Chapter 7.I. Avignon. - The Two Pages. - The Stranger Beauty.
There is this difference between the Drama of Shakspeare, and that of
almost every other master of the same art; that in the first, the
catastrophe is rarely produced by one single cause - one simple and
continuous chain of events. Various and complicated agencies work out the
final end. Unfettered by the rules of time and place, each time, each
place depicted, presents us with its appropriate change of action, or of
actors. Sometimes the interest seems to halt, to turn aside, to bring us
unawares upon objects hitherto unnoticed, or upon qualities of the
characters hitherto hinted at, not developed. But, in reality, the pause
in the action is but to collect, to gather up, and to grasp, all the
varieties of circumstance that conduce to the Great Result: and the art of
fiction is only deserted for the fidelity of history. Whoever seeks to
place before the world the true representation of a man's life and times,
and, enlarging the Dramatic into the Epic, extends his narrative over the
vicissitudes of years, will find himself unconsciously, in this, the
imitator of Shakspeare. New characters, each conducive to the end - new
scenes, each leading to the last, rise before him as he proceeds, sometimes
seeming to the reader to delay, even while they advance, the dread
catastrophe. The sacrificial procession sweeps along, swelled by new
comers, losing many that first joined it; before, at last, the same as a
whole, but differing in its components, the crowd reach the fated bourn of
the Altar and the Victim!
It is five years after the date of the events I have recorded, and my story
conveys us to the Papal Court at Avignon - that tranquil seat of power, to
which the successors of St. Peter had transplanted the luxury, the pomp,
and the vices, of the Imperial City. Secure from the fraud or violence of
a powerful and barbarous nobility, the courtiers of the See surrendered
themselves to a holyday of delight - their repose was devoted to enjoyment,
and Avignon presented, at that day, perhaps the gayest and most voluptuous
society of Europe. The elegance of Clement VI. had diffused an air of
literary refinement over the grosser pleasures of the place, and the spirit
of Petrarch still continued to work its way through the councils of faction
and the orgies of debauch.
Innocent VI. had lately succeeded Clement, and whatever his own claims to
learning, (Matteo Villani (lib. iii. cap. 44) says, that Innocent VI. had
not much pretension to learning. He is reported, however, by other
authorities, cited by Zefirino Re, to have been "eccellente canonista." He
had been a professor in the University of Toulouse.) he, at least,
appreciated knowledge and intellect in others; so that the graceful
pedantry of the time continued to mix itself with the pursuit of pleasure.
The corruption which reigned through the whole place was too confirmed to
yield to the example of Innocent, himself a man of simple habits and
exemplary life. Though, like his predecessor, obedient to the policy of
France, Innocent possessed a hard and an extended ambition. Deeply
concerned for the interests of the Church, he formed the project of
confirming and re-establishing her shaken dominion in Italy; and he
regarded the tyrants of the various states as the principal obstacles to
his ecclesiastical ambition. Nor was this the policy of Innocent VI.
alone. With such exceptions as peculiar circumstances necessarily
occasioned, the Papal See was, upon the whole, friendly to the political
liberties of Italy. The Republics of the Middle Ages grew up under the
shadow of the Church; and there, as elsewhere, it was found, contrary to a
vulgar opinion, that Religion, however prostituted and perverted, served
for the general protection of civil freedom, - raised the lowly, and
resisted the oppressor.
At this period there appeared at Avignon a lady of singular and matchless
beauty. She had come with a slender but well appointed retinue from
Florence, but declared herself of Neapolitan birth; the widow of a noble of
the brilliant court of the unfortunate Jane. Her name was Cesarini.
Arrived at a place where, even in the citadel of Christianity, Venus
retained her ancient empire, where Love made the prime business of life,
and to be beautiful was to be of power; the Signora Cesarini had scarcely
appeared in public before she saw at her feet half the rank and gallantry
of Avignon. Her female attendants were beset with bribes and billets; and
nightly, beneath her lattice, was heard the plaintive serenade. She
entered largely into the gay dissipation of the town, and her charms shared
the celebrity of the hour with the verse of Petrarch. But though she
frowned on none, none could claim the monopoly of her smiles. Her fair
fame was as yet unblemished; but if any might presume beyond the rest, she
seemed to have selected rather from ambition than love, and Giles, the
warlike Cardinal d'Albornoz, all powerful at the sacred court, already
foreboded the hour of his triumph.
It was late noon, and in the ante-chamber of the fair Signora waited two of
that fraternity of pages, fair and richly clad, who, at that day, furnished
the favourite attendants to rank of either sex.
"By my troth," cried one of these young servitors, pushing from him the
dice with which himself and his companion had sought to beguile their
leisure, "this is but dull work! and the best part of the day is gone. Our
lady is late."
"And I have donned my new velvet mantle," replied the other,
compassionately eyeing his finery.
"Chut, Giacomo," said his comrade, yawning; "a truce with thy conceit. -
What news abroad, I wonder? Has his Holiness come to his senses yet?"
"His senses! what, is he mad then?" quoth Giacomo, in a serious and
astonished whisper.
