University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—A Hall in the Capitol—a Chair of State, L. S. E.—The Tribune's Crimson Chair, elevated on two Steps, R. S. E.—a splendid Banquet, Lords and Ladies seated round the Tables, up the C.
Enter Savelli, Frangipani, and Cafarello, L., who advance to the front—Camillo and other Attendants in the backward, R.
Sav.
He bears him like a prince, save that he lacks
The port serene of majesty. His mood
Is fitful; stately now, and sad; anon,
Full of a hurried mirth; courteous awhile,
And mild; then bursting, on a sudden, forth,
Into sharp biting taunts.

Fra.
(C.)
And at the altar,
When he first found the proud and angry mother
Refused to grace the nuptials, even the nuncio
Quailed at his fiery threats.

Caf.
(L. C.)
I saw Colonna
Gnawing his lip for wrath.

Sav.
(R. C.)
Why, this new power
Mounts to the brain like wine. For such disease,
Your skilful leech lets blood.

Fra.
(C.)
Suspects he aught
Of our design? we hunt a subtle quarry.

Sav.
But with a wilier huntsman.
Enter Ursini, L.
Ursini,
Hath every point been guarded? be the masquers
Valiant and strongly armed? have ye ta'en order
To close the gates—to seize his train—to cut
The cordage of the bell, that none may summon
The people to his rescue?

Urs.
All is cared for,
And vengeance certain. Before set of sun,
We shall be masters of ourselves, of Rome,
And Rome's proud ruler. This quaint masque of ours—

Caf.
What is the watchword?

Urs.
Death.

Fra.
Peace, peace—he comes!

[Frangipani, Cafarello, and Savelli, retire up, L.
Enter Angelo, Claudia, and Ladies, R.—As Angelo leads in Claudia, followed by two Ladies, all the visitors to the banquet rise, and courtesy to Claudia, who returns it, and remains conversing with the Ladies.
Fra.
No, 'tis the blooming bride. Young Angel
Hath no ill choice in beauty.

Sav.
'Tis a maid
Shy as a ring-dove. See, how delicate,
How gentle, yet how coy! Poor pretty fool,
No harm must happen her.

Urs.
None, none.

[Angelo advances to them.
Caf.
[To Angelo.]
Good kinsman,
I would not have thee hear Savelli speak
Of thy fair bride.

Ang.
Ah! doth he praise her? Lords,
Beseech ye sit. [Lords and Ladies sit down.]
Savelli, I would fain
Make of thy daughter and my blushing wife
A pair of lovely friends. Look where they stand,
The fairest two in Rome.

Fra.
The Tribune comes.

Enter Rienzi, R., and Colonna, L.
Rie.
Where lags our hostess? Take thy state, fair bride—
“Thy one day's queenship. See, the nuptial wreath
Sits crown-like on thy brow; thy nuptial robe
Flows royally. Come, come, be gracious! Bid
A smiling welcome to the subject world.
Nay, never blush nor hang thy head;” remember
Thou art a Colonna. Wouldst thou be the first
Of that proud name to ape the peasant's virtue,
Humility? Fie! fie!

Col.
(L.)
Sir, the Colonna—

Ang.
(C.)
Nay, good my father, sure to-day our name
Hath cause of pride.

Col.
Heaven grant it prove so!

Sav.
Lady,
Thou art silent still.

Ang.
Shall I speak for thee, love?
Oh, weak and ineffectual were my words,
Matched with thy burning blush, thy quivering smile,
Thy conscious silence, Claudia!—Gentle friends,
Ye are nobly welcome.

Rie.
(R.)
This is well, fair son!
Yet we lack mirth. Have ye no mask astir?
No dance, no music, no quaint mystery,
To drive away the spectre, thought? A bridal
Is but a gilt and painted funeral
To the fond father who hath yielded up
His one sweet child. Claudia, thy love, thy duty,
Thy very name, is gone. Thou art another's;
Thou hast a master now; and I have thrown
My precious pearl away. Yet men who give
A living daughter to the fickle will
Of a capricious bridegroom, laugh—the madmen!
Laugh at the jocund bridal feast, and weep
When the fair corse is laid in blessed rest,
Deep, deep in mother earth. Oh, happier far,
So to have lost my child!

