University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—A Hall in the Colonna Palace.
Enter Colonna, Cafarello, and Lady Colonna, and Nobles, R.
Col.
(L.)
What, Martin Ursini our senator!
An Ursini, and of that hated race
The most abhorred, the worst. He chief of Rome!
Sick, too. Tush! tush!

Caf.
The tale is rife, Colonna;
And, as I passed his palace, glancing lights
And sudden shouts and merry music spake
The high and liberal feasting which foreruns
Expected triumph.

Col.
Martin Ursini
Head of the state! and the Colonna fallen
Beneath their rival's feet! His wanton vassals,
The meanest horseboys of his train, will spurn
My belted knights. Cousin, we must away
To Palestrina, and array in force
Our men at arms: they will be needed.

Lady C.
[Crossing to C.]
Fie!
These brawls match ill with thy white hairs.

Col.
Good wife,
Wouldst have me turn a craven in mine age,
A by-word to mine enemies?

Lady C.
Art thou not
Stephen Colonna, of that greatest name
The greatest? Which of these, proud Ursini,
May match with thee in fame? But thy old wreaths
Were won in nobler fields. These private feuds
Are grown a crying evil.
Enter Savelli, L.
Count Savelli!

Sav.
A fair good evening, noble dame. Colonna,
Hear'st thou the news?

Col.
Of Martin Ursini?

Sav.
Nay, that were common, stale, and trivial. See,
I bring ye tidings of rebellion, sirs;
High tidings! stirring tidings! prompt rebellion!
Headed—I pr'ythee guess.

Caf.
(R.)
Rare food for mirth,
If we may judge by look and tone. The wives
Of Rome revolted; or the husbands risen
Against their gentle dames.

Sav.
'Tis a brief summons,
Fiery, but scholarly, stern, bold, and plain,—
Calling the citizens to meet to-night
And win their freedom. Such a scroll as this
Is fixed in every street.

Caf.
How signed?

Sav.
Guess! guess!
There lies the mirth: ye'll never guess—read here.

[Crossing to C. and showing a scroll.
Caf.
What, Cola di Rienzi! honest Cola,
Who saves Colonna here a jester's charge,
A fool without the bells. Honest Rienzi!
'Tis a device of the black Ursini.

Col.
(L.)
Likelier some freak of Cola's. He hath turned
A bitter knave of late, and lost his mirth,
And mutters riddling warnings and wild tales
Of the great days of heathen Rome; and prates
Of peace, and liberty, and equal law,
And mild philosophy, to us the knights
And warriors of this warlike age, who rule
By the bright law of arms. The fool's grown wise—
A grievous change.

Lady C.
(L. C.)
I ever thought him so:
A sad wise man, of daring eye, and free,
Yet mystic speech. When ye have laughed, I still
Have shuddered for his darkling words, oft fell
Like oracles, answering with dim response
To my unspoken thoughts, so that my spirit,
Albeit unused to womanish fear, hath quail'd
To hear his voice's deep vibration. Watch him!
Be sure, he is ambitious.—Watch him, lords:—
He hath o'erleapt the barrier, poverty;
Hath conquered his mean parentage; hath clomb
To decent station, to high lettered fame;—
The pontiff's notary, the honoured friend
Of Petrarch. Watch him well.

[Crosses to R.
Col.
Tush, tush! Rienzi—
Cola Rienzi—honest Cola, rise
'Gainst us! Fair wife, I deemed thee wiser.—They
Who plot are silent. Would we were as sure
Of Martin Ursini! What says Avignon?
The holy father hath not joined the faction?

Enter Rienzi, behind, L., unseen.
Sav.
I know not; but the cardinals, his uncles,
Are powerful with Pope Clement.

Col.
All the race,
Churchmen or laic, old or young, have craft
Veined in their stony hearts—the master-streak
Of that cold marble. Of the cardinals,
Gaëtano is a soldier-priest, but wary,
And politic as valiant; Annibal,
A meek soft-spoken monk, who, crawling, climbs
Ambition's loftiest ladder. Of the nephews,

Rie.
[Advancing, C.]
Despatch them at a stroke,—say they're thy foes.

