Chapter 4.V. The Night and its Incidents.
With the following twilight, Rome was summoned to the commencement of the
most magnificent spectacle the Imperial City had witnessed since the fall
of the Caesars. It had been a singular privilege, arrogated by the people
of Rome, to confer upon their citizens the order of knighthood. Twenty
years before, a Colonna and an Orsini had received this popular honour.
Rienzi, who designed it as the prelude to a more important ceremony,
claimed from the Romans a similar distinction. From the Capitol to the
Lateran swept, in long procession, all that Rome boasted of noble, of fair,
and brave. First went horsemen without number, and from all the
neighbouring parts of Italy, in apparel that well befitted the occasion.
Trumpeters, and musicians of all kinds, followed, and the trumpets were of
silver; youths bearing the harness of the knightly war-steed, wrought with
gold, preceded the march of the loftiest matronage of Rome, whose love for
show, and it may be whose admiration for triumphant fame, (which to women
sanctions many offences,) made them forget the humbled greatness of their
lords: amidst them Nina and Irene, outshining all the rest; then came the
Tribune and the Pontiff's Vicar, surrounded by all the great Signors of the
city, smothering alike resentment, revenge, and scorn, and struggling who
should approach nearest to the monarch of the day. The high-hearted old
Colonna alone remained aloof, following at a little distance, and in a garb
studiously plain. But his age, his rank, his former renown in war and
state, did not suffice to draw to his grey locks and highborn mien a single
one of the shouts that attended the meanest lord on whom the great Tribune
smiled. Savelli followed nearest to Rienzi, the most obsequious of the
courtly band; immediately before the Tribune came two men; the one bore a
drawn sword, the other the pendone, or standard usually assigned to
royalty. The tribune himself was clothed in a long robe of white satin,
whose snowy dazzle (miri candoris) is peculiarly dwelt on by the historian,
richly decorated with gold; while on his breast were many of those mystic
symbols I have before alluded to, the exact meaning of which was perhaps
known only to the wearer. In his dark eye, and on that large tranquil
brow, in which thought seemed to sleep, as sleeps a storm, there might be
detected a mind abstracted from the pomp around; but ever and anon he
roused himself, and conversed partially with Raimond or Savelli.
"This is a quaint game," said the Orsini, falling back to the old Colonna:
"but it may end tragically."
"Methinks it may," said the old man, "if the Tribune overhear thee."
Orsini grew pale. "How - nay - nay, even if he did, he never resents
words, but professes to laugh at our spoken rage. It was but the other day
that some knave told him what one of the Annibaldi said of him - words for
which a true cavalier would have drawn the speaker's life's blood; and he
sent for the Annibaldi, and said, 'My friend, receive this purse of gold, -
court wits should be paid.'"
"Did Annibaldi take the gold?"
"Why, no; the Tribune was pleased with his spirit, and made him sup with
him; and Annibaldi says he never spent a merrier evening, and no longer
wonders that his kinsman, Riccardo, loves the buffoon so."
Arrived now at the Lateran, Luca di Savelli fell also back, and whispered
to Orsini; the Frangipani, and some other of the nobles, exchanged meaning
looks; Rienzi, entering the sacred edifice in which, according to custom,
he was to pass the night watching his armour, bade the crowd farewell, and
summoned them the next morning, "To hear things that might, he trusted, be
acceptable to heaven and earth."
The immense multitude received this intimation with curiosity and gladness,
while those who had been in some measure prepared by Cecco del Vecchio,
hailed it as an omen of their Tribune's unflagging resolution. The
concourse dispersed with singular order and quietness; it was recorded as a
remarkable fact, that in so great a crowd, composed of men of all parties,
none exhibited licence or indulged in quarrel. Some of the barons and
cavaliers, among whom was Luca di Savelli, whose sleek urbanity and
sarcastic humour found favour with the Tribune, and a few subordinate pages
and attendants, alone remained; and, save a single sentinel at the porch,
that broad space before the Palace, the Basilica and Fount of Constantine,
soon presented a silent and desolate void to the melancholy moonlight.
Within the church, according to the usage of the time and rite, the
descendant of the Teuton kings received the order of the Santo Spirito.
His pride, or some superstition equally weak, though more excusable, led
him to bathe in the porphyry vase which an absurd legend consecrated to
Constantine; and this, as Savelli predicted, cost him dear. These
appointed ceremonies concluded, his arms were placed in that part of the
church, within the columns of St. John. And here his state bed was
prepared. (In a more northern country, the eve of knighthood would have
been spent without sleeping. In Italy, the ceremony of watching the armour
does not appear to have been so rigidly observed.)
