University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—Rome, in the fourteenth century.—A Street in Rome—A Temple in Ruins, in the background, with a Portico with columns in front of it, so managed that a person may appear and disappear amongst the pillars and recesses.
Enter Paolo, R., and three Citizens, L., meeting.
First Cit.
(C.)
Ah, Messer Paolo, a good morrow to thee!
The streets are full to-day. I have not seen
Such an out-pouring of our Roman hive
Since the last jubilee. Whence comes the swarm?

Pao.
(L.)
The stirring Ursini, on a hot canvass
For their proud chief, the factious Martin.

First Cit.
What he,
Our senator! a proper ruler! sick, too,
And like to die.

Second Cit.
(R.)
Nay, he were harmless, then.
But 'tis his brother, John, of Ursini,
The subtle John, that drives this business forward.

First Cit.
A proper ruler! Martin Ursini,
That seized the Widow Landi's house, to make
A kennel for his hounds—that carried off
The pretty child, Emilia Fano—none
Hath e'er beheld her since.

Second Cit.
'Twas likelier John!
The dark, smooth, subtle John. He's the prime mover
Of these iniquities.

Third Cit.
Ye have bold tongues.

First Cit.
Art thou of their black faction?

Third Cit.
No; I ply
My trade, and hold my peace.

Pao.
Stephen Colonna
Should have been senator.

First Cit.
No—he's too old:
The Count Savelli, or young Angelo.

Second Cit.
'Tis ill to choose between them.

Third Cit.
Ay, and dangerous
To meddle with such great ones. Dost not see
A man in yonder porch?

[Looking toward the ruin, L.
[Rienzi appears in the Temple, with a piece of decayed marble in his hands.
Pao.
Our honest neighbour,
Cola Rienzi, poring o'er some stone
With legend half defac'd. Thou knowest Cola?

First Cit.
A follower of the Colonna?

Pao.
Ay:
He haunts their palace, and, with rancorous hate,
Pursues the Ursini. Didst never hear
How his young brother, poor Antonio, fell,
Murdered by their base groom? He hates the Ursini;
And follows the Colonna, scarce for love,
Rather to feast his learned spleen—for Cola
Is a ripe scholar—with sharp-biting gibes
And dark predictions: a rank malcontent—
A bitter railer.

Second Cit.
He approaches.

[Rienzi comes forward, C., with the piece of marble in his hands.
Pao.
Cola, what dragg'st thou there? a stone?

Rie.
A mouldering stone!
An earth-encrusted stone!

Pao.
A tombstone?

Rie.
Ay—
Fit emblem of our city. Here be words,
An' ye could read them,—words whose sense is dead
Even as the tongue. Did ye ever hear the sound
Of liberty—of country? Back to earth, rebellious stone!
Back! back! thou preachest treason.

[Throwing the stone up the Stage, L.
1 Cit.
Treason to the Ursini! What will thy patrons,
The proud Colonna, say to this new power?

Rie.
My patrons!—Oh, they'll fight! they'll fight!—They'll pour
Their men at arms into our streets, and wage
Fierce battle; burn and plunder, spoil and slay
Guilty or innocent, or friend or foe:
Their nature, sirs, their noble nature.

Pao.
Well,
And we? What is our fate, sir prophet?

Rie.
We!
Whichever wheel turn round, we shall be crushed
Between the millstones. That's our destiny,—
The destiny we earn.

Second Cit.
He's right. The barons
Make an arena of the city, vexing
Our quiet streets with brawls; plundering and killing
The peaceful citizens. Even the Colonna,—
Albeit Stephen be a thought more brave,
And Angelo more kind,—even the Colonna
Are tyrants to the people.

Third Cit.
Yet the yoke
Must be endured.

Rie.
Must! Be ye men?

Pao.
Why, Cola,
What should we do?