Cla.
(L. C.)
Father!

Ang.
(R. C.)
Thou hast gained
A son, not lost a daughter.

Rie.
(C.)
Love her, Angelo;
Be kind to her as I have been; defend her,
Cherish her, love her.

Ang.
More than life.

[Hands Claudia to the throne, L., and sits by her.
Rie.
Bring mirth—
Music, and dance, and song, and I will laugh,
And chase away these images of death
That float afore mine eyes. A song—a song!

[Sits down in the Chair of State, R.
Sav.
[To Ursini.]
Thou shouldst have named the masque.

Urs.
[To Savelli.]
Better anon.

SONG.

Rie.
A pleasant strain!
[A Citizen rushes from amongst the Attendants, and presents a paper to Rienzi.]
What wouldst thou, friend?

Cit.
[Gives a paper to Rienzi.]
May it please thee
To read this scroll, great Tribune.

Urs.
[To Colonna.]
Can the dœmon
To whom his soul is pledged have ta'en this way
To show our secret?—No, the smiles! he smiles!
His hand shakes not!—I breathe again.

Rie.
[To Citizen].
Fair sir,
All thou hast asked is granted.
[Exit Citizen, L.
'Tis no day
To frown on a petition. Mirth, my lords,—
Bring Mirth! I brook no pause of revelry.
Have ye no masque?

Sav.
[To Ursini.]
He rushes in the toils;
Now weave the meshes round him.

Urs.
Sooth, my lord,
We had plotted to surprise the gentle bride
With a slight dance,—a toy, an antic.

Rie.
Ay,
And when?

Urs.
Soon as the bell tolled four, the masquers were bid to enter.

Rie.
Four? And how attired?

Urs.
Turban'd and rob'd, and with swart visages,
A troop of lusty Moors.

Rie.
Camillo, hark!—Admit these revellers;
Mark me.—

[Gives orders in a low voice to Camillo, and also the paper which he has just received from the Citizen.
Urs.
[Aside.]
Now, vengeance, thou art mine!

Rie.
Wine—wine!
[To an Attendant.
Fill me a goblet high with sparkling wine!
[The Attendant fills a goblet, and presents it to Rienzi.
Fill high, my noble guests. Claudia Rienzi,
And Angelo Colonna! Bless'd be they
And we in their fair union! Doubly curs'd
Who'er in wish or thought would loose that tie
The bond of peace to Rome! Drink, good my lords,
Fill high the mantling wine, and in the bowl
Be all unkindness buried!

Urs.
Heartily
We pledge you, noble Tribune.

[All rise, except Colonna.
Rie.
Why, Colonna!
Brother!— [Colonna rises.]
He startles at the word. He eyes
The cup as it were poisoned. Dost thou think
We've drugged the draught? I'll be thy taster.—Drink!
The wine is honest—we're no traitors!

Urs.
Drink!
I pr'ythee, drink!

Col.
Health to the gentle bride!
[Drinks.
Health to my children!

Rie.
This is fatherly;
Noble Colonna, this is princely. Now,
If any scorn thee, Claudia, say Colonna,
Whose word is truth, hailed thee his child.

[Rises.
Cla.
My lords
And kinsmen all, if a poor simple maid,
And yet Rienzi's daughter, so may dare
To call ye, take my thanks. On every head
Be every fair wish trebled. Gentle friends—

[Rises to go, attended by Angelo, and followed by the Ladies.
Rie.
(R. C.)
Wilt thou not wait the masque?
[Exeunt Claudia, Angelo, and Ladies, R.
Thou wilt not.—Well!
We must carouse the deeper. “Hark, Francesco!
Go bid the fountains, from their marble mouths,
Pour the rich juice of the Sicilian grape,
A flood of molten rubies, that our kind
And drouthy fellow-citizens may chorus
Hail to the gentle bride. I would fain bid
Old Tyber flow with wine.” Another cup—
To thee and thine, Colonna! fill the bowl,
Higher and higher! Let the phantom, fear,—
And doubt, that haunts sound princes,—and suspicion,
That broods a harpy o'er the banquet,—flee
Down to the uttermost depths of hell. A health
To thee and thine, Colonna!

