and
thoughtful, she took the boy's hand, and affectionately kissed his
forehead.
"Poor boy!" she said, "it seems as if Providence had made me select thee
yesterday from the crowd, and thus conducted thee to thy proper refuge.
For to whom should come the friendless and the orphans of Rome, but to the
palace of Rome's first Magistrate?" Turning then to her attendants, she
gave them instructions as to the personal comforts of her new charge, which
evinced that if power had ministered to her vanity, it had not steeled her
heart. Angelo Villani lived to repay her well!
She retained the boy in her presence, and conversing with him familiarly,
she was more and more pleased with his bold spirit and frank manner. Their
conversation was however interrupted, as the day advanced, by the arrival
of several ladies of the Roman nobility. And then it was that Nina's
virtues receded into shade, and her faults appeared. She could not resist
the woman's triumph over those arrogant signoras who now cringed in homage
where they had once slighted with disdain. She affected the manner of, she
demanded the respect due to, a queen. And by many of those dexterous arts
which the sex know so well, she contrived to render her very courtesy a
humiliation to her haughty guests. Her commanding beauty and her graceful
intellect saved her, indeed, from the vulgar insolence of the upstart; but
yet more keenly stung the pride, by forbidding to those she mortified the
retaliation of contempt. Hers were the covert taunt - the smiling affront
- the sarcasm in the mask of compliment - the careless exaction of respect
in trifles, which could not outwardly be resented, but which could not inly
be forgiven.
"Fair day to the Signora Colonna," said she to the proud wife of the proud
Stephen; "we passed your palace yesterday. How fair it now seems, relieved
from those gloomy battlements which it must often have saddened you to gaze
upon. Signora, (turning to one of the Orsini), your lord has high favour
with the Tribune, who destines him to great command. His fortunes are
secured, and we rejoice at it; for no man more loyally serves the state.
Have you seen, fair Lady of Frangipani, the last verses of Petrarch in
honour of my lord? - they rest yonder. May we so far venture as to request
you to point out their beauties to the Signora di Savelli? We rejoice,
noble Lady of Malatesta, to observe that your eyesight is so well restored.
The last time we met, though we stood next to you in the revels of the Lady
Giulia, you seemed scarce to distinguish us from the pillar by which we
stood!"
"Must this insolence be endured!" whispered the Signora Frangipani to the
Signora Malatesta.
"Hush, hush; if ever it be our day again!"
