Rie.
My death
Were nothing; but through me, the traitors struck
At peace, at liberty, at Rome-my country,
Bright and regenerate, the world's mistress once,
And doomed, like the old fabled bird, to rise
Strong from her ashes. Did ye think the people
Could spare their Tribune? Did ye deem them weary
Of equal justice; and mild law; and freedom
As liberal as the air; and mighty fame,
A more resplendent sun? Sirs, I am guarded
By the invisible shield of love, which blunts
The darts of treachery. I cannot die,
Whilst Rome commands me, live. For ye, foul traitors,
I pardon ye, and I despise ye. Go!
Yet mark me, signors! Tame your rebel bloods;
Be faithful subjects to the good estate;
Demolish your strong towers, which overtop
Our beautiful city with barbarian pride,
Loosing fell rapine, discord, and revenge,
From out their dens accurst. Be quiet subjects,
And ye shall find the state a gentle mistress-
Else-
Col. Doth he threaten!
Urs.
An hour will come
AyThy father, sir. We meaner barons walked Behind, bareheaded, and with folded arms, As men doing penance to the holy shrine
What, do you mutter, traitors; Of St. John Lateran. Then came a mummery
Follow me instant to the Lateran.
There at the holy altar, with such rites,
As to profane were sin more damnable
Than treason ever dared, to offer up
Your vowed allegiance to freed Rome-to me,
Her servant, minister, deliverer-me,
Your master. Ye are free; but I will chain
Your rebel souls with oaths. Follow me, sirs.
The Capitoline Hill.
Enter Ursini and Frangipani.
Fra. Nay, Ursini, why pluck me by the sleeve? Why steal from the procession? Why re-waken The tyrant's anger?
Urs. For revenge! Ye are stunned, Bewildered, as men rousing from a dream, That know not where they stand. Dost thou not see Our great revenge is sure? The tyrant walks Blinded by his vainglory; confident In that straw fetter, an extorted oath;
And we-why are we not resolved? And be not
Of oaths to that indefinite she, the State-
Republic, sir, is out of date-and then-
Caf. Ay, tell that impious outrage.
Sav.
Stepping before the altar, his bold hand
Laid on the consecrate Host, sent forth,
In a full pealing voice, that rolled along
The fretted roof, like the loud organ swell,
A rash and insolent summons to the Pope
And Cardinals; next he cited to appear
The imperial rivals, Charles and Lewis; next
The Electors Palatine. Then, whilst the aisles
Of the hushed church prolonged his words, he drew
His dazzling sword, and, waving the bright blade
To the four points of Heaven, cried with a deep
Intensity of will, that drove his words
Like arrows through the brain; "This, too, is mine."
Yes, to each part of this fair earth, he cried-
"Thou, too, art mine."
Is yet unspoken. Angelo Colonna,
If the old glories of thy princely race,
Thy knightly honour, thy fresh budding fame,
Outshine the red and white of Claudia's cheek,
Of warning truth shall reach thee. Thou, to-day,
Hast, by thy frantic sacrilege, drawn on thee
The thunders of the church, the mortal feud
Of either emperor. Here, at home, the barons
Hate, and the people shun thee. Seest thou not,
Wherefore pause? I know thee, Ursini Even in this noon of pride, thy waning power
Rienzi's mortal foe, and scarce a friend
To the Colonna; yet, in honour's name-
Say on.
Rie. (without) Lead home the steed.
from hence.
Fade, flicker, and wax dim? Thou art as one
Perched on some lofty steeple's dizzy height,
Dazzled by the sun, inebriate by long draughts
I'll walk Of thinner air; too giddy to look down
Where all his safety lies; too proud to dare
The long descent to the low depth from whence
The desperate climber rose.
Urs. Meet me at the Colonna Palace. Fail not.
Enter Rienzi, attended by Colonna and other Lords.
Rie. Ah! he is here. Son! Ye may leave us, lords.
We are content with your good service.
Son, [Exeunt all but Rienzi and Angelo.
Methinks this high solemnity might well
Have claimed thy presence. A great ruler's heir
Should be familiar in the people's eyes;
Ay, there's the sting-
That I, an insect of to-day, outsoar
The reverend worm, nobility! Wouldst shame me
With my poor parentage! Sir, I'm the son
Of him who kept a sordid hostelry
In the Jews' quarter; my good mother cleansed
Live on their tongues; take root within their hearts; Linen for honest hire. Canst thou say worse?
Win woman's smiles by honest courtesy,
And force man's tardier praise by bold desert.