Urs.
Of what doubt
Speaks our great Tribune?

Rie.
A fit tale of mirth,
To crown the goblet!
Enter the Masquers at different sides.
Doubt!—Spake I of doubt?
Fear!—Said I fear?—So fenced around by friends,
Allies, and kinsmen, what have I to fear
From treason or from traitors?—Say yon band
Were rebels, ye would guard me!—Call them murderers,
Ye would avenge me.

Urs.
Ay, by death.

Rie.
And thou?

Col.
By death!

Rie.
Seize the foul traitors. Ye have passed
[To the Masquers, who seize the Nobles, &c.
Your own just sentence. Yield, my masters, yield!
Your men are overpowered; your masquers chained;
The courts are lined with guards, and at one stroke—
One touch upon this bell, the strength of Rome,
All that hath life within the walls, will rise
To crush ye. Yield your swords. Do ye not shame
To wear them?—Yield your swords.

Re-enter Angelo, R.
Ang.
Rienzi!
[Then to one of the Guards, who seizes Colonna.
Villain!
An thou but touch the Lord Colonna,—ay,
An thou but dare to lay thy ruffian hand
Upon his garment—

Rie.
Seize his sword.

Ang.
Again!
Art frenetic, Rienzi?

Rie.
(R.)
Seek of them.

Ang.
(C.)
Father, in mercy, speak! Give me a cause;
And, though a legion hemmed thee in, thy son
Should rescue thee. Speak but one word, dear father,
Only one word! Sure as I live, thou art guiltless;
Sure as the sun tracks his bright path in heaven,
Thy course is pure.—Yet speak!

Rie.
He is silent.

Ang.
Speak.

Rie.
Doth not that silence answer thee? Look on them.
Thou know'st them, Angelo:—the bold Savelli,
The Frangipani, and the Ursini,—
Ay, and the high Colonna; well thou knowest
Each proud and lofty visage;—mark them, now:
They should be signed as Cain of old, for Guilt—
Detected, baffled, murderous Guilt, hath set
His bloody hand upon them. Son, thou shudderest!
Their tawny maskers should have slain me; here,
Before my daughter's eyes; here, at thy bridal;
Here in my festive hour—the mutual cup
Sparkling; the mutual pledge half spoke; the bread,
Which we have broke together, unconsumed
Upon the board; joyful, and full of wine;
Sinful and unconfessed;—so had I fallen;
And so—the word was death.—From their own lips
Came their own righteous sentence—Death!

Ang.
Oh, mercy!
Mercy!—Thou liv'st.—'Twas but the intent—

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 resplendant 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!
Ye are free.

Ang.
[To Rienzi.]
Oh, thanks, my father.

Col.
Said he thanks?
Chains, bring me chains! such words from such a tongue
Were slavery worse than death.—Chains—chains—

Rie.
Ye are free.

Col.
Is the proud pillar of Colonna fallen,
That base plebeian feet bestride its shaft?
Is Ursini's strong bear muzzled and chained,
That every cur—

Sav.
Good cousin, pr'ythee peace;
The Tribune means us fairly.

Rie.
Still ye are free.—
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 accurs'd. Be quiet subjects,
And ye shall find the state a gentle mistress—
Else—

Col.
Doth he threaten?

Urs.
Hush! this is no time,—
An hour will come—

Rie.
What, do you mutter, traitors?
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 free'd 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.

[Exeunt, R.

SCENE II.

—The Capitoline Hill.
Enter Ursini and Frangipani, R.
Fra.
(C.)
Nay, Ursini, why pluck me by the sleeve?
Why steal from the procession?—Why awaken
The tyrant's anger?

Urs.
(R. C.)
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 vain glory; confident
In that straw fetter, an extorted oath;
And we—Why are we not resolved? And be not
Our bold retainers waiting armed in proof,
Without the gates of Rome?—What, if to-night—

Fra.
This very hour. Our tried and hardy band,
Led by the chivalry of Rome, could carry
The city at a charge; and Rome herself
Will rise against the madman.