The attendant barons, pages, and chamberlains, retired out of sight to a
small side chapel in the edifice; and Rienzi was left alone. A single
lamp, placed beside his bed, contended with the mournful rays of the moon,
that cast through the long casements, over aisle and pillar, its "dim
religious light." The sanctity of the place, the solemnity of the hour,
and the solitary silence round, were well calculated to deepen the high-
wrought and earnest mood of that son of fortune. Many and high fancies
swept over his mind - now of worldly aspirations, now of more august but
visionary belief, till at length, wearied with his own reflections, he cast
himself on the bed. It was an omen which graver history has not neglected
to record, that the moment he pressed the bed, new prepared for the
occasion, part of it sank under him: he himself was affected by the
accident, and sprung forth, turning pale and muttering; but, as if ashamed
of his weakness, after a moment's pause, again composed himself to rest,
and drew the drapery round him.
The moonbeams grew fainter and more faint as the time proceeded, and the
sharp distinction between light and shade faded fast from the marble floor;
when from behind a column at the furthest verge of the building, a strange
shadow suddenly crossed the sickly light - it crept on - it moved, but
without an echo, - from pillar to pillar it flitted - it rested at last
behind the column nearest to the Tribune's bed - it remained stationary.
The shades gathered darker and darker round; the stillness seemed to
deepen; the moon was gone; and, save from the struggling ray of the lamp
beside Rienzi, the blackness of night closed over the solemn and ghostly
scene.
In one of the side chapels, as I have before said, which, in the many
alterations the church has undergone, is probably long since destroyed,
were Savelli and the few attendants retained by the Tribune. Savelli alone
slept not; he remained sitting erect, breathless and listening, while the
tall lights in the chapel rendered yet more impressive the rapid changes of
his countenance.
"Now pray Heaven," said he, "the knave miscarry not! Such an occasion may
never again occur! He has a strong arm and a dexterous hand, doubtless;
but the other is a powerful man. The deed once done, I care not whether
the doer escape or not; if not, why we must stab him! Dead men tell no
tales. At the worst, who can avenge Rienzi? There is no other Rienzi!
Ourselves and the Frangipani seize the Aventine, the Colonna and the Orsini
the other quarters of the city; and without the master-spirit, we may laugh
at the mad populace. But if discovered; - " and Savelli, who, fortunately
for his foes, had not nerves equal to his will, covered his face and
shuddered; - "I think I hear a noise! - no - is it the wind? - tush, it
must be old Vico de Scotto, turning in his shell of mail! - silent - I like
not that silence! No cry - no sound! Can the ruffian have played us
false? or could he not scale the casement? It is but a child's effort; -
or did the sentry spy him?"
Time passed on: the first ray of daylight slowly gleamed, when he thought
he heard the door of the church close. Savelli's suspense became
intolerable: he stole from the chapel, and came in sight of the Tribune's
bed - all was silent.
"Perhaps the silence of death," said Savelli, as he crept back.
Meanwhile the Tribune, vainly endeavouring to close his eyes, was rendered
yet more watchful by the uneasy position he was obliged to assume - for the
part of the bed towards the pillow having given way, while the rest
remained solid, he had inverted the legitimate order of lying, and drawn
himself up as he might best accommodate his limbs, towards the foot of the
bed. The light of the lamp, though shaded by the draperies, was thus
opposite to him. Impatient of his wakefulness, he at last thought it was
this dull and flickering light which scared away the slumber, and was about
to rise, to remove it further from him, when he saw the curtain at the
other end of the bed gently lifted: he remained quiet and alarmed; - ere
he could draw a second breath, a dark figure interposed between the light
and the bed; and he felt that a stroke was aimed against that part of the
couch, which, but for the accident that had seemed to him ominous, would
have given his breast to the knife. Rienzi waited not a second and
better-directed blow; as the assassin yet stooped, groping in the uncertain
light, he threw on him all the weight and power of his large and muscular
frame, wrenched the stiletto from the bravo's hand, and dashing him on the
bed, placed his knee on his breast. - The stiletto rose - gleamed -
descended - the murtherer swerved aside, and it pierced only his right arm.
The Tribune raised, for a deadlier blow, the revengeful blade.
The assassin thus foiled was a man used to all form and shape of danger,
and he did not now lose his presence of mind.
