The Bishop did not reply in words, but a slight motion of his head was sufficient answer to Rienzi.
My Lord, said he, from this time, then, all is well; I date the revolutionthe restoration of order, of the statefrom this hour, this very conference. Till now, knowing that justice must never wink upon great offenders, I had hesitated, through fear lest thou and his Holiness might deem it severity, and blame him who replaces the law, because he smites the violaters of law. Now I judge ye more rightly. Your hand, my Lord.
The Bishop extended his hand; Rienzi grasped it firmly, and then raised it respectfully to his lips. Both felt that the compact was sealed.
This conference, so long in recital, was short in the reality; but its object was already finished, and the Bishop rose to depart. The outer portal of the house was opened, the numerous servitors of the Bishop held on high their torches, and he had just termed from Rienzi, who had attended him to the gate, when a female passed hastily through the Prelates train, and starting as she beheld Rienzi, flung herself at his feet.
Oh, hasten, Sir! hasten, for the love of God, hasten! or the young Signora is lost for ever!
The Signora!Heaven and earth, Benedetta, of whom do you speak?of my sisterof Irene? is she not within?
Oh, Sirthe Orsinithe Orsini!
What of them?speak, woman!
Here, breathlessly, and with many a break, Benedetta recounted to Rienzi, in whom the reader has already recognised the brother of Irene, so far of the adventure with Martino di Porto as she had witnessed: of the termination and result of the contest she knew nought.
Rienzi listened in silence; but the deadly paleness of his countenance, and the writhing of the nether lip, testified the emotions to which he gave no audible vent.
You hear, my Lord Bishopyou hear, said he, when Benedetta had concluded; and turning to the Bishop, whose departure the narrative had delayedyou hear to what outrage the citizens of Rome are subjected. My hat and sword! instantly! My Lord, forgive my abruptness.
Whither art thou bent, then? asked Raimond.
Whitherwhither!Ay, I forgot, my Lord, you have no sister. Perhaps too, you had no brother?No, no; one victim at least I will live to save. Whither, you ask me?to the palace of Martino di Porto.
To an Orsini alone, and for justice?
Alone, and for justice!No! shouted Rienzi, in a loud voice, as he seized his sword, now brought to him by one of his servants, and rushed from the house; but one man is sufficient for revenge!
The Bishop paused for a moments deliberation. He must not be lost, muttered he, as he well may be, if exposed thus solitary to the wolfs rage. What, ho! he cried aloud; advance the torches!quick, quick! We ourselfwe, the Vicar of the Popewill see to this. Calm yourselves, good people; your young Signora shall be restored. On! to the palace of Martino di Porto!
Chapter 1.VI. Irene in the Palace of Adrian di Castello
As the Cyprian gazed on the image in which he had embodied a youth of dreams, what time the living hues flushed slowly beneath the marble,so gazed the young and passionate Adrian upon the form reclined before him, re-awakening gradually to life. And, if the beauty of that face were not of the loftiest or the most dazzling order, if its soft and quiet character might be outshone by many, of loveliness less really perfect, yet never was there a countenance that, to some eyes, would have seemed more charming, and never one in which more eloquently was wrought that ineffable and virgin expression which Italian art seeks for in its models,in which modesty is the outward, and tenderness the latent, expression; the bloom of youth, both of form and heart, ere the first frail and delicate freshness of either is brushed away: and when even love itself, the only unquiet visitant that should be known at such an age, is but a sentiment, and not a passion!
Benedetta! murmured Irene, at length opening her eyes, unconsciously, upon him who knelt beside her,eyes of that uncertain, that most liquid hue, on which you might gaze for years and never learn the secret of the colour, so changed it with the dilating pupil,darkening in the shade, and brightening into azure in the light:
Benedetta, said Irene, where art thou? Oh, Benedetta! I have had such a dream.
And I, too, such a vision! thought Adrian.
Where am I? cried Irene, rising from the couch. This roomthese hangingsHoly Virgin! do I dream still!and you! Heavens!it is the Lord Adrian di Castello!
Is that a name thou hast been taught to fear? said Adrian; if so, I will forswear it.
If Irene now blushed deeply, it was not in that wild delight with which her romantic heart motive foretold that she would listen to the first words of homage from Adrian di Castello. Bewildered and confused,terrified at the strangeness of the place and shrinking even from the thought of finding herself alone with one who for years had been present to her fancies,alarm and distress were the emotions she felt the most, and which most were impressed upon her speaking countenance; and as Adrian now drew nearer to her, despite the gentleness of his voice and the respect of his looks, her fears, not the less strong that they were vague, increased upon her: she retreated to the further end of the room, looked wildly round her, and then, covering her face with her hands, burst into a paroxysm of tears.