"I think he is; if, being Pope, he does not discover that he may at length
lay aside mask and hood. 'Continent Cardinal - lewd Pope,' is the old
motto, you know; something must be the matter with the good man's brain if
he continue to live like a hermit."
"Oh, I have you! but faith, his Holiness has proxies eno'. The bishops
take care to prevent women, Heaven bless them! going out of fashion; and
Albornoz does not maintain your proverb, touching the Cardinals."
"True, but Giles is a warrior, - a cardinal in the church, but a soldier in
the city."
"Will he carry the fort here, think you, Angelo?"
"Why, fort is female, but - "
"But what?"
"The Signora's brow is made for power, rather than love, fair as it is.
She sees in Albornoz the prince, and not the lover. With what a step she
sweeps the floor! it disdains even the cloth of gold!"
"Hark!" cried Giacomo, hastening to the lattice, "hear you the hoofs below?
Ah, a gallant company!"
"Returned from hawking," answered Angelo, regarding wistfully the
cavalcade, as it swept the narrow street. "Plumes waving, steeds
curvetting - see how yon handsome cavalier presses close to that dame!"
"His mantle is the colour of mine," sighed Giacomo.
As the gay procession paced slowly on, till hidden by the winding street,
and as the sound of laughter and the tramp of horses was yet faintly heard,
there frowned right before the straining gaze of the pages, a dark massive
tower of the mighty masonry of the eleventh century: the sun gleamed sadly
on its vast and dismal surface, which was only here and there relieved by
loopholes and narrow slits, rather than casements. It was a striking
contrast to the gaiety around, the glittering shops, and the gaudy train
that had just filled the space below. This contrast the young men seemed
involuntarily to feel; they drew back, and looked at each other.
"I know your thoughts, Giacomo," said Angelo, the handsomer and elder of
the two. "You think yon tower affords but a gloomy lodgment?"
"And I thank my stars that made me not high enough to require so grand a
cage," rejoined Giacomo.
"Yet," observed Angelo, "it holds one, who in birth was not our superior."
"Do tell me something of that strange man," said Giacomo, regaining his
seat; "you are Roman and should know."
"Yes!" answered Angelo, haughtily drawing himself up, "I am Roman! and I
should be unworthy my birth, if I had not already learned what honour is
due to the name of Cola di Rienzi."
"Yet your fellow-Romans merely stoned him, I fancy," muttered Giacomo.
"Honour seems to lie more in kicks than money. Can you tell me," continued
the page in a louder key, "can you tell me if it be true, that Rienzi
appeared at Prague before the Emperor, and prophesied that the late Pope
and all the Cardinals should be murdered, and a new Italian Pope elected,
who should endue the Emperor with a golden crown, as Sovereign of Sicilia,
Calabria, and Apulia, (An absurd fable, adopted by certain historians.) and
himself with a crown of silver, as King of Rome, and all Italy? And - "
"Hush!" interrupted Angelo, impatiently. "Listen to me, and you shall know
the exact story. On last leaving Rome (thou knowest that, after his fall,
he was present at the Jubilee in disguise) the Tribune - " here Angelo,
pausing, looked round, and then with a flushed cheek and raised voice
resumed, "Yes, the Tribune, that was and shall be - travelled in disguise,
as a pilgrim, over mountain and forest, night and day, exposed to rain and
storm, no shelter but the cave, - he who had been, they say, the very
spoilt one of Luxury. Arrived at length in Bohemia, he disclosed himself
to a Florentine in Prague, and through his aid obtained audience of the
Emperor Charles."
"A prudent man, the Emperor!" said Giacomo, "close-fisted as a miser. He
makes conquests by bargain, and goes to market for laurels, - as I have
heard my brother say, who was under him."
"True; but I have also heard that he likes bookmen and scholars - is wise
and temperate, and much is yet hoped from him in Italy! Before the
Emperor, I say, came Rienzi. 'Know, great Prince,' said he, 'that I am
that Rienzi to whom God gave to govern Rome, in peace, with justice, and to
freedom. I curbed the nobles, I purged corruption, I amended law. The
powerful persecuted me - pride and envy have chased me from my dominions.
Great as you are, fallen as I am, I too have wielded the sceptre and might
have worn a crown. Know, too, that I am illegitimately of your lineage; my
father the son of Henry VII.; (Uncle to the Emperor Charles.) the blood of
the Teuton rolls in my veins; mean as were my earlier fortunes and humble
my earlier name! From you, O King, I seek protection, and I demand
justice." (See, for this speech, "the Anonymous Biographer," lib. ii. cap.
12.)
"A bold speech, and one from equal to equal," said Giacomo; "surely you
swell us out the words."
"Not a whit; they were written down by the Emperor's scribe, and every
Roman who has once heard knows them by heart: once every Roman was the
equal to a king, and Rienzi maintained our dignity in asserting his own."
Giacomo, who discreetly avoided quarrels, knew the weak side of his friend;
and though in his heart he thought the Romans as good-for-nothing a set of
turbulent dastards as all Italy might furnish, he merely picked a straw
from his mantle, and said, in rather an impatient tone, "Humph! proceed!
did the Emperor dismiss him?"
