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 Rienzi
The celebrated
name which forms the title to this work will
sufficiently apprise the reader that it is in
the earlier half of the fourteenth century that
my story opens.
It was on a summer evening that two youths might
be seen walking beside the banks of the Tiber,
not far from that part of its winding course
which sweeps by the base of Mount Aventine. The
path they had selected was remote and tranquil.
It was only at a distance that were seen the
scattered and squalid houses that bordered the
river, from amidst which rose, dark and frequent,
the high roof and enormous towers which marked
the fortified mansion of some Roman baron. On
one side of the river, behind the cottages of
the fishermen, soared Mount Janiculum, dark with
massive foliage, from which gleamed at frequent
intervals, the grey walls of many a castellated
palace, and the spires and columns of a hundred
churches; on the other side, the deserted
Aventine rose abrupt and steep, covered with
thick brushwood; while, on the height, from
concealed but numerous convents, rolled, not
unmusically, along the quiet landscape and the
rippling waves, the sound of the holy bell...
  The
Last of the Barons
Westward, beyond the still pleasant, but
even then no longer solitary, hamlet of Charing,
a broad space, broken here and there by
scattered houses and venerable pollards, in the
early spring of 1467, presented the rural scene
for the sports and pastimes of the inhabitants
of Westminster and London. Scarcely need we say
that open spaces for the popular games and
diversions were then numerous in the suburbs of
the metropolis,—grateful to some the fresh pools
of Islington; to others, the grass-bare fields
of Finsbury; to all, the hedgeless plains of
vast Mile-end. But the site to which we are now
summoned was a new and maiden holiday-ground,
lately bestowed upon the townsfolk of
Westminster by the powerful Earl of Warwick.
Raised by a verdant slope above the low, marsh-grown
soil of Westminster, the ground communicated to
the left with the Brook-fields, through which
stole the peaceful Ty-bourne, and commanded
prospects, on all sides fair, and on each side
varied. Behind, rose the twin green hills of
Hampstead and Highgate, with the upland park and
chase of Marybone,—its stately manor-house half
hid in woods. In front might be seen the Convent
of the Lepers, dedicated to Saint James, now a
palace; then to the left, York House, [The
residence of the Archbishops of York] now
Whitehall; farther on, the spires of Westminster
Abbey and the gloomy tower of the Sanctuary;
next, the Palace, with its bulwark and vawmure,
soaring from the river; while eastward, and
nearer to the scene, stretched the long, bush-grown
passage of the Strand, picturesquely varied with
bridges, and flanked to the right by the
embattled halls of feudal nobles, or the inns of
the no less powerful prelates; while sombre and
huge amidst hall and inn, loomed the gigantic
ruins of the Savoy, demolished in the
insurrection of Wat Tyler...
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