Moved himself by these tears, and divining her thoughts, Adrian forgot for moment all the more daring wishes he had formed.
Fear not, sweet lady, said he, earnestly: recollect thyself, I beseech thee; no peril, no evil can reach thee here; it was this hand that saved thee from the outrage of the Orsinithis roof is but the shelter of a friend! Tell me, then, fair wonder, thy name and residence, and I will summon my servitors, and guard thee to thy home at once.
Perhaps the relief of tears, even more than Adrians words, restored Irene to herself, and enabled her to comprehend her novel situation; and as her senses, thus cleared, told her what she owed to him whom her dreams had so long imaged as the ideal of all excellence, she recovered her self-possession, and uttered her thanks with a grace not the less winning, if it still partook of embarrassment.
Thank me not, answered Adrian, passionately. I have touched thy handI am repaid. Repaid! nay, all gratitudeall homage is for me to render!
Blushing again, but with far different emotions than before, Irene, after a momentary pause, replied, Yet, my Lord, I must consider it a debt the more weighty that you speak of it so lightly. And now, complete the obligation. I do not see my companionsuffer her to accompany me home; it is but a short way hence.
Blessed, then, is the air that I have breathed so unconsciously! said Adrian. But thy companion, dear lady, is not here. She fled, I imagine, in the confusion of the conflict; and not knowing thy name, nor being able, in thy then state, to learn it from thy lips, it was my happy necessity to convey thee hither;but I will be thy companion. Nay, why that timid glance? my people, also, shall attend us.
My thanks, noble Lord, are of little worth; my brother, who is not unknown to thee, will thank thee more fittingly. May I depart? and Irene, as she spoke, was already at the door.
Art thou so eager to leave me? answered Adrian, sadly. Alas! when thou hast departed from my eyes, it will seem as if the moon had left the night!but it is happiness to obey thy wishes, even though they tear thee from me.
A slight smile parted Irenes lips, and Adrians heart beat audibly to himself, as he drew from that smile, and those downcast eyes, no unfavourable omen.
Reluctantly and slowly he turned towards the door, and summoned his attendants. But, said he, as they stood on the lofty staircase, thou sayest, sweet lady, that thy brothers name is not unknown to me. Heaven grant that he be, indeed, a friend of the Colonna!
His boast, answered Irene, evasively; the boast of Cola di Rienzi is, to be a friend to the friends of Rome.
Holy Virgin of Ara Coeli!is thy brother that extraordinary man? exclaimed Adrian, as he foresaw, at the mention of that name, a barrier to his sudden passion. Alas! in a Colonna, in a noble, he will see no merit; even though thy fortunate deliverer, sweet maiden, sought to be his early friend!
Thou wrongest him much, my Lord, returned Irene, warmly; he is a man above all others to sympathize with thy generous valour, even had it been exerted in defence of the humblest woman in Rome,how much more, then, when in protection of his sister!
The times are, indeed, diseased, answered Adrian, thoughtfully, as they now found themselves in the open street, when men who alike mourn for the woes of their country are yet suspicious of each other; when to be a patrician is to be regarded as an enemy to the people; when to be termed the friend of the people is to be considered a foe to the patricians: but come what may, oh! let me hope, dear lady, that no doubts, no divisions, shall banish from thy breast one gentle memory of me!
Ah! little, little do you know me! began Irene, and stopped suddenly short.
Speak! speak again!of what music has this envious silence deprived my soul! Thou wilt not, then, forget me? And, continued Adrian, we shall meet again? It is to Rienzis house we are bound now; tomorrow I shall visit my old companion,tomorrow I shall see thee. Will it not be so?
In Irenes silence was her answer.
And as thou hast told me thy brothers name, make it sweet to my ear, and add to it thine own.
They call me Irene.
Irene, Irene!let me repeat it. It is a soft name, and dwells upon the lips as if loath to leave thema fitting name for one like thee.
Thus making his welcome court to Irene, in that flowered and glowing language which, if more peculiar to that age and to the gallantry of the south, is also the language in which the poetry of youthful passion would, in all times and lands, utter its rich extravagance, could heart speak to heart, Adrian conveyed homeward his beautiful charge, taking, however, the most circuitous and lengthened route; an artifice which Irene either perceived not, or silently forgave. They were now within sight of the street in which Rienzi dwelt, when a party of men bearing torches, came unexpectedly upon them. It was the train of the Bishop of Orvietto, returning from the palace of Martino di Porto, and in their way (accompanied by Rienzi) to that of Adrian. They had learned at the former, without an interview with the Orsini, from the retainers in the court below, the fortune of the conflict, and the name of Irenes champion; and, despite Adrians general reputation for gallantry, Rienzi knew enough of his character, and the nobleness of his temper, to feel assured that Irene was safe in his protection. Alas! in that very safety to the person is often the most danger to the heart. Woman never so dangerously loves, as when he who loves her, for her sake, subdues himself.
