Rienzi the Last of the Tribunes
(Rienzi)
In the days of Rome’s early greatness there were leaders chosen by the people who were called Tribunes. These Tribunes, though subject to the popular will, often had vast power, for they could make laws, declare war, and do other things that few kings, even, have had power to do. But the Tribunes passed away, in the course of centuries, and after the mighty Roman Empire had fallen, the people often had no real governing head. They were the prey of strong enemies without, and of fierce quarrels within. So, you may believe, their lot was not happy, nor their state prosperous.
About the middle of the fourteenth century, Rome had fallen into the hands of several nobles, or barons, who fought among themselves and cared no whit for the rights of the common people. Chief among these barons were the rival houses of Orsini and Colonna. Each maintained strong retinues of armed men and lived in fortified castles; and as there was no real government to hold them in check they became a menace to the whole city. Shopkeepers hardly dared to open their places in broad daylight, lest they should be robbed. Merchants were afraid to send goods from one place to another, lest they should be seized. And the worst was that women and little children were in continual danger from the street brawls and sudden excursions of these cruel and lawless men.
So you may see how desperate was the condition of things at Rome and how sadly they needed someone to restore peace and safety. Even the authority of the Pope was disregarded, and he had to flee for protection to the city of Avignon.
But there was one young man, risen from the ranks of the people, who as he grew up was filled with noble ambition. He saw the distress of all his fellow-townsmen and he longed to avenge their wrongs and make the city free and prosperous as it was in the olden days. This desire was finally roused to a fever heat by a sad accident which happened within his own family. His little brother, a beautiful child with curly hair and engaging ways, was playing one day in the open street when a small company of soldiers belonging to the Orsini house dashed by. They were met by others of the Colonna faction, and in one of their usual fierce fights the little boy was slain. Yet the young lord who had chanced to do this dreadful thing rode away without a word of regret.
From that time forth Rienzi—for that was the name of the people’s champion—worked constantly among the people, striving to rouse them to action. His fiery eloquence, his earnestness, and the justice of the cause, brought him a constantly increasing band of followers, until at last he had practically all the common people secretly enlisted under his banner and only awaiting the signal to rise against the barons and regain their liberties. And the people loved their enthusiastic young leader. They were willing to follow him anywhere and give him any title he might see fit to assume. But he chose the simple name of “Tribune” in memory of the former Tribunes who had led the people; and his earnest prayer was that he might prove worthy of it.
After the tragic death of his brother, Rienzi’s affections centred in a sister, Irene, a fair young girl just reaching womanhood, who was no less devoted to her brother than he to her. A fine picture they made, sauntering along some quiet path together, he with his dark hair and dreamy eyes, she with her light hair and smile like an imprisoned sunbeam. Rienzi, indeed, was a dreamer and would have liked nothing better than his books or a stroll like this by the side of a stream, had not the stern call of his country roused him to heroic things. But the fine stuff that dreamers are made of—a trusting confidence in all men—was the one thing which unsuited him for leadership. This, however, you will see for yourself as we go on with our story.
While Irene was strolling alone one day, she had the misfortune to attract the notice of one of the Orsini noblemen. He fell in love with her, but, knowing that she would scorn him, he did not attempt to win her in an honourable way. Instead, he planned to carry her away by force from the shelter of her own home! This was a wicked and audacious thing to do; but the fact that such plots had actually succeeded before shows how dreadful were the times when Rienzi lived.
Accordingly, one dark night, an armed band stole quietly along under the shadow of the houses until they reached the one where dwelt Rienzi and his sister Irene. They were wise enough to choose a night when Rienzi was absent addressing the people, so Irene was left alone and helpless. Quickly placing their scaling-ladders to the windows of the house, they soon broke into it and seized the poor girl. Despite her frantic outcries and appeals for help, they were on the point of carrying her down the ladder and making good their escape, when a lucky intervention occurred. A young man bearing the arms of Colonna dashed up with a band of followers. Seeing his ancient foes, he lost no time in attacking them at the foot of the ladders. The Orsini, though taken by surprise, fought stoutly, and the noise of the conflict brought many people running to the scene. But meanwhile the leader of the Colonna forces found means to rescue the fainting girl and carry her to one side to a place of safety.