Sav.
Why, master Cola—

Rie.
Say they are thy foes.

Sav.
Art thou their friend? I have heard talk of wrongs
Thou hast suffered from the Ursini.

Rie.
Ay, ay—
A trifle of a life—a foolish brother
Killed in a midnight brawl. Your privilege,
Your feudal privilege! ye slay our brethren,
And we—we kiss the sword. This Martin Ursini—

Col.
What of the knavish ruffian?

Rie.
Mend thy phrase—
Shall ne'er be senator,—yet mend thy phrase;
Bespeak him fair; ye may be friends.

Col.
Friends?

Rie.
Ay;
A day will come, when I shall see ye joined
In a close league.

Col.
Joined! by what tie?

Rie.
By hatred—
By danger—the two hands that tightest grasp
Each other—the two cords that soonest knit
A fast and stubborn tie: your true-love knot
Is nothing to it. Faugh! the supple touch
Of pliant interest, or the dust of time,
Or the pin-point of temper, loose, or rot,
Or snap love's silken band. Fear and old hate,
They are sure weavers—they work for the storm,
The whirlwind, and the rocking surge; their knot
Endures till death. Ye will be friends, I tell thee—
Ere yon inconstant moon hath waxed and waned,
Ye will be friends. Yet Martin Ursini
Shall ne'er be senator.

Sav.
Why, master prophet,
Men say thou shalt be senator, or king,
Or emperor. Hast read the scroll? when goest thou
To head thy rebel band! See! see!

[Gives the Scroll.
Rie.
[Reading.]
“At midnight.—”
Well, I come here to while away the time
Till that dread hour.—“Upon the Capitol.”—
Look that ye set forth scouts and men at arms
To sieze the chiefs, and chase the multitude,
Like sheep before the dogs. Ye were best send
To man the castle walls, and triply guard.—
Who is the captain of the watch?

Sav.
Alberti.

Rie.
Ha, mine old friend! I counsel ye, my lords,
Seize me, and crush this great rebellion; me,
Cola Rienzi, honest Cola! Laugh ye?
An honest man hath played the rogue, ere now.—
Witness this scroll.

Col.
A scurvy jest!

Rie.
A jest!
Call it a jest, and 'tis a mockery
Of all that, in this worn-out world, survives
Of great and glorious.—The eternal power
Lodged in the will of man, the hallowed names
Of freedom and of country!—If a truth—

[Crosses to C.
Lady C.
(R.)
What, if a truth?

Rie.
Then—Where is Angelo,
[Crossing to Lady C.
Thy goodly son, Madonna?

Col.
Dost thou seek
A full-fledged gallant, and so gayly plumed,
Here, in his parent nest? If thou wouldst meet
The rover, go where Mandolines are heard,
Beneath coy beauty's lattice. Count Savelli
Has a fair daughter.

Caf.
I have heard him praise
Bianca Ursini.

Col.
An Ursini!

Lady C.
Calm thee, Colonna. Rest thee sure thy son
Will never stain thy honour'd name—will never
Forget his proud obedience.

Rie.
Say'st thou so?

Lady C.
With a glad certainty.

Rie.
Look to him, then.—
Yet, watch him as thou may, against thy will
He shall espouse the fairest maid in Rome;
The fairest and the greatest.

Sav.
And as good
As she is great, and innocent as fair?

Rie.
Even to the crowning of a poet's dream;
Gentle, and beautiful, and good.—Yet, mark me—
Against thy will! I said against thy will!

[Exit L.
Lady C.
[Crossing to L.]
Hear'st thou? [Calling after Rienzi.]
He's gone?

Sav.
Dear lady, think no more
Of this wild prophecy.

Lady C.
Nay, I'm sure
Of Angelo. Why dost thou seek thy sword?
Thou goest not forth so late, good husband?