Urs.
Here comes one,
Whose name were worth a host. Didst thou not mark
How, stung by the sharp scorn Rienzi flung
On proud Colonna, the young bridegroom broke
From his new father's side?

Enter Angelo.
Urs.
Lord Angelo,
A truant from this pageant?

Ang.
(L.)
As thou see'st.

Urs.
Yet, thy good father, our great Tribune—

Ang.
Sir,
I am a son of the Colonna.

[Crosses to R.
Urs.
Ay,
The heir of that most princely house; and, sir,
Fair though she be, a friend must frankly wish
She owned another sire.

Ang.
(C.)
No more!—no more!

Enter Savelli and Cafarello, L.
Ang.
How pass'd the ceremonial, Count? Beseech thee,
Tell us of these new rites.

Sav.
The noble train
Rolled smoothly on. Rienzi led the band
Right royally, sceptered and robed, and backing
A milk-white Arab, from whose eyeballs flashed
Quick gleams of glittering light. Colonna held
The bridle-rein.

Ang.
Stephen Colonna!

Sav.
Ay—
Thy father, sir. We meaner barons walked
Behind, bareheaded, and with folded arms,
As men doing penance to the holy shrine
Of St. John Lateran. Then came a mummery
Of oaths to that indefinite she, the State—
Republic, sir, is out of date—and then—

Caf.
(L. C.)
Ay, tell that impious outrage.

Sav.
Then Rienzi,
Stepping before the altar, his bold hand
Laid on the consecrated 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.”

Ang.
Madman! And ye—

Sav.
We listened
In patience and in silence; whilst he stood
His form dilating, and his haughty glance
Instinct with fiery pride.

Ang.
Now, by St. John,
Had I been there, ye should have heard a voice
Answer this frenzied summoner.

Urs.
Our answer
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,
Then—

Ang.
Wherefore pause? I know thee, Ursini,—
Rienzi's mortal foe, and scarce a friend
To the Colonna;—yet, in honour's name—
Say on!

Rie.
[Without, L.]
Lead home the steed. I'll walk from hence.

Urs.
Meet me at the Colonna Palace. Fail not.

Enter Rienza, attended by Colonna, and other Lords, L.
Rie.
(L.)
Ah! he is here.—Son! Ye may leave us, lords,—
We are content with your good service.
Son,
[Exeunt all but Rienzi and Angelo, L.
Methinks this high solemnity might well
Have claimed thy presence. A great ruler's heir
Should be familiar in the people's eyes;
Live on their tongues; take root within their hearts;
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—

Ang.
I have not seen her.—Tribune,—
Thou wav'st away the word with such a scorn
As I poured poison in thine ear.—Already
Dost weary of the title?

Rie.
Wherefore should I?

Ang.
Thou art ambitious.

Rie.
Granted.

Ang.
And wouldst be
A king.

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, sceptered, crowned, have cast a blaze
Of glory round the old imperial wreath,
The laurel of the Cæsars; but I chose
To master kings, not to 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.

Rie.
Well!

Ang.
Alas! when now thou fall'st, as fall thou must, 'twill be
The common tale of low ambition.—Tyrants
O'erthrown to form a wilder tyranny;
Princes cast down, that thy obscurer house
May rise on nobler ruins.

Rie.
Hast thou ended?
I fain would have mistaken thee—hast done?

Ang.
No; for, despite thy smothered wrath, the voice
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,
Even in this noon of pride, thy waning power
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
Of thinner air; too giddy to look down
Where all his safety lies; too proud to dare
The long descent to the low depths from whence
The desperate climber rose.

Rie.
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
Linen for honest hire.—Canst thou say worse?

Ang.
Can worse be said?

Rie.
(C.)
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
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:
I have borne this—and I have borne the death,
The unavenged death, of a dear brother.
I seemed I was a base ignoble slave.
What am I?—Peace, I say!—what am I now?
Head of this great republic, chief of Rome;
In all but name, her sovereign; last of all,
Thy father.