"Hold!" said he; "if you kill me, you will die yourself. Spare me, and I
will save you."
"Miscreant!"
"Hush - not so loud, or you will disturb your attendants, and some of them
may do what I have failed to execute. Spare me, I say, and I will reveal
that which were worth more than my life; but call not - speak not aloud, I
warn you!"
The Tribune felt his heart stand still: in that lonely place, afar from
his idolizing people - his devoted guards - with but loathing barons, or,
it might be, faithless menials, within call, might not the baffled
murtherer give a wholesome warning? - and those words and that doubt seemed
suddenly to reverse their respective positions, and leave the conqueror
still in the assassin's power.
"Thou thinkest to deceive me," said he, but in a voice whispered and
uncertain, which shewed the ruffian the advantage he had gained: "thou
wouldst that I might release thee without summoning my attendants, that
thou mightst a second time attempt my life."
"Thou hast disabled my right arm, and disarmed me of my only weapon."
"How camest thou hither?"
"By connivance."
"Whence this attempt?"
"The dictation of others."
"If I pardon thee - "
"Thou shalt know all!"
"Rise," said the Tribune, releasing his prisoner, but with great caution,
and still grasping his shoulder with one hand, while the other pointed the
dagger at his throat.
"Did my sentry admit thee? There is but one entrance to the church,
methinks."
"He did not; follow me, and I will tell thee more."
"Dog! thou hast accomplices?"
"If I have, thou hast the knife at my throat."
"Wouldst thou escape?"
"I cannot, or I would."
Rienzi looked hard, by the dull light of the lamp, at the assassin. His
rugged and coarse countenance, rude garb, and barbarian speech, seemed to
him proof sufficient that he was but the hireling of others; and it might
be wise to brave one danger present and certain, to prevent much danger
future and unforeseen. Rienzi, too, was armed, strong, active, in the
prime of life; - and at the worst, there was no part of the building whence
his voice would not reach those within the chapel, - if they could be
depended upon.
"Shew me then thy place and means of entrance," said he; "and if I but
suspect thee as we move - thou diest. Take up the lamp."
The ruffian nodded; with his left hand took up the lamp as he was ordered;
and with Rienzi's grasp on his shoulder, while the wound from his right arm
dropped gore as he passed, he moved noiselessly along the church - gained
the altar - to the left of which was a small room for the use or retirement
of the priest. To this he made his way. Rienzi's heart misgave him a
moment.
"Beware," he whispered, "the least sign of fraud, and thou art the first
victim!"
The assassin nodded again, and proceeded. They entered the room; and then
the Tribune's strange guide pointed to an open casement. "Behold my
entrance," said he; "and, if you permit me, my egress - "
"The frog gets not out of the well so easily as he came in, friend,"
returned Rienzi, smiling. "And now, if I am not to call my guards, what am
I to do with thee!"
"Let me go, and I will seek thee tomorrow; and if thou payest me
handsomely, and promisest not to harm limb or life, I will put thine
enemies and my employers in thy power."
Rienzi could not refrain from a slight laugh at the proposition, but
composing himself, replied - "And what if I call my attendants, and give
thee to their charge?"
"Thou givest me to those very enemies and employers; and in despair lest I
betray them, ere the day dawn they cut my throat - or thine."
"Methinks knave, I have seen thee before."
"Thou hast. I blush not for name or country. I am Rodolf of Saxony!"
"I remember me: - servitor of Walter de Montreal. He, then, is thy
instigator!"
"Roman, no! That noble Knight scorns other weapon than the open sword, and
his own hand slays his own foes. Your pitiful, miserable, dastard
Italians, alone employ the courage, and hire the arm, of others."
Rienzi remained silent. He had released hold of his prisoner, and stood
facing him; every now and then regarding his countenance, and again
relapsing into thought. At length, casting his eyes round the small
chamber thus singularly tenanted, he observed a kind of closet, in which
the priests' robes, and some articles used in the sacred service, were
contained. It suggested at once an escape from his dilemma: he pointed to
it -
"There, Rodolf of Saxony, shalt thou pass some part of this night - a small
penance for thy meditated crime; and tomorrow, as thou lookest for life,
thou wilt reveal all."
"Hark, ye, Tribune," returned the Saxon, doggedly; "my liberty is in your
power, but neither my tongue nor my life. If I consent to be caged in that
hole, you must swear on the crossed hilt of the dagger that you now hold,
that, on confession of all I know, you pardon and set me free. My
employers are enough to glut your rage an' you were a tiger. If you do not
swear this - "
"Ah, my modest friend! - the alternative?"