Col.
Yes:
The night is fair,—I shall take horse at once
For Palestrina; thence to Avignon.
We'll bide some struggle with these Ursini.
Will ye ride with me, kinsmen?

Caf.
Joyfully.

Lady C.
I'll wait ye to the court.—Yet, once again,
Beware Rienzi!

[Exeunt, L.

SCENE II.

—Before the Gates of the Capitol.—The Stage darkened.
Alberti, Paolo, Citizens, &c., Crowd in the background.
First Cit.
(R.)
This is the chosen spot. A brave assemblage!

Second Cit.
(R. C.)
Why, yes. No marvel that Rienzi struck
So bold a blow. I had heard shrewd reports
Of heats, and discontents, and gathering bands,
But never dream'd of Cola.

Pao.
(R.)
'Tis the spot!
Where loiters he? The night wears on apace.

Alb.
(C.)
It is not yet the hour.

First Cit.
Who speaks?

Another Cit.
Alberti,
The captain of the guard; he, and his soldiers,
Have joined our faction.

Alb.
Comrades, we shall gain
An easy victory. The Ursini,
Drunk with false hope and brute debauch, feast high
Within their palace. Never wore emprise
A fairer face.

Pao.
And yet the summer heaven,
Sky, moon, and stars, are overcast. The saints
Send that this darkness—

Enter Rienzi from the back, C.
Rie.
[Advancing to the front.]
Darkness! did ye never
Watch the dark glooming of the thunder-cloud,
Ere the storm burst? We'll light this darkness, sir,
With the brave flash of spear and sword.

All the Citizens
shout.
Rienzi!
Live, brave Rienzi! honest Cola!

Rie.
Friends!

Citizens.
Long live Rienzi!

Alb.
Listen to him.

Rie.
Friends,
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves!—He sits, and his last beam
Falls on a slave: not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror led
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base ignoble slaves,—slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords
Rich in some dozen paltry villages,—
Strong in some hundred spearmen,—only great
In that strange spell—a name. Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cry out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbour,— [Pointing to Paolo, R. corner.]
—there he stands,—
Was struck,—struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonour? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common:
I have known deeper wrongs. I that speak to ye,
“I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,—
Of sweet and quiet joy—there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple.” How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! “He left my side;
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks,—a smile
Parting his innocent lips.” In one short hour
The pretty harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and when I cried
For vengeance!—Rouse, ye Romans!—Rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons?—Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters?—Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonoured; and, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash. Yet, this is Rome,
That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet, we are Romans.
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king! And once again,—
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus! once again, I swear,
The eternal city shall be free; her sons
Shall walk with princes. Ere to-morrow's dawn,
The tyrants—

First Cit.
Hush! Who passes there?

[Citizens retire back.
Alb.
A foe,
By his proud bearing. Seize him.

Rie.
As I deem,
'Tis Angelo Colonna. Touch him not,—
I would hold parley with him. Good Alberti,
The hour is nigh. Away!
[Exit Alberti, R. U. E.
Enter Angelo Colonna, L.
Now, sir!

[To Angelo.
Ang.
(L.)
What be ye,
That thus in stern and watchful mystery
Cluster beneath the veil of night, and start
To hear a stranger's foot?

Rie.
Romans.

Ang.
And wherefore
Meet ye, my countrymen?

Rie.
For freedom.

Ang.
Surely,
Thou art Cola de Rienzi?

Rie.
Ay, the voice,—
The traitor voice.

Ang.
I knew thee by the words.
Who, save thyself, in this bad age, when man
Lies prostrate like yon temple, dared conjoin
The sounds of Rome and freedom?

Rie.
I shall teach
The world to blend those words, as in the days
Before the Cæsars. Thou shalt be the first
To hail the union. I have seen thee hang
On tales of the world's mistress, till thine eyes
Flooded with strong emotion, have let fall
Big tear-drops on thy cheeks, and thy young hand
Hath clenched thy maiden sword. Unsheath it now,—
Now, at thy country's call! What, dost thou pause?
Is the flame quenched? Dost falter? Hence with thee,
Pass on! pass whilst thou may!