Rie.
Talk, talk, my masters! Speech
Is your fit weapon. Talk! Women and slaves
So drown the rattle of their chains. Talk! talk!
And tell in gentle whispers, gazing round,
Lest other listeners than the storied walls
Of these old temples hear ye, how on Monday
A noble gallant, one of the Corsi, stole,—
Seized is the courtlier phrase,—and wrung the neck
Of Adriani's falcon, a famed bird,
Unmatched in Italy,—the poor old man
Weeps as it were his child,—or how, on Tuesday,
Black John, of Ursini, spurred his hot courser
Right through a band of pious pilgrims, journeying
To our lady of Loretto,—marry, two
Are lamed for life!—Or how, on Wednesday—

Pao.
Stop—

Rie.
I can go through the week.

Pao.
But, for the pilgrims,—
Art sure of that foul sacrilege?

Rie.
As sure
As that thou standest there; as that the Ursini
Parade the city. [Distant shouts, R.]
Hark! do ye not hear
The shouting mob approach?—Sure as that ye
Who frown, and lift your eyes, and shake your heads,
And look aghast at such foul sacrilege,
Will join your voice to that base cry, and shout,
Long live the Ursini! I know ye, masters.

Pao.
Cola, thou wrong'st us.

Rie.
If I wrong ye—no!
Ye are Italians; men of womanish soul,
Faint, weak, emasculate: the generous wrath
Of the manly Roman, with his lofty tongue,
Lies buried—not for ever. [Nearer shouts, R.]
Hark!
Here comes
The tyrant of to-day. Go, swell his train.
I'll to my porch again, and feed my spirit
On these mute marbles.

[Goes into the Temple, C.
Second Cit.
A brave man.

Third Cit.
Full surely,
A dangerous.

[Paolo and Citizens retire to the background in front of the Temple.
Enter, R., Officer and six Halberdiers, who cross to L., and Ursini, Frangipani, and two Lords, in conversation, followed by armed Attendants, and accompanied by a Crowd, R. S. E., who shout “Live the Ursini,” &c.
Urs.
[To the Mob.]
Thanks, gentle friends. [To the Lords.]
Yes, I expect to-morrow
A packet from Avignon; even Colonna
Will bow to Clement's mandate.

Fra.
If he do not—

Urs.
Oh, never doubt; if he refuse, why, then—
Doubt him not, Frangipani. Quicker, friends,—
I hurry ye, my lords, but we are waited
At the Alberteschi Palace. Follow fast.

Crowd.
[Following.]
Live John of Ursini!

[Exeunt Ursini, &c., L.—Paolo and the Three Citizens come forward, and are stopped by an armed Attendant —the Three Citizens, with their caps off, R.—Paolo, C., and the Attendant, L.
Att.
Why, what a sort of sullen citizens
Be here, that shout not! Doff thy bonnet, man!
Look at thy fellows! doff thy cap.

Pao.
Good friend—

Att.
What, must I be thy tireman?

[Knocks off Paolo's cap with his spear—Rienzi rushes out from the Temple, wrests the spear from the Attendant, and strikes him down with it. Exit the Third Citizen, R.
Rie.
Down, vile minion!
Hath the slave harmed thee, Paolo?—Art thou hurt?
Look where the abject tyrant licks the dust.
The very stones of Rome cast back the load
Of his foul carcass!—yet he stirs! I'm glad
The reptile is not dead.

First Cit.
Fly, Cola!

Rie.
Fly!

Pao.
To the Colonna Palace,—they will shield thee
From danger or pursuit. This is no time
For thanks. Fly, Cola!

Rie.
Let them fly that fear.
Fly! why the evil-doer flies, not he
That putteth down a wrong. Fly! I would call
Rome, universal Rome, to view this deed,
The type of that to come. Yon creeping slave,
Struck with the strong brute force of power—unjust
Abused power, and like a bulrush fell
Before my weaker arm, nerved by the spirit
Of righteous indignation. So shall fall
Tyrants and tyranny. Meet me to-night
On the Capitoline Hill. Now I can trust ye,
Now that the man is roused within your souls,
The Roman ardour.