So, when the chief shall die, the general love
May hail his successor. But thou-where wast thou?
If with thy bride-
I have not seen her. Tribune-
Thou way'st away the word with such a scorn
As I poured poison in thine ear. Already
Ang. Can worse be said?
Rie.
Add, that my boasted schoolcraft
Was gained from such base toil, gained with such pain
That the nice nurture of the mind was oft
Stolen at the body's cost. I have gone dinnerless
And supperless, the scoff of our poor street,
For tattered vestments and lean hungry looks,
To pay the pedagogue. Add what thou wilt.
Of injury. Say that, grown into man,
I've known the pittance of the hospital,
And, more degrading still, the patronage
Of the Colonna. Of the tallest trees
And wouldst be The roots delve deepest. Yes, I've trod thy halls,
Scorned and derided 'midst their ribald crew,
A licensed jester, save the cap and bells;
Rie. There thou mistak'st. A king! fair son!
Power dwelleth not in sound, and fame hath garlands
Brighter than diadems. I might have been
Anointed, sceptred, crowned; have cast a blaze
Of glory round the old imperial wreath,
The laurel of the Cæsars. But I chose
To master kings, not be one; to direct
The royal puppets as my sovereign will,
And Rome-my Rome decree. Tribune! the Gracchi
Were called so. Tribune! I will make that name
A word of fear to kings.
Ang.
Rienzi! Tribune!
Hast thou forgotten-on this very spot,
How thou didst shake the slumbering soul of Rome
With the brave sound of Freedom, till she rose,
And from her giant limbs the shackles dropped,
Burst by one mighty throe? Hadst thou died then,
History had crowned thee with a glorious title-
Deliverer of thy country.
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In evil hour thy woman's heart was caught,
By the form moulded as an antique god:
The gallant bearing, the feigned tale of love-
All false, all outward, simulated all.
Ang. But that I loved her, but that I do love her
With a deep tenderness, softer and fonder
Than thy ambition-hardened heart e'er dream'd of,
My sword should answer thee.
Rie.
Go to, Lord Angelo;
Thou lov'st her not. Men taunt not, nor defy
The dear one's kindred. A bright atmosphere
Of sunlight and of beauty breathes around
The bosom's idol. I have loved-she loves thec;
I do believe thee
With a most constant faith. On thy clear brow
Honour and victory sit crowned.
Oh put me
Lady C. Five thousand horsemen at the gates of To the proof, my lords! Why stay we here? Good
Rome,
And armed retainers in each house, and knights
Harness'd in glittering mail; with banner proud,
And trump and war-cry, hurling their bright spears
At the usurper's head! Why, now I know ye,
My gallant kinsmen. When ye crouched, like hounds,
Beneath the tyrant's lash; or stealthily,
At midnight meetings, and below your breath,
Muttered of murders-the quick poniard stroke-
The calculated poison, that consumes
So much of life a day-or that mute slayer,
The Eastern bow-string-chivalry of Rome,
What marvel that I knew ye not, distained
With such base purpose. Now ye have clothed
Better await the night:
And then, in darkness and in storm, at once
Crush the stunn'd Tribune.
Lady C.
Dost thou say await,
Stephen Colonna? Dost thou seek the veil
Of darkness for a deed of light? On, on!
Whilst yet the sunbeams kiss the glittering stream
Of armed knights and barbed steeds. On, on!
Whilst yet the column'd banners of our house
May catch their parting glory, as the peaks
Of highest Alps shine o'er the twilight world.
Urs. The lady counsels well. In every street
Stand knots of citizens in sad debate
Think'st thou suspicion's straining eye-balls sleep,
Or that the watcher, Doubt, hath lost her keen
And delicate sense of sound? We must forerun
The tyrant's fear. Follow me, ye that love
The joy of glorious battle!
Ang. Nay, when the fight is won. Then thou shalt dew
My laurels with glad tears. Stay me not now.
Lady C. Bear to the fight thy mother's blessing,
Her proud and joyful blessing, not her tears.
Thou art the last of all my children, Angelo-
Dearest and last. Unkindness never came
Betwixt us twain, save once. But, had I sons
As many and as brave as that old queen
Who mourned her Troy in ashes, I would peril
Each several warrior in this cause as freely
An apartment in the Capitol.
Enter Rienzi, and Claudia.
At last I find thee, father!
Rie.
What wouldst thou?
Cla. Thou liest-he is no rebel. Whom he leads,
Are friends to aid the Tribune. Be they not,
Camillo? Speak, old man. Be they not friends?
