The Frangipani exchanged looks,—Luca di Savelli clung to a column for support,—and the rest of the attendants seemed grave and surprised.
“Think not of it, my masters,” said Rienzi: “it is a good omen, and a true prophecy. It implies that he who girds on his sword for the good of the state, must be ready to spill his blood for it: that am I. No more of this—a mere scratch: it gave more blood than I recked of from so slight a puncture, and saves the leech the trouble of the lancet. How brightly breaks the day! We must prepare to meet our fellow-citizens—they will be here anon. Ha, my Pandulfo—welcome!—thou, my old friend, shalt buckle on this mantle!”
And while Pandulfo was engaged in the task, the Tribune whispered a few words in his ear, which, by the smile on his countenance, seemed to the attendants one of the familiar jests with which Rienzi distinguished his intercourse with his more confidential intimates.
Chapter 4.VI. The Celebrated Citation.
The bell of the great Lateran church sounded shrill and loud, as the mighty multitude, greater even than that of the preceding night, swept on. The appointed officers made way with difficulty for the barons and ambassadors, and scarcely were those noble visitors admitted ere the crowd closed in their ranks, poured headlong into the church, and took the way to the chapel of Boniface VIII. There, filling every cranny, and blocking up the entrance, the more fortunate of the press beheld the Tribune surrounded by the splendid court his genius had collected, and his fortune had subdued. At length, as the solemn and holy music began to swell through the edifice, preluding the celebration of the mass, the Tribune stepped forth, and the hush of the music was increased by the universal and dead silence of the audience. His height, his air, his countenance, were such as always command the attention of crowds; and at this time they received every adjunct from the interest of the occasion, and that peculiar look of intent yet suppressed fervour, which is, perhaps, the sole gift of the eloquent that Nature alone can give.
“Be it known,” said he, slowly and deliberately, “in virtue of that authority, power, and jurisdiction, which the Roman people, in general parliament, have assigned to us, and which the Sovereign Pontiff hath confirmed, that we, not ungrateful of the gift and grace of the Holy Spirit—whose soldier we now are—nor of the favour of the Roman people, declare, that Rome, capital of the world, and base of the Christian church; and that every City, State, and People of Italy, are henceforth free. By that freedom, and in the same consecrated authority, we proclaim, that the election, jurisdiction, and monarchy of the Roman empire appertain to Rome and Rome’s people, and the whole of Italy. We cite, then, and summon personally, the illustrious princes, Louis Duke of Bavaria, and Charles king of Bohemia, who would style themselves Emperors of Italy, to appear before us, or the other magistrates of Rome, to plead and to prove their claim between this day and the Day of Pentecost. We cite also, and within the same term, the Duke of Saxony, the Prince of Brandenburg, and whosoever else, potentate, prince, or prelate, asserts the right of Elector to the imperial throne—a right that, we find it chronicled from ancient and immemorial time, appertaineth only to the Roman people—and this in vindication of our civil liberties, without derogation of the spiritual power of the Church, the Pontiff, and the Sacred College. Herald, proclaim the citation, at the greater and more formal length, as written and intrusted to your hands, without the Lateran.”
(“Il tutto senza derogare all’ autorita della Chiesa, del
Papa e del Sacro Collegio.” So concludes this extraordinary
citation, this bold and wonderful assertion of the classic
independence of Italy, in the most feudal time of the
fourteenth century. The anonymous biographer of Rienzi
declares that the Tribune cited also the Pope and the
Cardinals to reside in Rome. De Sade powerfully and
incontrovertibly refutes this addition to the daring or the
extravagance of Rienzi. Gibbon, however, who has rendered
the rest of the citation in terms more abrupt and
discourteous than he was warranted by any authority, copies
the biographer’s blunder, and sneers at De Sade, as using
arguments “rather of decency than of weight.” Without
wearying the reader with all the arguments of the learned
Abbe, it may be sufficient to give the first two.
1st. All the other contemporaneous historians that have
treated of this event, G. Villani, Hocsemius, the Vatican
MSS. and other chroniclers, relating the citation of the
Emperor and Electors, say nothing of that of the Pope and
Cardinals; and the Pope (Clement VI.), in his subsequent
accusations of Rienzi, while very bitter against his
citation of the Emperor, is wholly silent on what would have
been to the Pontiff the much greater offence of citing
himself and the Cardinals.)
2. The literal act of this citation, as published formally
in the Lateran, is extant in Hocsemius, (whence is borrowed,
though not at all its length, the speech in the text of our
present tale;) and in this document the Pope and his
Cardinals are not named in the summons.
Gibbon’s whole account of Rienzi is superficial and unfair.
To the cold and sneering scepticism, which so often deforms
the gigantic work of that great writer, allowing nothing for
that sincere and urgent enthusiasm which, whether of liberty
or religion, is the most common parent of daring action, the
great Roman seems but an ambitious and fantastic madman. In
Gibbon’s hands what would Cromwell have been? what Vane?
what Hampden? The pedant, Julian, with his dirty person and
pompous affectation, was Gibbon’s ideal of a great man.)
As Rienzi concluded this bold proclamation of the liberties of Italy, the Tuscan ambassadors, and those of some other of the free states, murmured low approbation. The ambassadors of those States that affected the party of the Emperor looked at each other in silent amaze and consternation. The Roman Barons remained with mute lips and downcast eyes; only over the aged face of Stephen Colonna settled a smile, half of scorn, half of exultation. But the great mass of the citizens were caught by words that opened so grand a prospect as the emancipation of all Italy: and their reverence of the Tribune’s power and fortune was almost that due to a supernatural being; so that they did not pause to calculate the means which were to correspond with the boast.
While his eye roved over the crowd, the gorgeous assemblage near him, the devoted throng beyond;—as on his ear boomed the murmur of thousands and ten thousands, in the space without, from before the Palace of Constantine (Palace now his own!) sworn to devote life and fortune to his cause; in the flush of prosperity that yet had known no check; in the zenith of power, as yet unconscious of reverse, the heart of the Tribune swelled proudly: visions of mighty fame and limitless dominion,—fame and dominion, once his beloved Rome’s and by him to be restored, rushed before his intoxicated gaze; and in the delirious and passionate aspirations of the moment, he turned his sword alternately to the three quarters of the then known globe, and said, in an abstracted voice, as a man in a dream, “In the right of the Roman people this too is mine!” (“Questo e mio.”)