Chapter 10.VIII. The Threshold of the Event.
The next morning the Senator of Rome held high Court in the Capitol. From
Florence, from Padua, from Pisa, even from Milan, (the dominion of the
Visconti,) from Genoa, from Naples, - came Ambassadors to welcome his
return, or to thank him for having freed Italy from the freebooter De
Montreal. Venice alone, who held in her pay the Grand Company, stood
aloof. Never had Rienzi seemed more prosperous and more powerful, and
never had he exhibited a more easy and cheerful majesty of demeanour.
Scarce was the audience over, when a messenger arrived from Palestrina.
The town had surrendered, the Colonna had departed, and the standard of the
Senator waved from the walls of the last hold of the rebellious Barons.
Rome might now at length consider herself free, and not a foe seemed left
to menace the repose of Rienzi.
The Court dissolved. The Senator, elated and joyous, repaired towards his
private apartments, previous to the banquet given to the Ambassadors.
Villani met him with his wonted sombre aspect.
"No sadness today, my Angelo," said the Senator, gaily; "Palestrina is
ours!"
"I am glad to hear such news, and to see my Lord of so fair a mien,"
answered Angelo. "Does he not now desire life?"
"Till Roman virtue revives, perhaps - yes! But thus are we fools of
Fortune; - today glad - tomorrow dejected!"
"Tomorrow," repeated Villani, mechanically: "Ay - tomorrow perhaps
dejected."
"Thou playest with my words, boy," said Rienzi, half angrily, as he turned
away.
But Villani heeded not the displeasure of his Lord.
The banquet was thronged and brilliant; and Rienzi that day, without an
effort, played the courteous host.
Milanese, Paduan, Pisan, Neapolitan, vied with each other in attracting the
smiles of the potent Senator. Prodigal were their compliments - lavish
their promises of support. No monarch in Italy seemed more securely
throned.
The banquet was over (as usual on state occasions) at an early hour; and
Rienzi, somewhat heated with wine, strolled forth alone from the Capitol.
Bending his solitary steps towards the Palatine, he saw the pale and veil-
like mists that succeed the sunset, gather over the wild grass which waves
above the Palace of the Caesars. On a mound of ruins (column and arch
overthrown) he stood, with folded arms, musing and intent. In the distance
lay the melancholy tombs of the Campagna, and the circling hills, crested
with the purple hues soon to melt beneath the starlight. Not a breeze
stirred the dark cypress and unwaving pine. There was something awful in
the stillness of the skies, hushing the desolate grandeur of the earth
below. Many and mingled were the thoughts that swept over Rienzi's breast:
memory was busy at his heart. How often, in his youth, had he trodden the
same spot! - what visions had he nursed! - what hopes conceived! In the
turbulence of his later life, Memory had long slept; but at that hour, she
re-asserted her shadowy reign with a despotism that seemed prophetic. He
was wandering - a boy, with his young brother, hand in hand, by the
riverside at eve: anon he saw a pale face and gory side, and once more
uttered his imprecations of revenge! His first successes, his virgin
triumphs, his secret love, his fame, his power, his reverses, the hermitage
of Maiella, the dungeon of Avignon, the triumphal return to Rome, - all
swept across his breast with a distinctness as if he were living those
scenes again! - and now! - he shrunk from the present, and descended the
hill. The moon, already risen, shed her light over the Forum, as he passed
through its mingled ruins. By the Temple of Jupiter, two figures suddenly
emerged; the moonlight fell upon their faces, and Rienzi recognised Cecco
del Vecchio and Angelo Villani. They saw him not; but, eagerly conversing,
disappeared by the Arch of Trajan.
"Villani! ever active in my service!" thought the Senator; "methinks this
morning I spoke to him harshly - it was churlish in me!"
He re-entered the Place of the Capitol - he stood by the staircase of the
Lion; there was a red stain upon the pavement, unobliterated since
Montreal's execution, and the Senator drew himself aside with an inward
shudder. Was it the ghastly and spectral light of the Moon, or did the
face of that old Egyptian Monster wear an aspect that was as of life? The
stony eyeballs seemed bent upon him with a malignant scowl; and as he
passed on, and looked behind, they appeared almost preternaturally to
follow his steps. A chill, he knew not why, sunk into his heart. He
hastened to regain his palace. The sentinels made way for him.
"Senator," said one of them, doubtingly, "Messere Angelo Villani is our new
captain - we are to obey his orders?"
"Assuredly," returned the Senator, passing on. The man lingered uneasily,
as if he would have spoken, but Rienzi observed it not. Seeking his
chamber, he found Nina and Irene waiting for him. His heart yearned to his
wife. Care and toil had of late driven her from his thoughts, and he felt
it remorsefully, as he gazed upon her noble face, softened by the
solicitude of untiring and anxious love.