Cam. Alas! sweet lady.
Cla
Go not forth, dear father-
They lie-be sure they lie-yet go not forth!
Nay, I know not. Be the guests Stay here with me! Avoid him-stay with me!
All gone; and wherefore went ye To the Lateran, dear father? And where loiters
Armed or unarmed, as friend or foe, I'll fly
To meet Lord Angelo. I am his wife—
Entice her to her chamber,
Cla. Methought a bridal should be merrier- His own true wife.
Not merrier, but happier. Angelo!
Rie. Oh, foulest ingrate! when I wed thy mother- And watch that she escape not.
Oh, fiend accursed!
Nay, nay-perchance he's gone
To crave his mother's blessing. Is 't not strange
That I should love so well who loves not me?
But I have felt a yearning of the heart
Toward that majestic lady, which hath reached
Almost to painfulness. If I should kneel
Before her and implore her grace-
Rie.
Thou'dst find
Such welcome as the mountain cat might yield
To the dappled fawn; such greeting as the wolf
To the curled lamb.
Cla
Oh! she would love me, father,
Even for the prideful love of Angelo,
That woke her hatred first. A mother joys
To tell fond legends of her children; who,
Like me, would listen, with unwearied ear,
To tales of Angelo, and call for more;
And when her store was ended, cry again;
And every day, and all day long, be fed
With praise of that dear name? Why dost thou
groan?
An apartment in the Capitol.
Rienzi, seated at a table, Camillo and Alberti, discovered in the front.
(Rienzi motions them to be
Cam. See, he waves thee off.
Trouble him not, Alberti-he is chafed,
Moody, and fierce, as though this victory,
Which drove the noble mutineers before ye,
As stag-hounds chase a herd of deer, had ended
In blank defeat.
. The Tribune bore him bravely,
And we are victors. Yet the storm is hush'd,
Not spent. When, after this wild night of war,
The sun arose, he showed a troubled scene
Of death and disarray; a doubtful flight,
Rie. (rising and advancing.) Your prisoners; we would see them. Thou, Camillo, Summon the headsman, and prepare the court For sudden execution.
Alb. (turning back.) If a true
And faithful servant of the good estate
If thine old friend, great Tribune-
Rie.
Hark ye, sir!
The difficult duty of supreme command
Rests on my head. Obedience is thy light
And easy task-obedience swift and blind,
As yonder sword, death's sharp-edged instrument,
My faithful servant, an' thou wilt, my friend,
Owes to this strong right hand.
Look that the headsman
Be ready presently. The prisoners!
Thou hast seen me fling a pardon free as air,
To foemen crouching at my feet; hast seen
The treachery that paid me. I have lost
My faith in man's bold eye-his earnest voice,
The keen grasp of his hand, the speech where truth
Seems gushing in each ardent word. I have known
So many false, that, as a mariner
Escaped from shipwreck, in a summer sea,
Sparkling with gentle life, sees but the rocks
On which his vessel struck; so I, in the bright
And most majestic face of man, can read
Nought but a smiling treason. Yet thou, Angelo-
Thou art not all a lie! If I should trust-
Ang. Sir, I shall not deceive thee. Mark, Rienzi!
If thou release me-'t is the thought that works
Even now within thy brain-before yon sun
Reach the hot west, the war-cry of Colonna
Shall sweep once more thy streets. Then, stern re-
venge,
Or smiling death!
Wouldst have me live-
Thou who hast levelled to the earth the pride
Of my old, princely race? My kinsmen lie
[Exeunt Alberti and Camillo. Scattered and fallen in the highway; and he,
Even this poor simple remnant of the wars
Can lead their fickle purpose. Abject changelings!
Base huggers of their chains! Methought, to-day,
These Roman Helots would have crouched i' the dust
At sound of their old masters' whips. I have been
Too easy with the slaves. Terror, not love,
Strikes anchor in ignoble souls. These prisoners,
Why could they not have died, as die they shall?
Was there no lance, no soldier's glorious way
To let out life, but they must wait the slow
And shameful axe? Yet Angelo-
Enter Alberti, with Angelo, Frangipani, Cafarello,
and other Lords-Prisoners guarded.
My lord,
Bring them to the light. The prisoners!
The stateliest pillar of our house, my father,
Stephen Colonna-oh! the very name-
The bright ancestral name, which as a star
Pointed to glory, fell into eclipse
When my brave father died!
Rie.
I spared him once;
Spared for a second treason. And again—
Ang. Sir, he is dead. If thou wouldst show me
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