Clasped to her brothers breast, Irene bade him thank her deliverer; and Rienzi, with that fascinating frankness which sits so well on those usually reserved, and which all who would rule the hearts of their fellow-men must at times command, advanced to the young Colonna, and poured forth his gratitude and praise.
We have been severed too long,we must know each other again, replied Adrian. I shall seek thee, ere long, be assured.
Turning to take his leave of Irene, he conveyed her hand to his lips, and pressing it, as it dropped from his clasp, was he deceived in thinking that those delicate fingers lightly, involuntarily, returned the pressure?
Chapter 1.VII. Upon Love and Lovers
If, in adopting the legendary love tale of Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare had changed the scene in which it is cast for a more northern clime, we may doubt whether the art of Shakespeare himself could have reconciled us at once to the suddenness and the strength of Juliets passion. And, even as it is, perhaps there are few of our rational and sober-minded islanders who would not honestly confess, if fairly questioned, that they deem the romance and fervour of those ill-starred lovers of Verona exaggerated and over-drawn. Yet, in Italy, the picture of that affection born of a nightbut strong as deathis one to which the veriest commonplaces of life would afford parallels without number. As in different ages, so in different climes, love varies wonderfully in the shapes it takes. And even at this day, beneath Italian skies, many a simple girl would feel as Juliet, and many a homely gallant would rival the extravagance of Romeo. Long suits in that sunny land, wherein, as whereof, I now write, are unknown. In no other land, perhaps, is there found so commonly the love at first sight, which in France is a jest, and in England a doubt; in no other land, too, is love, though so suddenly conceived, more faithfully preserved. That which is ripened in fancy comes at once to passion, yet is embalmed through all time by sentiment. And this must be my and their excuse, if the love of Adrian some too prematurely formed, and that of Irene too romantically conceived;it is the excuse which they take from the air and sun, from the customs of their ancestors, from the soft contagion of example. But while they yielded to the dictates of their hearts, it was with a certain though secret sadnessa presentiment that had, perhaps, its charm, though it was of cross and evil. Born of so proud a race, Adrian could scarcely dream of marriage with the sister of a plebeian; and Irene, unconscious of the future glory of her brother, could hardly have cherished any hope, save that of being loved. Yet these adverse circumstances, which, in the harder, the more prudent, the more self-denying, perhaps the more virtuous minds, that are formed beneath the northern skies, would have been an inducement to wrestle against love so placed, only contributed to feed and to strengthen theirs by an opposition which has ever its attraction for romance. They found frequent, though short, opportunities of meetingnot quite alone, but only in the conniving presence of Benedetta: sometimes in the public gardens, sometimes amidst the vast and deserted ruins by which the house of Rienzi was surrounded. They surrendered themselves, without much question of the future, to the excitementthe elysiumof the hour: they lived but from day to day; their future was the next time they should meet; beyond that epoch, the very mists of their youthful love closed in obscurity and shadow which they sought not to penetrate: and as yet they had not arrived at that period of affection when there was danger of their fall,their love had not passed the golden portal where Heaven ceases and Earth begins. Everything for them was the poetry, the vagueness, the refinement,not the power, the concentration, the mortality,of desire! The lookthe whisperthe brief pressure of the hand, at most, the first kisses of love, rare and few,these marked the human limits of that sentiment which filled them with a new life, which elevated them as with a new soul.
The roving tendencies of Adrian were at once fixed and centered; the dreams of his tender mistress had awakened to a life dreaming still, but rounded with a truth. All that earnestness, and energy, and fervour of emotion, which, in her brother, broke forth in the schemes of patriotism and the aspirations of power, were, in Irene, softened down into one object of existence, one concentration of soul,and that was love. Yet, in this range of thought and action, so apparently limited, there was, in reality, no less boundless a sphere than in the wide space of her brothers many-pathed ambition. Not the less had she the power and scope for all the loftiest capacities granted to our clay. Equal was her enthusiasm for her idol; equal, had she been equally tried, would have been her generosity, her devotion:greater, be sure, her courage; more inalienable her worship; more unsullied by selfish purposes and sordid views. Time, change, misfortune, ingratitude, would have left her the same! What state could fall, what liberty decay, if the zeal of mans noisy patriotism were as pure as the silent loyalty of a womans love?