"Sweetest," said he, winding his arms around her tenderly; "thy lips never
chide me, but thine eyes sometimes do! We have been apart too long.
Brighter days dawn upon us, when I shall have leisure to thank thee for all
thy care. And you, my fair sister, you smile on me! - ah, you have heard
that your lover, ere this, is released by the cession of Palestrina, and
tomorrow's sun will see him at your feet. Despite all the cares of the
day, I remembered thee, my Irene, and sent a messenger to bring back the
blush to that pale cheek. Come, come, we shall be happy again!" And with
that domestic fondness common to him, when harsher thoughts permitted, he
sate himself beside the two persons dearest to his hearth and heart.
"So happy - if we could have many hours like this!" murmured Nina, sinking
on his breast. "Yet sometimes I wish - "
"And I too," interrupted Rienzi; "for I read thy woman's thought - I too
sometimes wish that fate had placed us in the lowlier valleys of life! But
it may come yet! Irene wedded to Adrian - Rome married to Liberty - and
then, Nina, methinks you and I would find some quiet hermitage, and talk
over old gauds and triumphs, as of a summer's dream. Beautiful, kiss me!
Couldst thou resign these pomps?"
"For a desert with thee, Cola!"
"Let me reflect," resumed Rienzi; "is not today the seventh of October?
Yes! on the seventh, be it noted, my foes yielded to my power! Seven! my
fated number, whether ominous of good or evil! Seven months did I reign as
Tribune - seven (There was the lapse of one year between the release of
Rienzi from Avignon, and his triumphal return to Rome: a year chiefly
spent in the campaign of Albornoz.) years was I absent as an exile;
tomorrow, that sees me without an enemy, completes my seventh week of
return!"
"And seven was the number of the crowns the Roman Convents and the Roman
Council awarded thee, after the ceremony which gave thee the knighthood of
the Santo Spirito!" (This superstition had an excuse in strange historical
coincidences; and the number seven was indeed to Rienzi what the 3rd of
September was to Cromwell. The ceremony of the seven crowns which he
received after his knighthood, on the nature of which ridiculous ignorance
has been shown by many recent writers, was, in fact, principally a
religious and typical donation, (symbolical of the gifts of the Holy
Spirit,) conferred by the heads of convents - and that part of the ceremony
which was political, was republican, not regal.) said Nina, adding, with
woman's tender wit, "the brightest association of all!"
Follies seem these thoughts to others, and to philosophy, in truth, they
are so," said Rienzi; "but all my life long, omen and type and shadow have
linked themselves to action and event: and the atmosphere of other men
hath not been mine. Life itself a riddle, why should riddles amaze us?
The Future! - what mystery in the very word! Had we lived all through the
Past, since Time was, our profoundest experience of a thousand ages could
not give us a guess of the events that wait the very moment we are about to
enter! Thus deserted by Reason, what wonder that we recur to the
Imagination, on which, by dream and symbol, God sometimes paints the
likeness of things to come? Who can endure to leave the Future all
unguessed, and sit tamely down to groan under the fardel of the Present?
No, no! that which the foolish-wise call Fanaticism, belongs to the same
part of us as Hope. Each but carries us onward - from a barren strand to a
glorious, if unbounded sea. Each is the yearning for the GREAT BEYOND,
which attests our immortality. Each has its visions and chimeras - some
false, but some true! Verily, a man who becomes great is often but made so
by a kind of sorcery in his own soul - a Pythia which prophesies that he
shall be great - and so renders the life one effort to fulfil the warning!
Is this folly? - it were so, if all things stopped at the grave! But
perhaps the very sharpening, and exercising, and elevating the faculties
here - though but for a bootless end on earth - may be designed to fit the
soul, thus quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny beyond the earth!
Who can tell? not I! - Let us pray!"
While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her various quarters presented
less holy and quiet scenes.
In the fortress of the Orsini lights flitted to and fro, through the
gratings of the great court. Angelo Villani might be seen stealing from
the postern-gate. Another hour, and the Moon was high in heaven; toward
the ruins of the Colosseum, men, whose dress bespoke them of the lowest
rank, were seen creeping from lanes and alleys, two by two; from these
ruins glided again the form of the son of Montreal. Later yet - the Moon
is sinking - a grey light breaking in the East - and the gates of Rome, by
St. John of Lateran, are open! Villani is conversing with the sentries!
The Moon has set - the mountains are dim with a mournful and chilling haze
- Villani is before the palace of the Capitol - the only soldier there!
Where are the Roman legions that were to guard alike the freedom and the
deliverer of Rome?