Ang.
Hear me, Rienzi.
Even now my spirit leaps up at the thought
Of those brave storied days—a treasury
Of matchless visions, bright and glorified,
Paling the dim lights of this darkling world
With the golden blaze of heaven; but past and gone,
As clouds of yesterday, as last night's dream.

Rie.
A dream! Dost see yon phalanx, still and stern?
An hundred leaders, each with such a band,
So armed, so resolute, so fixed in will,
Wait with suppressed impatience till they hear
The great bell of the Capitol, to spring
At once on their proud foes. Join them.

Ang.
My father!

Rie.
Already he hath quitted Rome.

Ang.
My kinsmen!

Rie.
We are too strong for contest. Thou shalt see
No other change within our peaceful streets
Than that of slaves to freemen. Such a change
As is the silent step from night to day,
From darkness into light. We talk too long.

Ang.
Yet reason with them;—warn them.

Rie.
And their answer—
Will be the goal, the gibbet, or the axe,
The keen retort of power. Why, I have reasoned;
And, but that I am held, amongst your great ones,
Half madman and half fool, these bones of mine
Had whitened on yon wall. Warn them! They met
At every step dark warnings. The pure air,
Where'er they passed, was heavy with the weight
Of sullen silence; friend met friend, nor smiled,
Till the last footfall of the tyrant's steed
Had died upon the ear; and low and hoarse
Hatred came murmuring like the deep voice
Of the wind before the tempest. Sir, the boys,—
The unfledged boys, march at their mothers' hist,
Beside their grandsires; even the girls of Rome,—
The gentle and the delicate, array
Their lovers in this cause. I have one yonder,
Claudia Rienzi,—thou hast seen the maid—
A silly trembler, a slight fragile toy,
As ever nursed a dove, or reared a flower,—
Yet she, even she, is pledged.

Ang.
To whom? to whom?

Rie.
To Liberty. Was never virgin vowed
In the fair temple over right our house
To serve the goddess, Vesta, as my child
Is dedicate to Freedom. A king's son
Might kneel in vain for Claudia. None shall wed her,
Save a true champion of the cause.

Ang.
I'll join ye:
[Gives his hand to Rienzi.
How shall I swear?

Rie.
[To the People.]
Friends, comrades, countrymen!
I bring unhoped-for aid. Young Angelo,
The immediate heir of the Colonna, craves
To join your band.

All the Citizens
shout
—He's welcome!

[Coming forward R. and L.
Ang.
Hear me swear
By Rome—by freedom—by Rienzi! Comrades,
How have ye titled your deliverer? consul—
Dictator, emperor?

The People
shout
—Consul! Emperor! &c. &c.

Rie.
No:
Those names have been so often steeped in blood,
So shamed by folly, so profaned by sin,
The sound seems ominous,—I'll none of them.
Call me the tribune of the people; there
My honouring duty lies.
[The Citizens shout—Hail to our Tribune! The bell sounds thrice: shouts again; and a military band is heard playing a march without, R. U. E.
Hark—the bell, the bell!
The knell of tyranny—the mighty voice,
That, to the city and the plain—to earth,
And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale
Of Rome re-born, and Freedom. See, the clouds
Are swept away, and the moon's boat of light
Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars
Look out on us, and smile.
[The gate of the Capitol opens, C. F., and Alberti and Soldiers join the People, and lay the keys at Rienzi's feet.
Hark! that great voice
Hath broke our bondage. Look, without a stroke
The Capitol is won—the gates unfold—
The keys are at our feet. Alberti, friend,
How shall I pay thy service? Citizens!
First to possess the palace citadel—
The famous strength of Rome; then to sweep on,
Triumphant, through her streets.
[As Rienzi and the People are entering the Capitol, he pauses.
Oh, glorious wreck
Of gods and Cæsars! thou shalt reign again,
Queen of the world; and I—come on, come on,
My people!

Citizens
Live Rienzi—live our Tribune!

[Exeunt through the gates, in the centre of the flat, into the Capitol.