Second Cit.
One is gone.

Rie.
Well, well,
A milder breeze had severed such light chaff
From the sound corn. Yon slave—he lives—he stirs.

Pao.
[Crossing to L.]
I'll take him to my house.

Rie.
[Crossing to R.]
And I, to-morrow,
Will find a fitter hospital. Farewell!
Remember midnight,—at the Capitol!
Remember!

[Exeunt Rienzi, Paolo, and Citizens, L., bearing off the Attendant.

SCENE II.

—An Apartment in Rienzi's House; a Roman chair, L., and one R., with a skein of red worsted; a Lattice down to the floor, C. F., opening into the Garden.
Enter Angelo and Claudia, through the Lattice.
Cla.
Beseech thee, now, away, Lord Angelo,—
Thou hast been here o'erlong.

Ang.
Scarce whilst the sand
Ran through the tell tale glass; scarce whilst the sun
Lengthened the shadow of the cedar.

Cla.
See!
The sun is setting—see.

Ang.
Scarce, whilst I said
A thousand times—I love.

Cla.
Look to the sun.

Ang.
I had rather gaze on thee.

Cla.
(R. C.)
And think how long
We sate beneath the myrtle shade, how long
Paced the cool trellis-walk. When next thou steal'st
Hither, from thy proud palace, I must time thee
By seconds, as the nice physician counts
The boundings of the fevered pulse. Away,
Dear Angelo; think, if my father find thee—

Ang.
(L. C.)
Oh, talk not of him, sweet! why was I born
The heir of the Colonna? why art thou
Rienzi's daughter? What a world of foes,
Stern scorn, and fiery pride, and cold contempt,
Are ranged betwixt us twain; yet love, and time—
Be faithful, mine own Claudia—time, and love!

Cla.
Alas, alas!

Ang.
Thy father loves thee, sweetest,
With a proud dotage, almost worshipping
The idol it hath framed. Thou fear'st not him?

Cla.
Alas! I have learned to fear him; he is changed,
Grievously changed; still good and kind, and full
Of fond relentings—crossed by sudden gusts
Of wild and stormy passion. I have learned
A daughter's trembling love. Then, he's so silent—
He once so eloquent. Of old, each show,
Bridal, or joust, or pious pilgrimage,
Lived in his vivid speech. Oh! 'twas my joy,
In that bright glow of rapid words, to see
Clear pictures, as the slow procession coiled
Its glittering length, or stately tournament
Grew statelier, in his voice. Now he sits mute—
His serious eyes bent on the ground—each sense
Turned inward.

Ang.
Somewhat chafes his ardent spirit.

Cla.
And should I grieve him, too? Lord Angelo,
The love deserves no blessing, that deceives
A father.

Ang.
Mine own Claudia!

Cla.
We must part.

Ang.
Oh, never talk of parting! 'Twas Rienzi
That brought me hither first. Rememberest thou
A boy, scarce more than boy—thy lovely self
Scarce woman. Then was thy rare beauty stamped,
At once, within my heart,—then, and for ever.
Thou canst not bid me leave thee, love, and time,
And constancy—oh, be as faithful, Claudia,
As thou art fair!

Rie.
[Without, L.]
Camillo!

Cla.
Hence, begone!

Rie.
[Without, L.]
Camillo!

Cla.
'Tis his voice—away, away!
[Hurrying Angelo across to R.
Here, through the lattice—by the garden-gate.
[Exit Angelo, R.
Now Heaven forgive me, if it be a sin
To love thee, Angelo. [Looking after him.]
My foolish heart
Beats an' it were. He's gone—he's hidden now
Behind the myrtle-hedge: thank Heaven, thank Heaven!
He's opening now the gate—I hear the key—
But my sense is fear-quickened: now 'tis closed,
And all is safe. [Sinks down into the chair, R.]
Oh, simple heart, be still,
Be still.

Enter Rienzi and Camillo, L.
Rie.
Camillo, see that thou admit
Only Alberti.