Among those whom the tumult attracted was the Papal Legate. He came into the midst of the throng and besought them to cease fighting in the name of religion and of the church, since they paid no heed to the law. But the nobles laughed at him, and would probably have resumed the fight, had not a commanding voice cried out, “Hold!”
It was Rienzi, who had just come. Addressing the people, who were his followers, he bade them respect the law; while he prayed the barons also to go quietly to their homes. The people cheered his words and drew back. The barons shrugged their shoulders at this champion of the people, and were fain to continue hostilities, but the company about Rienzi was now so large that they yielded and sheathed their weapons. But they agreed among themselves to meet on the morrow outside the city gates, where they could renew the contest without interruption.
No sooner had the barons withdrawn than Rienzi’s followers began to urge him to do what he had so long been planning—strike a decisive blow against the barons and make the city free. Rienzi saw that this would be a good opportunity. He had heard the barons plan to withdraw outside the city. Now, when they went forth to fight on the morrow, why not close the gates against them, and not let them in again until they had sworn to obey the laws?
So Rienzi was only too willing to fall in with the popular suggestion, for he perceived that the temper of the people was with him. In an impassioned speech he begged them to uphold him now; to strike as one man for the freedom of the ancient city. Then he unfolded his plan to them. The next morning his banner should be unfurled and his trumpet should sound. Then let every man there present, and every neighbour of his, rally to the standard of liberty and peace!
Rienzi’s speech was wildly applauded, and a unanimous support was pledged him. The crowd then dispersed, and Rienzi had opportunity, for the first time, to learn the cause of the tumult. He found that the girl who had been rescued was his own sister. She had recovered from her fainting fit and was now leaning against her doorstep, where she was being tenderly watched over by a young man.
“Irene! Adrian!” exclaimed Rienzi in alarm.
“All is well, dear brother,” replied the girl. “But had it not been for this chivalrous stranger, I fear it would have been terribly different. Some men of Orsini invaded our home and tried to carry me away, when this gentleman interfered. Our thanks are due to him.”
“And they are given in overflowing measure, Adrian!” said Rienzi, extending his hand to the nobleman. “We owe you much.”
Adrian of Colonna, in fact, was a boyhood friend of Rienzi, though public matters and a difference in station had long kept them apart. The nobleman flushed and laughed, declaring that the service was nothing. He was afraid indeed, he said, that the sight of his enemy moved him to battle before ever he saw there was a lovely maiden in distress. Here he laid his hand upon his heart and bowed gallantly.
Meanwhile, Rienzi was troubled at heart. Realising that Adrian had heard his speech and therefore knew his plans, he feared the cause was undone. He swiftly decided to throw himself upon the generosity of the nobleman, whom he knew to be highly honourable, and he therefore asked him, for old friendship’s sake, not to reveal anything he had heard that night.
Adrian at first hesitated. One word from him would put the barons—who had laughed at Rienzi’s pretensions and did not suspect his strength—on their guard. What should he do?
Rienzi saw his hesitancy. “It is not alone for myself or my people that I ask it,” he pleaded; “it is for Rome—the place of our fathers for generation upon generation. Let us restore the old government and the old glory to our country. Let its cause plead with you!”
“And let me also add my word of entreaty,” said Irene timidly. “You have done so much for us already. Can we ask this one thing more?”
“I consent!” said the young man impetuously. “For my country—and for you!”
Irene blushed and her eyes could not conceal the little ray of pleasure that came into them. The young nobleman saw the gleam and his heart beat with a strange thrill, such as he had never known before. It seemed to him in a moment that he would give all he possessed—houses and lands and titles—if he could but call up that glance at his every coming!
The next morning the whole city was early astir. The barons and their adherents had withdrawn to a plain outside the walls as they had agreed. Rienzi and his followers meanwhile were busied with warlike preparations. Armed men ran hither and thither about the streets greeting other citizens. And it was seen that whenever a shopkeeper or craftsman was approached, he straightway forsook whatever he was doing and hastened to arm himself also and fall in line.