"I brain myself against the stone wall! Better such a death than the
rack!"
"Fool, I want not revenge against such as thou. Be honest, and I swear
that, twelve hours after thy confession, thou shalt stand safe and
unscathed without the walls of Rome. So help me our Lord and his saints."
"I am content! - Donner und Hagel, I have lived long enough to care only
for my own life, and the great captain's next to it; - for the rest, I reck
not if ye southerns cut each other's throats, and make all Italy one
grave."
With this benevolent speech, Rodolf entered the closet; but ere Rienzi
could close the door, he stepped forth again -
"Hold," said he: "this blood flows fast. Help me to bandage it, or I
shall bleed to death ere my confession."
"Per fede," said the Tribune, his strange humour enjoying the man's cool
audacity; "but, considering the service thou wouldst have rendered me, thou
art the most pleasant, forbearing, unabashed, good fellow, I have seen this
many a year. Give us thine own belt. I little thought my first eve of
knighthood would have been so charitably spent!"
"Methinks these robes would make a better bandage," said Rodolf, pointing
to the priests' gear suspended from the wall.
"Silence, knave," said the Tribune, frowning; "no sacrilege! Yet, as thou
takest such dainty care of thyself, thou shalt have mine own scarf to
accommodate thee."
With that the Tribune, placing his dagger on the ground, while he
cautiously guarded it with his foot, bound up the wounded limb, for which
condescension Rodolf gave him short thanks; resumed his weapon and lamp;
closed the door; drew over it the long, heavy bolt without, and returned to
his couch, deeply and indignantly musing over the treason he had so
fortunately escaped.
At the first grey streak of dawn he went out of the great door of the
church, called the sentry, who was one of his own guard, and bade him
privately, and now ere the world was astir, convey the prisoner to one of
the private dungeons of the Capitol. "Be silent," said he: "utter not a
word of this to any one; be obedient, and thou shalt be promoted. This
done, find out the councillor, Pandulfo di Guido, and bid him seek me here
ere the crowd assemble."
He then, making the sentinel doff his heavy shoes of iron, led him across
the church, resigned Rodolf to his care, saw them depart, and in a few
minutes afterwards his voice was heard by the inmates of the neighbouring
chapel; and he was soon surrounded by his train.
He was already standing on the floor, wrapped in a large gown lined with
furs; and his piercing eye scanned carefully the face of each man that
approached. Two of the Barons of the Frangipani family exhibited some
tokens of confusion and embarrassment, from which they speedily recovered
at the frank salutation of the Tribune.
But all the art of Savelli could not prevent his features from betraying to
the most indifferent eye the terror of his soul; - and, when he felt the
penetrating gaze of Rienzi upon him, he trembled in every joint. Rienzi
alone did not, however, seem to notice his disorder; and when Vico di
Scotto, an old knight, from whose hands he received his sword, asked him
how he had passed the night, he replied, cheerfully -
"Well, well - my brave friend! Over a maiden knight some good angel always
watches. Signor Luca di Savelli, I fear you have slept but ill: you seem
pale. No matter! - our banquet today will soon brighten the current of
your gay blood."
"Blood, Tribune!" said di Scotto, who was innocent of the plot: "Thou
sayest blood, and lo! on the floor are large gouts of it not yet dry."
"Now, out on thee, old hero, for betraying my awkwardness! I pricked
myself with my own dagger in unrobing. Thank Heaven it hath no poison in
its blade!"
The Frangipani exchanged looks, - Luca di Savelli clung to a column for
support, - and the rest of the attendants seemed grave and surprised.
"Think not of it, my masters," said Rienzi: "it is a good omen, and a true
prophecy. It implies that he who girds on his sword for the good of the
state, must be ready to spill his blood for it: that am I. No more of
this - a mere scratch: it gave more blood than I recked of from so slight
a puncture, and saves the leech the trouble of the lancet. How brightly
breaks the day! We must prepare to meet our fellow-citizens - they will be
here anon. Ha, my Pandulfo - welcome! - thou, my old friend, shalt buckle
on this mantle!"
And while Pandulfo was engaged in the task, the Tribune whispered a few
words in his ear, which, by the smile on his countenance, seemed to the
attendants one of the familiar jests with which Rienzi distinguished his
intercourse with his more confidential intimates.