Cam.
None, save him?

Rie.
None. Claudia!
[Exit Camillo, L.
Claudia, I say! She trembles at the sound
Of her own name, and flutters like a bird
Fresh caught, as I approach. It likes me ill
To scare thee thus, fair daughter. Time has been,
When thou hast listened for me—when my voice,
Half a street off—my footstep on the causeway—
Would bring my little handmaid, springing forth
With eager service, to fling wide the door,
And seize my cloak. [Claudia rises hastily to take his cloak.]
Nay, nay, I need thee not.

Cla.
Oh, let me take it, father!

Rie.
Sit thee down,
And ply thy sewing. [Claudia sits R., and takes up the skein of ravelled worsted.]
Hath Alberti—no—
The west is glowing still. Hark ye, fair mistress:
Crossing the hall but now, I saw a shadow
Upon the garden wall, as clearly traced,
By the sun's parting rays, as I see thee
Weaving fresh tangles in that ravelled skein,
Which thou affect'st to wind. He must have passed
By yonder open lattice. Art thou dumb?
Didst thou not see him, Claudia? him whose shadow
Darkened the sunny wall?

Cla.
Perchance, Camillo.

Rie.
Camillo! old Camillo! when I told thee
I saw him plainly as thyself:—the form
Erect and stately; the proud head thrown back
Crested with waving plumes. Perchance, Camillo!
Claudia, with thine old Roman name, I gave thee
Precepts that might have made thee simply great,
As ever maiden of old Rome. Camillo!
Wouldst thou deceive thy father? Pay'st thou thus
His love, his trust, his doting pride?

Cla.
[Rises.]
Oh, no!
[Weeps.
No, no! I'll tell thee all: forgive me, father,
Only forgive me!—Thou shalt hear—

Rie.
Not now,
Not now, my Claudia; cheer thee, sweet! I'll hear
Thy tale some fitter season. Wipe thine eyes.
[Kisses her forehead.
If I've been harsh with thee, 'twas love, my Claudia,—
Love of my fairest daughter, and vexed thoughts
Of this oppressed city. Sit thee, sweet!
[They sit, C., Rienzi, L., Claudia, R.
All is at peace between us: weep no more,
My Claudia.

Cla.
This is joy.

Rie.
I had been chafed
By one of yon base minions. But the hour
Of vengeance comes.

Cla.
Of vengeance!

Rie.
Say, of freedom:
Dost tremble at the sound?

Cla.
Oh, father, each
Alike is terrible; for each brings war,
Fierce desperate war.

Rie.
Claudia, in these bad days,
When man must tread perforce the flinty path
Of duty, hard and rugged, fail not thou
Duly at night and morning to give thanks
To the all-gracious power that smoothed the way
For woman's tenderer feet. She but looks on,
And waits and prays for the good cause, whilst man
Fights, struggles, triumphs, dies. Vex not thy mind
With thoughts of state, my dear one; there's no danger:
All whom thou lov'st are safe; all, silly trembler.
Peace, peace! I will not hear thee: all are safe.
Enter Alberti, L.
Alberti, welcome. [Rienzi and Claudia rise.]
Be the scrolls affixed
On churches, at street-corners, in the markets?
Art sure of the soldiers? Dost thou hold the watch?
Thine answer in a word.

Alb.
In one word, yes.
All is prepared. I'm waited at the castle;
Yet hearken, Cola; I saw Count Savelli,
Colonna's kinsman, conning yon bold summons:
Thou hadst best avoid him.

Rie.
Nay, confront him, rather:
I'll to their palace, meet them, baffle them.
Hast heard aught of the Ursini?

Alb.
They feast
High and elate within their halls.

Rie.
Yon wretch
Was not even missed. Poor slave, he shall be cared for.
Now, for the last time, simple child, in, in!
Lay all thy cares to rest. In, in, my child!
Bless thee, my Claudia! my fair Claudia! [Puts her gently off, R.]
Now
For Rome and Freedom.

[Exeunt, L.