When the sun was well up in the heavens the sound of a trumpet was heard. It blew the call of Rienzi; and straightway through the streets came the steady tread of marching feet. At the head of a large body of determined-looking men rode Rienzi, clad in the glittering armour of a Tribune. Before the great square of the Capitol he turned and addressed the populace telling them to be valiant upon this day and stand for the honour and freedom of their beloved city and for their own security. Then giving orders, he posted men at the gates and upon the walls, where they awaited the return of the barons.
It was really an easy victory. For when the barons came back wearied and weakened by the fighting among themselves, they found the gates so securely barred and the walls so strongly defended that they were forced to make terms. They agreed to respect the laws and recognise Rienzi as Tribune, before ever they were allowed to enter or continue to their homes.
You may be sure this defeat sat ill with the haughty lords who had despised the common people and sneered at their champion. But they saw it would not do to employ force, as they were greatly outnumbered. So they decided to plot secretly against the Tribune while outwardly they bowed to his authority.
Accordingly when Rienzi held his first public audience, a few days later, in the audience-chamber of the Capitol, the barons were present, as well as ambassadors from foreign courts and many other dignitaries. It was an imposing assemblage worthy of a king. Messengers were despatched hither and thither with orders. Pages stood in waiting. Heralds announced each person who had business with the Tribune. Couriers, dust-covered, strode in to bring good news; one reported that the brigands had been suppressed; another, that all the roads were safe; another, that peace was an assured fact in all the country round about, and people were blessing the new Tribune’s rule.
This news was received with great joy by all the court, with the exception of the barons. They saw in it a death-blow to their own power, and knew that so long as the Tribune held sway, the people would be more than a match for them. So they resolved to lose no time in putting Rienzi to death. That very day they met together—putting aside their own animosities for the time being—and laid their plans. Adrian who was present indignantly upbraided them, telling them they were breaking their word; but he was not heeded. Instead, his own father, who was head of the house of Colonna, asked him if he were going to turn against them, his own flesh and blood. Hot words rushed to Adrian’s lips. He was on the point of replying that his country’s welfare came first; but the barons did not pause to listen. They went in search of Rienzi, each with a dagger under his cloak.
Rienzi had been addressing the people from a gallery in the Capitol, when of a sudden Adrian ran swiftly from behind a row of pillars and whispered to him,
“Be on your guard! There are those who seek your life!” Then he darted away.
He did not have time to say more, for the group of conspirators were even then drawing near. They surrounded Rienzi under pretence of asking him some question with regard to the new government. Then quickly they drew their daggers and each one struck him in turn.
But the Tribune had been too vigilant for them. Suspecting treachery on their part he had taken the precaution to don a coat of mail, under his robe of state, and this turned aside all their blows.
Those below who had seen their dastardly attack cried aloud for vengeance.
“Seize them! Kill them! Murderers! Villains!” resounded on all sides; and in a jiffy the gallery was thronged with excited men, led by Cecco a burly blacksmith, and the conspirators were disarmed and bound. They were thrown into separate dungeons, and so fierce was the rage against them that they were glad to hear the heavy doors clang, for they had been afraid of being torn to pieces.
As it was, their hours seemed numbered, for the people surged about the chair of state whereon Rienzi had now taken his seat, and clamoured loudly for the execution of the barons. Rienzi also was justly indignant. He did not care so much for the attack made against his own person as for the barons’ total want of honour and disregard of the state’s welfare. He saw that they were working for their own interests to the ruin of everyone else, and that the people’s new-found liberty would be safer if they were put to death. So he was about to yield to the popular clamour and sign their death warrant when Adrian and Irene entered.
The young nobleman had realised the serious danger threatening his father and the other barons when their attack failed. Wishing to save his kindred and friends, although he knew they deserved punishment, he had hastened in search of Irene and begged her to plead with her brother for the prisoners’ lives. This the tender-hearted girl consented to do; and they now came to present the petition together. Falling on their knees before Rienzi they begged him to show mercy rather than justice and prove the greatness of his high office.
This was just the sort of petition that appealed to the high-souled Tribune. He impulsively tore up the sentence which he was about to sign, and calling the people together he addressed them again with that eloquence of which he was so great a master. He asked to be allowed to pardon the barons, as it was him only that they had attacked. The people gave their consent, though not without murmurs, and the prisoners were then summoned to the throne-room.
