University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Banqueting Hall in the Capitol. Tables set out as for a banquet. A crimson curtain conceals the back of the stage.
Enter Francesca and Cia.
Fran.

One peep then, I dare permit no more.

Cia.

Gianni must hear all. Well, this has been a
day—Renzo's son, the brat I have dandled, a knight
and a noble; crowned in the Lateran, and riding as
fine as an Emperor through the streets; the wine
running from the nostril of Constantine's horse, a
marvel to see! And then your gowns—they change
like the clouds at sunset, the last the rarest! You
should be a happy woman, surely.

Fran.

Alas! aunt, these robes of state smother me.
I cannot breathe in them. Yet I stand naked to envy,
hatred, contempt. Oh, you cannot know the misery!

Cia.

Contempt?

Fran.

He should have married a noble lady, not
me. The ladies of my train tear me to pieces with
their eyes; their reverence mocks me; their smiles
are sneers—they freeze me. Every word I speak is a
fault to them, a shame to me.

Cia.

Spit on them, wench! Your husband can
tame the lords, tame you the ladies.

Fran.

Nay, the world is turned upside down.

Cia.

What's this I hear? The Tribune, they say,
bathed last night in the Font of Constantine.

Fran.

Well, if 'twere true?

Cia.

'Tis a most wicked sacrilege. I tell you,
niece, the people begin to shake their heads at these
mad doings. (Approaches curtain.)
What's here?

Fran.
I do not know—stay, stay!

Cia.
Tut, girl! I love a secret.
[Attempts to peep behind.
Enter Rienzi from within.
Ha! the Tribune!

[Exeunt Fran. and Cia.
Rien.
(aside.)
Nay, nay, good aunt, traps set for royal game
Must not be sprung by foxes. Now all's sure.
Perjured assassins, welcome to the feast!
(Aloud.)
Throw wide the doors—admit my noble guests.
[Exit Rienzi.

Enter Stefano and Gianni Colonna, Giordano Orsino, Frangipani, Savello, and other Conspirators, as guests.
Giord. O.
Now may good angels send us safely home
From this accursed feast. (Aside to Sav.)
Why look you pale?
You will lose us all.

Sav.
(aside to Giord. O.).
'Tis you have lost us all
With your attempted flight.

Giord. O.
(aside to Sav.).
You would fly now
From very manhood, on the wings of fear.
Come, brave it out—nought else remains. He comes!

Enter Rienzi, splendidly attired, attended by Bishop of Orvieto, Cola Orsino, and other Nobles, and guarded.
Rien.
Welcome, most noble guests! Signor Colonna,
You are right welcome here,

Stef. C.
Tribune, you dock
Lords into sirs: struts every sir a lord?
Are Tribunes Emperors?

Rien.
Your meaning?

Stef. C.
(lifting a corner of Rienzi's robe).
See!
The Tribune's duffel gown, gone mad with pride,
Swells with imperial pomp, and knows no more
Its cousins' simple serge.

Rien.
The Tribune's gown,
The glory of his office shining through,
Turns cloth of gold, and blazes into gems
Whose splendour shall amaze the crowns of kings.
Bid me not show you serge—the friar's serge
Befits the eyes of men about to die,
Not revellers, gay as we. But you jest well,
There's guerdon for your pains.

[Presents ring from his finger.
Stef. C.
(aside).
Ha my own ring?
The knave has ready wit.

Rien.
To table, friends.
[They sit.
I never felt more gay—they say these gusts
Of sudden mirth are harbingers of death;
What think you, sirs?

Frang.
Methinks so great a man
Should stand above such omens as are shed
From trivial destinies. The stones of Rome
Should bleed, the walls should groan, towers toll their bells,
If danger dared come nigh Rienzi's head.

Sav.
The Tribune's life is like a mortal god's
Whom all desire immortal. Danger sits
Cowering afar, astonished and in fear.

Rien.
One loving cup, friends, to the Good Estate.
[They pledge him.
Am I so loved of you? Then what deep joy
Must thrill you for my safety, when ye learn
That, but last night, God's hand turned from my breast
The assassin's steel!

All.
The assassin's?

Rien.
Ay.

Sav.
'Twas surely
Some frenzied wretch.

Giord. O.
None other could have dared
Attempt so black a crime. You are not hurt?