"Not so: Charles was struck with his bearing and his spirit, received him
graciously, and entertained him hospitably. He remained some time at
Prague, and astonished all the learned with his knowledge and eloquence."
(His Italian contemporary delights in representing this remarkable man as
another Crichton. "Disputava," he says of him when at Prague, "disputava
con Mastri di teologia; molto diceva, parlava cose meravigliose...abbair
fea ogni persona." - "He disputed with Masters of theology - he spoke much,
he discoursed things wonderful - he astonished every one.")
"But if so honoured at Prague, how comes he a prisoner at Avignon?"
"Giacomo," said Angelo, thoughtfully, "there are some men whom we, of
another mind and mould, can rarely comprehend, and never fathom. And of
such men I have observed that a supreme confidence in their own fortunes or
their own souls, is the most common feature. Thus impressed, and thus
buoyed, they rush into danger with a seeming madness, and from danger soar
to greatness, or sink to death. So with Rienzi; dissatisfied with empty
courtesies and weary of playing the pedant, since once he had played the
prince; - some say of his own accord, (though others relate that he was
surrendered to the Pope's legate by Charles,) he left the Emperor's court,
and without arms, without money, betook himself at once to Avignon!"
"Madness indeed!"
"Yet, perhaps his only course, under all circumstances," resumed the elder
page. "Once before his fall, and once during his absence from Rome, he had
been excommunicated by the Pope's legate. He was accused of heresy - the
ban was still on him. It was necessary that he should clear himself. How
was the poor exile to do so? No powerful friend stood up for the friend of
the people. No courtier vindicated one who had trampled on the neck of the
nobles. His own genius was his only friend; on that only could he rely.
He sought Avignon, to free himself from the accusations against him; and,
doubtless, he hoped that there was but one step from his acquittal to his
restoration. Besides, it is certain that the Emperor had been applied to,
formally to surrender Rienzi. He had the choice before him; for to that
sooner or later it must come - to go free, or to go in bonds - as a
criminal, or as a Roman. He chose the latter. Wherever he passed along,
the people rose in every town, in every hamlet. The name of the great
Tribune was honoured throughout all Italy. They besought him not to rush
into the very den of peril - they implored him to save himself for that
country which he had sought to raise. 'I go to vindicate myself, and to
triumph,' was the Tribune's answer. Solemn honours were paid him in the
cities through which he passed; ("Per tutto la via li furo fatti solenni
onori," &c. - "Vita di Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. cap. 13.) and I am told
that never ambassador, prince, or baron, entered Avignon with so long a
train as that which followed into these very walls the steps of Cola di
Rienzi."
"And on his arrival?"
"He demanded an audience, that he might refute the charges against him. He
flung down the gage to the proud cardinals who had excommunicated him. He
besought a trial."
"And what said the Pope?"
"Nothing - by word. Yon tower was his answer!"
"A rough one!"
"But there have been longer roads than that from the prison to the palace,
and God made not men like Rienzi for the dungeon and the chain."
As Angelo said this with a loud voice, and with all the enthusiasm with
which the fame of the fallen Tribune had inspired the youth of Rome, he
heard a sigh behind him. He turned in some confusion, and at the door
which admitted to the chamber occupied by the Signora Cesarini, stood a
female of noble presence. Attired in the richest garments, gold and gems
were dull to the lustre of her dark eyes, and as she now stood, erect and
commanding, never seemed brow more made for the regal crown - never did
human beauty more fully consummate the ideal of a heroine and a queen.
"Pardon me, Signora," said Angelo, hesitatingly; "I spoke loud, I disturbed
you; but I am Roman, and my theme was - "
"Rienzi!" said the lady, approaching; "a fit one to stir a Roman heart.
Nay - no excuses: they would sound ill on thy generous lips. Ah, if - "
the Signora paused suddenly, and sighed again; then in an altered and
graver tone she resumed - "If fate restore Rienzi to his proper fortunes,
he shall know what thou deemest of him."
"If you, lady, who are of Naples," said Angelo, with meaning emphasis,
"speak thus of a fallen exile, what must I have felt who acknowledge a
sovereign?"
"Rienzi is not of Rome alone - he is of Italy - of the world," returned the
Signora. "And you, Angelo, who have had the boldness to speak thus of one
fallen, have proved with what loyalty you can serve those who have the
fortune to own you."
As she spoke, the Signora looked at the page's downcast and blushing face
long and wistfully, with the gaze of one accustomed to read the soul in the
countenance.
"Men are often deceived," said she sadly, yet with a half smile; "but women
rarely, - save in love. Would that Rome were filled with such as you!
Enough! Hark! Is that the sound of hoofs in the court below?"
"Madam," said Giacomo, bringing his mantle gallantly over his shoulder, "I
see the servitors of Monsignore the Cardinal d'Albornoz. - It is the
Cardinal himself."
"It is well!" said the Signora, with a brightening eye; "I await him!"
With these words she withdrew by the door through which she had surprised
the Roman page.