Rienzi received them in state, and for once they were cowed into submission. Indeed, they expected nothing less than sentence of death; and if any of them had been in Rienzi’s place he would have lost no time in pronouncing this sentence. But as we have before seen, the chief fault of Rienzi was too great faith in the promises of other men. Now it led him into the great mistake of his life. To the utter surprise of the prisoners, the Tribune addressed them in words of kindness and pardon.
“Friends,” he said quietly, “I have been deeply grieved by the outbreak for which ye are now in chains. As concerns my own life, I care not a straw. I will gladly offer it up at any moment for the good of my country. But in your late attack I cannot but see that ye were aiming at my country rather than me. Ye were violating your words. Ye were breaking the laws. If I regarded only the justice of the case and the requests of my people, I should order you to immediate execution; for this ye have deserved. But the teachings of holy church are that we shall temper our deeds with mercy. I have therefore asked the people, whom ye have offended, to forgive you for my sake. This they will do if ye renew your allegiance,—promising solemnly upon your honour as gentlemen and Christians to respect the laws of the people and my authority as their representative.”
During this speech the barons looked at one another in doubt and amazement. Never had they heard its like. Their whole lives had been spent under the principle of “kill or be killed,” and the nobility of this young dreamer struck no responsive note in their own breasts. But when he ended his speech of pardon with the condition that they take a new oath of allegiance, they saw it was their only hope of escape. And so they all promised, though sullenly and reluctantly, and each one resolving in his heart to pay no heed to a promise wrung from him by force of circumstances.
Thus you see the Tribune’s good deed brought forth no good fruit—only evil; for as the prisoners were set free, their faces wore such heavy scowls and their teeth set so savagely that the people were filled with foreboding and for the first time began to doubt the wisdom of their ruler.
The citizens had good cause to be alarmed. That very night the barons secretly fled from the city, and the next day reports reached the market-place that they were collecting a large army in the provinces and would soon march against Rienzi to crush him. The reports were soon confirmed and grew more portentous day by day The people became terrified and openly reproached the Tribune for his lack of foresight. Yet they still clung to him as their leader, and implored him to save them from their enemies.
Rienzi went about with calm and cheerful countenance. His very presence inspired confidence, and his speeches brought the people flocking to his standard and ready to shed their last drop of blood in the beloved cause.
But there was one, in this troublous time, whose heart was torn with conflicting emotions. Poor Adrian did not know which way to turn. Loyalty to his kindred and father’s house demanded that he side with the barons. A new-found devotion to his country and belief in Rienzi urged him to support the people. And in addition he had become deeply in love with the gentle Irene and felt that she responded to his devotion. It was indeed a heart-breaking situation for him and one that seemed more hopeless as the day of battle grew imminent.
Finally the barons’ army drew proudly on the city, and halting before the gates demanded its instant surrender. The warders shouted back defiance, while from within came the sound of singing and marching men. Rienzi’s forces approached the gates with resolute step keeping time to a sonorous war-chant. At their head rode the Tribune, his dark eyes flashing with the light of conflict. But before he could give orders to throw open the gates and meet the enemy on open ground, Adrian sprang forward and cast himself before Rienzi’s charger.
“Halt! I beseech you, O Tribune!” he cried, while the steed reared and its rider drew in the reins sharply.
“What is the cause of this?” demanded Rienzi sternly.
“Let me plead with the barons once more!” begged Adrian. “Perchance they will listen to me, and there will be no need of bloodshed. Ah, let us have an armistice!”
“It is too late,” replied the Tribune. “They have shown us that we can put no faith in speeches. Stand aside! What ho, warders! Open the gates, and let us give these rebels all the fighting they desire!”
And so they did! While the unfortunate Adrian was brushed aside, the gates were unbarred and the two armies rushed together in the shock of battle. Rome the ancient seat of many fierce struggles never saw one more fierce or deadly than this. The barons were spurred on by hatred and greed. The people were fighting for their liberties. And here and there and everywhere the black horse of Rienzi was seen, bearing his triumphant rider into the thickest of the fray. Rienzi’s plume waving above his dark hair was the signal of victory. Rienzi’s clear voice was encouragement and conquest.
Finally after fearful slaughter the barons broke and fled. The Tribune had once again defeated them. Among the heaps of slain was Adrian’s father, the head of the house of Colonna. While the victorious citizens buried the dead, they sang praises to their leader, whom they idolised more than ever. And it did indeed seem that a bright day had dawned for Rome.