Rien.
Ay, to the heart, sir. Grow men's consciences
But fetter-slipping thieves, heaven, hell can bind not?
Oaths but the Devil's base coin? Attach them, guards.
[Conspirators are seized.
O bloody perjurers, with how smooth a face
Can nobles lap the dregs of such a baseness
As would make mean ones sick to look upon!

Stef. C.
What means this outrage?

Giord. O.
Who dares breathe against us
One tainting word?

Rien.
Damn not yourselves twice o'er;
Your crime is manifest as blood on snow.

[Curtain is drawn aside, revealing Council Chamber draped in crimson and white satin. The Council sitting, with Pandolfo di Guido as President. At the bar a Bravo, a purse in his bound hands. Behind, the Headsman, masked, and holding his axe.
Rien.
There stands the treacherous weapon of your hate,
Your treason's traitor—like a flattering sin
Which tempts to ruin, then with unmasked face
Laughs out a taunting devil. Sirrah, speak!

Bravo.

You see me in a sorry case, my lords—at the
Tribune's mercy, as you are all this day. (Drops purse, which he kicks towards the Barons.)

Take back your
gold, my noble patrons. Life tastes sweeter than a
bagful of florins, with the hangman for your heir-at-law.
Rienzi outbids you, and I should do myself a
shame if I did not go to the highest bidder.

Rien.
Take him away.
[Exit Bravo, guarded.
Thus treason's dagger, foiled,
Turns to an axe, to smite off treason's head.

Giord. O.
If you suspect, in your distempered spleen,
Some disaffection in us, bring your proofs—
Proofs more substantial than a wretch suborned
To swear away our lives. We challenge proof!

Voices.
We challenge proof!

Rien.
O matchless impudence,
Outrivalling the horniest fronts of hell!
Dare ye, with guilty thoughts which crawl and hiss,
Like startled asps, about your perjured souls,
Hauberk your fears in brass, and ask for proofs?
Read your black thoughts in light. (Showing documents.)
Fools! know ye not
Such treason as yours is, scorched from its nest,
Aghast at its own form, turns, scorpionlike,
Its tail against its head. Down on your knees,
And beg for mercy from offended heaven.
[Bell tolls.
Enter a Procession of barefooted Friars. Each Friar advances to a Conspirator, and stands beside him.
What comfortable rites these holy friars
Can minister to fit your guilty souls
For merited death, be yours. The time is short.

Sav.
We are betrayed! I do confess my guilt,
And beg for mercy on my bended knees.
Oh, by your hope of pardon when you stand
At Heaven's eternal bar, temper the fires
Of angry justice with the assuaging drops
By mercy wept! Tribune!

Many Conspirators.
O mercy, mercy!

Rien.
If 'twere but my poor life that ye would stab,
I might forgive my murderers, though your deed
Would shame the lost; for how have I offended
That ye should hate me? What self-seeking crime
Dares any charge me with?

Stef. C.
Pride, Tribune, pride—
An upstart's pride, a crack-brained dreamer's pride,
Which takes its vain desires for Heaven's commands.
I sought not your base life. I love you not;
But if I stoop to hate, 'tis as the rose
Might hate some noxious bramble that would choke
Her buds with flaunting flowers.

Rien.
Your buds are cankered
With evil airs. There stands your House's hope,
That rose of chivalry, your grandson, black
Among his blighted peers, with Sinon's face,
The youngest perjurer here.

Gianni C.
What's done is done.
I do repent the means, perhaps the end.

Rien.
You wished my death? I loved you!

Gianni C.
You have pulled down
Our House.

Rien.
I have pruned the excrescence of your House,
With all the festering rottenness of Rome,
That I might build it new. Oh, by my greatness,
I would have made you great, not 'minished you!

Stef. C.
Enough, proud man, thou wouldst have made us vassals
Of thy plebeian arrogance. Better death!

Rien.
I thank my God for that plebeian birth
Wherewith ye taunt me; thank Him that my youth
Has felt the smart of all the ulcerous ills
That eat the people's vitals; that my fate
Made me the peer of honest artizans,
Not yours, though I be higher than you all,
In blood an Emperor's son, and in my mind
I am to you as Jove's tremendous bird
To offal kites. Oh, ye are nobles, are you?
Dull, unambitious, lawless, thankless slaves,
Wolves in your ravine, satyrs in your lust,
Who cannot rule yourselves. Shall ye rule Rome?
Or I, the elect of God?

Stef. C.
Act what thou darest;
But, for heaven's love, no more bombastic words.
Rather than hear them, stuff our ears with death.

