Rienzi [240]
Villani, thou art that child; - Walter de Montreal is thy father. But now, trembling on the verge of death, I shudder at the vindictive thoughts I once nourished. Perhaps - "
"Sinner and accursed!" interrupted Villani, with a loud shout: - "sinner and accursed thou art indeed! Know that it was I who betrayed thy daughter's lover! - by the son's treason dies the father!"
Not a moment more did he tarry: he waited not to witness the effect his words produced. As one frantic - as one whom a fiend possesses or pursues - he rushed from the Convent - he flew through the desolate streets. The death-bell came, first indistinct, then loud, upon his ear. Every sound seemed to him like the curse of God; on - on - he passed the more deserted quarter - crowds swept before him - he was mingled with the living stream, delayed, pushed back - thousands on thousands around, before him. Breathless, gasping, he still pressed on - he forced his way - he heard not - he saw not - all was like a dream. Up burst the sun over the distant hills! - the bell ceased! From right to left he pushed aside the crowd - his strength was as a giant's. He neared the fatal spot. A dead hush lay like a heavy air over the multitude. He heard a voice, as he pressed along, deep and clear - it was the voice of his father! - it ceased - the audience breathed heavily - they murmured - they swayed to and fro. On, on, went Angelo Villani. The guards of the Senator stopped his way; - he dashed aside their pikes - he eluded their grasp - he pierced the armed barrier - he stood on the Place of the Capitol. "Hold, hold!" he would have cried - but horror struck him dumb. He beheld the gleaming axe - he saw the bended neck. Ere another breath passed his lips, a ghastly and trunkless face was raised on high - Walter de Montreal was no more!
Villani saw - swooned not - shrunk not - breathed not! - but he turned his eyes from that lifted head, dropping gore, to the balcony, in which, according to custom, sate, in solemn pomp, the Senator of Rome - and the face of that young man was as the face of a demon!
"Ha!" said he, muttering to himself, and recalling the words of Rienzi seven years before - "Blessed art thou who hast no blood of kindred to avenge!"
Chapter 10.VI. The Suspense.
Walter de Montreal was buried in the church of St. Maria dell' Araceli. But the "evil that he did lived after him!" Although the vulgar had, until his apprehension, murmured against Rienzi for allowing so notorious a freebooter to be at large, he was scarcely dead ere they compassionated the object of their terror. With that singular species of piety which Montreal had always cultivated, as if a decorous and natural part of the character of a warrior, no sooner was his sentence fixed, than he had surrendered himself to the devout preparation for death. With the Augustine Friar he consumed the brief remainder of the night in prayer and confession, comforted his brothers, and passed to the scaffold with the step of a hero and the self-acquittal of a martyr. In the wonderful delusions of the human heart, far from feeling remorse at a life of professional rapine and slaughter, almost the last words of the brave warrior were in proud commendation of his own deeds. "Be valiant like me," he said to his brothers, "and remember that ye are now the heirs to the Humbler of Apulia, Tuscany, and La Marca." (Pregovi che vi amiate e siate valorosi al mondo, come fui io, che mi feci fare obbedienza a la Puglia, Toscana, e a La Marca." - "Vita di Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. cap. 22. "I pray you love one another, and be valorous as was I, who made Apulia, Tuscany and La Marca own obedience to me." - "Life of Cola di Rienzi".)
This confidence in himself continued at the scaffold. "I die," he said, addressing the Romans - "I die contented, since my bones shall rest in the Holy City of St. Peter and St. Paul, and the Soldier of Christ shall have the burial-place of the Apostles. But I die unjustly. My wealth is my crime - the poverty of your state my accuser. Senator of
"Sinner and accursed!" interrupted Villani, with a loud shout: - "sinner and accursed thou art indeed! Know that it was I who betrayed thy daughter's lover! - by the son's treason dies the father!"
Not a moment more did he tarry: he waited not to witness the effect his words produced. As one frantic - as one whom a fiend possesses or pursues - he rushed from the Convent - he flew through the desolate streets. The death-bell came, first indistinct, then loud, upon his ear. Every sound seemed to him like the curse of God; on - on - he passed the more deserted quarter - crowds swept before him - he was mingled with the living stream, delayed, pushed back - thousands on thousands around, before him. Breathless, gasping, he still pressed on - he forced his way - he heard not - he saw not - all was like a dream. Up burst the sun over the distant hills! - the bell ceased! From right to left he pushed aside the crowd - his strength was as a giant's. He neared the fatal spot. A dead hush lay like a heavy air over the multitude. He heard a voice, as he pressed along, deep and clear - it was the voice of his father! - it ceased - the audience breathed heavily - they murmured - they swayed to and fro. On, on, went Angelo Villani. The guards of the Senator stopped his way; - he dashed aside their pikes - he eluded their grasp - he pierced the armed barrier - he stood on the Place of the Capitol. "Hold, hold!" he would have cried - but horror struck him dumb. He beheld the gleaming axe - he saw the bended neck. Ere another breath passed his lips, a ghastly and trunkless face was raised on high - Walter de Montreal was no more!
Villani saw - swooned not - shrunk not - breathed not! - but he turned his eyes from that lifted head, dropping gore, to the balcony, in which, according to custom, sate, in solemn pomp, the Senator of Rome - and the face of that young man was as the face of a demon!
"Ha!" said he, muttering to himself, and recalling the words of Rienzi seven years before - "Blessed art thou who hast no blood of kindred to avenge!"
Chapter 10.VI. The Suspense.
Walter de Montreal was buried in the church of St. Maria dell' Araceli. But the "evil that he did lived after him!" Although the vulgar had, until his apprehension, murmured against Rienzi for allowing so notorious a freebooter to be at large, he was scarcely dead ere they compassionated the object of their terror. With that singular species of piety which Montreal had always cultivated, as if a decorous and natural part of the character of a warrior, no sooner was his sentence fixed, than he had surrendered himself to the devout preparation for death. With the Augustine Friar he consumed the brief remainder of the night in prayer and confession, comforted his brothers, and passed to the scaffold with the step of a hero and the self-acquittal of a martyr. In the wonderful delusions of the human heart, far from feeling remorse at a life of professional rapine and slaughter, almost the last words of the brave warrior were in proud commendation of his own deeds. "Be valiant like me," he said to his brothers, "and remember that ye are now the heirs to the Humbler of Apulia, Tuscany, and La Marca." (Pregovi che vi amiate e siate valorosi al mondo, come fui io, che mi feci fare obbedienza a la Puglia, Toscana, e a La Marca." - "Vita di Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. cap. 22. "I pray you love one another, and be valorous as was I, who made Apulia, Tuscany and La Marca own obedience to me." - "Life of Cola di Rienzi".)
This confidence in himself continued at the scaffold. "I die," he said, addressing the Romans - "I die contented, since my bones shall rest in the Holy City of St. Peter and St. Paul, and the Soldier of Christ shall have the burial-place of the Apostles. But I die unjustly. My wealth is my crime - the poverty of your state my accuser. Senator of