But though the barons were defeated and dispersed, they had by no means given up the struggle. They now tried by underhand means to gain their ends. The Emperor of Germany had for some time asserted sovereignty, in nominal fashion, over Rome. To him the barons now appealed saying that the city was in the hands of a dangerous rebel. They also visited the Pope at Avignon and artfully persuaded him that Rienzi was a dangerous heretic who openly scoffed at all authority. Though the Pope had formerly felt compelled to flee from Rome because of the barons, he now listened to their speeches and, strange to say, fell in with their plans. The Emperor also sent orders that his ambassadors were to be recalled.
This news, reaching Rome, caused a new upheaval in the minds of the fickle people. Many were ready, without delay, to turn against the man they had been worshipping. Their emotions were still further worked upon by some designing demagogues, one being Cecco, the blacksmith we have before noticed. Cecco and his band thought they could push themselves to power in this general disturbance, and they lost no chance of poisoning the ears of the crowd.
Finally, a new leader appeared. It was none other than Adrian, who, frantic with grief over the death of his father, now publicly announced that he had vowed to slay Rienzi, and called upon the people to help him to put down the usurper and tyrant. And soon the cry arose in this street and that, “Down with Rienzi!” For the people had forgotten—as people will forget.
But still there were others who argued stoutly for the Tribune’s cause, so that words ran high and many citizens did not know what to believe.
In the midst of the disturbance the great bell of the cathedral rang out calling the people to worship. A public service of thanksgiving had been announced in celebration of the great victory; and presently the Papal Legate and all his train appeared going to the service. This made the crowd still more doubtful in their beliefs, though public sentiment began to veer again toward Rienzi.
“See!” they said, “the Pope himself is helping to celebrate the victory. Then surely he has not withdrawn his favour from Rienzi!”
Just then Rienzi himself appeared, leading his sister by the hand and proceeding with firm step to the cathedral. Adrian was among the throng who saw him pass; but though Adrian had vowed to slay him, and there were many in the press who had been shouting “Down with Rienzi!” there was not a finger stirred against him—such was the majesty of his calm demeanour. Adrian himself could not strike this man while he walked hand in hand with Irene!
Her face was pale, and her eyes bore traces of suffering as though she had feared for her brother’s safety, or sorrowed over another’s grief. Indeed, she had done both; and if Adrian could have looked upon her heart he would have seen a struggle as keen as the one he was undergoing; a grief whose reason would have caused him both pain and joy.
Just as Irene and Rienzi drew near to the door of the cathedral the crowd saw a startling scene. The Papal Legate came forth clad in the full regalia of the church and forbade them to enter. In a loud voice he pronounced a curse upon Rienzi. He was forbidden to partake of the sacrament or have any part in the church’s privileges. All men, likewise, were forbidden to aid him in any way, lest they should incur a similar penalty.
This was what was known as excommunication. It was the severest punishment in the power of the church, and was usually directed only against criminals or desperate characters.
When Rienzi heard these unjust and unexpected words, he staggered back filled with amazement and horror. He had not looked for such reward as this for his great services, and he knew not which way to turn. The citizens on their part shrank away from him as from one smitten with the plague. Meanwhile, Adrian sprang to Irene’s side.
“Come away with me!” he said gently. “The anathema was not directed against you, and I can conduct you to safety.”
“No!” she cried, clinging the closer to her brother. “No! where he goes, there will I go! I will never forsake him or refuse to share his curses or his perils!”
“But you cannot protect him! Come while there is yet time!”
“No!” she again exclaimed, and, pressing to Rienzi’s side, the brother and sister proceeded slowly down the street, while the crowd parted to right and left and watched them depart in sullen silence.
Though momentarily crushed by the blow, Rienzi was still undaunted. He believed that if he could yet gain the ear of the people he could win his cause with them, and then he would lay it in its true light before the Pope. Now his soul was filled with sorrow instead of anger, and as he went on his way he busied himself with new plans for the city’s good.
“Let us go to the Capitol,” he said in low tones to his sister. “There on the outer balcony I will address my people.”