Sav.
Nay, noble Tribune, hear not his mad rage;
Hear mercy plead, and spare our guilty lives.

Giord. O.
Bind us with any oath, but spare our lives—
Try us once more.

Rien.
If it were but my life!
But in my person ye have stabbed at Rome,
And more than Rome; like Herod's murderers,
Slaughtering the world's most innocent hopes. Go, therefore,
And make your peace with heaven, while we confer
Upon your doom.

Stef. C.
Confer! O hypocrite!
Kill me at once—murder me here at once.
My breast holds such a hell, no mumbling priest
Can make me fit to die.

Rien.
Remove them, guards.
[Exeunt Conspirators, guarded, and with Friars.
Before we take the votes, I crave the mind
Of the most reverend Council on the case.

Bp. of O.
I trust your Excellency may not whet
The sword of Justice to an edge too keen,
Against these desperate and misguided men.
The scale that holds their guilt might plunge indeed
To nether blackness, did not Policy
Ballast its soaring fellow. Much I dread
From such a ghastly stroke recoil too fierce.
In Avignon your justice on the necks
Of cardinals' nephews makes ill talk against us.

Rien.
All must be well considered which regards
The safety of the state. God knows how gladly,
Would He but change their natures, I'd grow mild,
And make these wolves my watchdogs. (To Pand.)
What say you?

Pand.
Tribune, your sword may smite off treason's head;
But from that poisonous blood will spring new dangers—
Barbarous revenges, factions; hate and dread
Among the great who favour us, and, worse,
Perplexèd question in the people's mind.
The nobles are to them the elements
To husbandmen—sacred, remorseless powers,
Who deal them dearth or foison at heaven's will,
And brook not meddling: make the sun not shine,
Or stay the operation of the winds,
As soon as quench their lives. Therefore I say
Cut them not off in haste, let patience tame them.

Rien.
States must be strong to pardon dangerous foes.
The votes be taken. Ye have had before you
Full documents of their guilt, and ample time
To ponder well their doom.
[Ballot-box passed round, and handed to Rienzi.
The votes are even!
(Aside.)
And I am left a quivering thunderbolt
Poised in God's hand. Sow this black bean, I sow
A tree of vengeance, whose blood-tinctured flowers
May bear accursed fruit; and sow this white one,
I sow a tree of mercy, which may prove
Hemlock to Rome. O God, this hour is thine,
Make justice meek, or mercy terrible!
(Aloud.)
Bring them again before us.
Re-enter Conspirators, guarded.
Ye would have murdered me. Well, I forgive you.
Ye would have murdered Rome—Rome pardons you.
And may the blessed saints, whose holy words
Ye have blasphemed, grace you to mend your lives
From stagnant marshes breathing pestilence
To wholesome fields and life-sustaining farms.

Giord. O.
Tribune, I thank you. This is nobly done.

Sav.
We live your freemen. Be our oath renewed
The earnest of our eager loyalty.

Stef. C.
I'll swear no more allegiance.

Rien.
I demand nnoe,
Save what your conscience craves; for know that Rome,
Whose might your pardon proves, if your hard hearts
Be obdurate to mercy, has the power
To crush you into dust. Therefore, beware!
For by the holy gospels, sin ye twice,
Ye shall not live to sin again.
[At a signal from Rienzi, the crimson curtain falls.
And now,
Pledge we the Good Estate; not as before
With cloakèd thoughts, but simply in good faith.
Then free, your former offices restored,
With loving gifts, ye shall depart in peace.

All.
We pledge Rienzi, and the Good Estate!

Rien.
This ratifies the empery of Rome
O'er factious opposites. In her great name
I take possession of the populous earth,
Which she shall judge, secure. All this is mine!
[Draws his sword, and waves it towards the four quarters.
The north, the south, the east, the west is mine;
And in the name of Rome, which I proclaim
The Capital of the world, I cite thee, Louis,
Duke of Bavaria, and I cite thee, Charles,
King of Bohemia—whose rival claims
To the imperial purple vex our peace,
Here to appear before us, at the bar
Of the great Roman People!

Bp. of O.
I protest!

Rien.
Sound trumpets!

[Flourish, drowning Bishop's voice.
All.
This is treason to the State,
And we depose you from your Tribuneship.

Bp. of O.
(holding up crucifix).
The Church! the Church! You do defy the Church;
And to the Cardinal Legate I appeal!

[Scene closes in confusion.