Rienzi [141]
their guilt. - Back, I pray ye - leave him to our ministering."
It might have fared ill for Adrian, but for the Tribune's brief speech. And as the young Lord, dismounting, now bent over his kinsmen - the Tribune also surrendering his charger to his squires, approached, and, despite Adrian's reluctance and aversion, drew him aside, -
"Young friend," said he, mournfully, "my heart bleeds for you; yet bethink thee, the wrath of the crowd is fresh upon them: be prudent."
"Prudent!"
"Hush - by my honour, these men were not worthy of your name. Twice perjured - once assassins - twice rebels - listen to me!"
"Tribune, I ask no other construing of what I see - they might have died justly, or been butchered foully. But there is no peace between the executioner of my race and me."
"Will you, too, be forsworn? Thine oath! - Come, come, I hear not these words. Be composed - retire - and if, three days hence, you impute any other blame to me than that of unwise lenity, I absolve you from your oath, and you are free to be my foe. The crowd gape and gaze upon us - a minute more, and I may not avail to save you."
The feelings of the young patrician were such as utterly baffle description. He had never been much amongst his house, nor ever received more than common courtesy at their hands. But lineage is lineage still! And there, in the fatal hazard of war, lay the tree and sapling, the prime and hope of his race. He felt there was no answer to the Tribune, the very place of their death proved they had fallen in an assault upon their countrymen. He sympathised not with their cause, but their fate. And rage, revenge alike forbidden - his heart was the more softened to the shock and paralysis of grief. He did not therefore speak, but continued to gaze upon the dead, while large and unheeded tears flowed down his cheeks, and his attitude of dejection and sorrow was so moving, that the crowd, at first indignant, now felt for his affliction. At length his mind seemed made up. He turned to Rienzi, and said, falteringly, "Tribune, I blame you not, nor accuse. If you have been rash in this, God will have blood for blood. I wage no war with you - you say right, my oath prevents me; and if you govern well, I can still remember that I am Roman. But - but - look to that bleeding clay - we meet no more! - your sister - God be with her! - between her and me flows a dark gulf!" The young noble paused some moments, choked by his emotions, and then continued, "These papers discharge me of my mission. Standard-bearers, lay down the banner of the Republic. Tribune, speak not - I would be calm - calm. And so farewell to Rome." With a hurried glance towards the dead, he sprung upon his steed, and, followed by his train, vanished through the arch.
The Tribune had not attempted to detain him - had not interrupted him. He felt that the young noble had thought - acted as became him best. He followed him with his eyes.
"And thus," said he gloomily, "Fate plucks from me my noblest friend and my justest counsellor - better man Rome never lost!"
Such is the eternal doom of disordered states. The mediator between rank and rank, - the kindly noble - the dispassionate patriot - the first to act - the most hailed in action - darkly vanishes from the scene. Fiercer and more unscrupulous spirits alone stalk the field; and no neutral and harmonizing link remains between hate and hate, - until exhaustion, sick with horrors, succeeds to frenzy, and despotism is welcomed as repose!
Chapter 5.IV. The Hollowness of the Base.
The rapid and busy march of state events has led us long away from the sister of the Tribune and the betrothed of Adrian. And the sweet thoughts and gentle day-dreams of that fair and enamoured girl, however full to her of an interest beyond all the storms and perils of ambition, are not so readily adapted to narration: - their soft monotony a few words can paint. They knew but one image, they tended to but one prospect. Shrinking from the glare of her brother's court, and eclipsed, when she
It might have fared ill for Adrian, but for the Tribune's brief speech. And as the young Lord, dismounting, now bent over his kinsmen - the Tribune also surrendering his charger to his squires, approached, and, despite Adrian's reluctance and aversion, drew him aside, -
"Young friend," said he, mournfully, "my heart bleeds for you; yet bethink thee, the wrath of the crowd is fresh upon them: be prudent."
"Prudent!"
"Hush - by my honour, these men were not worthy of your name. Twice perjured - once assassins - twice rebels - listen to me!"
"Tribune, I ask no other construing of what I see - they might have died justly, or been butchered foully. But there is no peace between the executioner of my race and me."
"Will you, too, be forsworn? Thine oath! - Come, come, I hear not these words. Be composed - retire - and if, three days hence, you impute any other blame to me than that of unwise lenity, I absolve you from your oath, and you are free to be my foe. The crowd gape and gaze upon us - a minute more, and I may not avail to save you."
The feelings of the young patrician were such as utterly baffle description. He had never been much amongst his house, nor ever received more than common courtesy at their hands. But lineage is lineage still! And there, in the fatal hazard of war, lay the tree and sapling, the prime and hope of his race. He felt there was no answer to the Tribune, the very place of their death proved they had fallen in an assault upon their countrymen. He sympathised not with their cause, but their fate. And rage, revenge alike forbidden - his heart was the more softened to the shock and paralysis of grief. He did not therefore speak, but continued to gaze upon the dead, while large and unheeded tears flowed down his cheeks, and his attitude of dejection and sorrow was so moving, that the crowd, at first indignant, now felt for his affliction. At length his mind seemed made up. He turned to Rienzi, and said, falteringly, "Tribune, I blame you not, nor accuse. If you have been rash in this, God will have blood for blood. I wage no war with you - you say right, my oath prevents me; and if you govern well, I can still remember that I am Roman. But - but - look to that bleeding clay - we meet no more! - your sister - God be with her! - between her and me flows a dark gulf!" The young noble paused some moments, choked by his emotions, and then continued, "These papers discharge me of my mission. Standard-bearers, lay down the banner of the Republic. Tribune, speak not - I would be calm - calm. And so farewell to Rome." With a hurried glance towards the dead, he sprung upon his steed, and, followed by his train, vanished through the arch.
The Tribune had not attempted to detain him - had not interrupted him. He felt that the young noble had thought - acted as became him best. He followed him with his eyes.
"And thus," said he gloomily, "Fate plucks from me my noblest friend and my justest counsellor - better man Rome never lost!"
Such is the eternal doom of disordered states. The mediator between rank and rank, - the kindly noble - the dispassionate patriot - the first to act - the most hailed in action - darkly vanishes from the scene. Fiercer and more unscrupulous spirits alone stalk the field; and no neutral and harmonizing link remains between hate and hate, - until exhaustion, sick with horrors, succeeds to frenzy, and despotism is welcomed as repose!
Chapter 5.IV. The Hollowness of the Base.
The rapid and busy march of state events has led us long away from the sister of the Tribune and the betrothed of Adrian. And the sweet thoughts and gentle day-dreams of that fair and enamoured girl, however full to her of an interest beyond all the storms and perils of ambition, are not so readily adapted to narration: - their soft monotony a few words can paint. They knew but one image, they tended to but one prospect. Shrinking from the glare of her brother's court, and eclipsed, when she