“No, no, dear brother, let us flee!” replied Irene. “Rome has been ungrateful and you owe her no further service. I pray you do not tarry in her gates!”
“And thus proclaim myself guilty?” answered Rienzi. “Not so. Besides, where could I go? Rome has been my one passion—my very life! Without her my life would be aimless. Ah, no! let me lay it down in her service, if she demands it, and it will be given gladly—if only Rome may rise up better for the gift!”
Irene shook her head sadly but did not remonstrate farther. In silence they drew near the Capitol and ascended its broad stone steps. The guards on each side saluted the Tribune as he passed. Once within, he gave certain orders to heralds who stood near, and went to an ante-room where he poured out his very heart in earnest prayer. But it was not for himself that he prayed; it was for the safety of his beloved Rome.
And how were the Romans requiting him? The news of the excommunication ran through the city like wildfire, and caused the most intense excitement. People talked of nothing else. Cecco and the other plotters made the utmost of it, assuring the crowds that Rienzi’s many sins had found him out, and that he was too dangerous a man to be suffered to live another day.
Adrian, on the contrary, ashamed of his previous part, did all he could to turn the tide in favour of the wronged Tribune. But it was in vain. His own former words were shouted back against him, while the crowds that followed Cecco and the other plotters constantly grew larger and more noisy. They had heard that the Tribune had taken refuge in the Capitol; and to their increasing cry of “Down with Rienzi!” was added the still more ominous one of “Burn the Capitol!”
Finally Adrian saw that only the most desperate means would save the Tribune’s life; nothing short of instant and secret flight would avail him. Hastening by side streets, the young nobleman burst into the Capitol, where he found Irene guarding the door to her brother’s room.
“Where is Rienzi?” he said swiftly. “We must all flee! The people are coming with torches to burn the Capitol!”
“He is there, but he will not flee,” she answered; “and my place is with him.”
“Oh, Irene, Irene! Can you not see that my heart is burning up with love for you? I have loved you since that night I first saw you in the street. Come with me, I beseech you! We will implore your brother also to flee; but if he will not be persuaded, why need you sacrifice yourself?”
Then without waiting for her reply, he dashed past her into the room where Rienzi knelt in prayer.
“Come!” said Adrian, “the people are approaching to fire the Capitol! You and your sister will be lost, if you do not follow me by a secret way which I know. Listen! do you not hear the noise in the streets?”
The dull roar was indeed becoming louder and louder; But Rienzi only smiled.
“I am used to the people and do not fear them,” he said. “But Irene, child, this is no place for you. I entreat you to go with this good friend.”
Irene had also entered the room, and now flushed red, but said no word.
“I have asked her to go with me for always,” said Adrian. “God knows how in this hour of distress I love her and will protect her! I pray you join your word with mine.”
“Do you love this man, sister?” asked Rienzi gazing at her kindly.
Irene bowed a silent “yes” and then burst into tears, clinging to her brother’s hand.
“Then go with him,” he continued, placing her hand in Adrian’s. “I, too, have loved, and the object of my love has been Rome. As you two must cling to one another now, so must I cling to my unhappy city. Go!”
It was high time. The advance guard of the mob was already surging into the square. Without waiting a moment longer Adrian wrung his friend’s hand and lifted the swooning form of Irene. Carrying her down a dim corridor and through the secret passage of which he had spoken, he bore her speedily to safety.
But Rienzi! Faithful to the last to his noble endeavour, the brave Tribune ascended the open balcony in full view of the people and tried to address them. But Cecco and the other demagogues would not permit this. They were afraid lest his matchless eloquence should once more win the people’s hearts. Hooting and yelling, they picked up great stones and hurled them into the balcony where he stood. Others of the mob applied torches to the balcony and other parts of the building. Soon the heavy smoke rolled up, and then the bright scorching flame. The smoke shut the dreadful scene from view, but in the light of the fire it again stood out clearly. There, with hands uplifted, Rienzi still sought to address the people. The splendid dreamer had no thought of flying from his martyrdom.
With a mighty crash the walls of the Capitol fell in—symbol of the destruction of the government. Long were the people to mourn their work of this day! A shower of burning embers rose into the sky, then slowly settled back again upon a grey and smoking pile. It was the tomb of the Last of the Tribunes.