Ang.
In an evil hour—

Rie.
Dar'st thou
Say that? An evil hour for thee, my Claudia!
Thou shouldst have been an emperor's bride, my fairest.
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 lov'd—she loves thee;
And therefore thy proud father,—even the shrew,
Thy railing mother, in her eyes, are sacred.
Lay not thy hand upon thy sword, fair son—
Keep that brave for thy comrades. I'll not fight thee.
Go and give thanks to yonder simple bride,
That her plebeian father mews not up,
Safe in the citadel, her noble husband.
Thou art dangerous, Colonna. But, for her,
Beware!

[Going, R.
Ang.
(R. C.)
Come back, Rienzi! Thus I throw
A brave defiance in thy teeth.

[Throws down his glove.
Rie.
Once more,
Beware!

Ang.
Take up the glove!

Rie.
This time, for her—
[Takes up the glove.
For her dear sake—come to thy bride! home! home!

Ang.
Dost fear me, tribune of the people!

Rie.
Fear!
Do I fear thee!—Tempt me no more.—This once,
Home to thy bride!

[Exit, R.
Ang.
Now, Ursini, I come—
Fit partner of thy vengeance!

[Exit, L.

SCENE III.

—A Hall in the Colonna Palace.
Enter Ursini, Stephen Colonna, Lady Colonna, Savelli, Frangipani, and Nobles, R.
Lady C.
(C.)
Five thousand horsemen at the gates of Rome,
And armed retainers in each horse and knights,
Harness'd in glittering mail; with banner proud,
And trump, and war-cry, hurling their bright spears
At the ursurper'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,
Mutter'd of murders—the quick poinard-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 death
In the brave guise of war, and made him gay
And lovely as a bridegroom, speed ye forth!
Away! the sun is low!—Ye have a city
To win, ere night!

Col.
(L.)
Better await the night;
And then, in darkness and in storm, at once
Crush the stunn'd Tribune.

Lady C.
(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
Of their proud ruler's frenzy; I have sent
Bold tongues amongst them, madam—

Enter Angelo, L.
Col.
Lo! thy son!

Lady C.
Sir, since he called Rienzi's daughter wife,
I have no son!

Ang.
Oh, mother, say not so!
Savelli! Ursini! ye bade me hither
With broken phrase and solemn tone, and pause
Of mighty import. Good my lords, I come
To read your mystery. The city's full
Of camp-like noises; tramp of steeds, and clash
Of mail, and trumpet-blast, and ringing clang
Of busy armourers; the grim ban-dog bays;
The champing war-horse in his stall neighs loud;
The vulture shrieks aloft. Ye are still leagued
Against Rienzi.

Urs.
Wouldst betray—

Ang.
Betray!
Why, I am spurned, derided, scorned, cast off,
As a child's broken toy. Betray! I come
To join ye. Ay, dear mother, to pull down
The haughty tyrant from his throne, or fall
As may beseem thy son. Angels and saints,
Bear witness to my oath!

Sav.
I do believe thee
With a most constant faith. On thy clear brow
Honour and victory sit crowned.

Ang.
Oh, put me
To the proof, my lords! Why stay we here? Good father,
Think'st thou suspicion's straining eye-balls sleep,
Or that the watcher, doubt, hath lost his keen
And delicate sense of sound? We must forerun
The tyrant's fear. Follow me, ye that love
The joy of glorious battle!

Lady C.
Angelo!

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, boy—
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
As thou, my one fair boy. Now speed thee forth,
To conquest or to death.—Why lingerest thou,
My Angelo?

Ang.
Mother!

Lady C.
What wouldst thou?

Ang.
Claudia!

Lady C.
His daughter.

Ang.
Poor, poor Claudia! I have left her
Even on our bridal-day. But, if I fall—
Mother!

Lady C.
Fie! Fie! his daughter! speed thee forth
To battle!—On, brave kinsmen!

[Exeunt, L.

SCENE IV.

—An Apartment in the Capitol.
Enter Rienzi, L., and Claudia, R., meeting, C.
Cla.
Father!
At last I find thee, father!

Rei.
Well, my child!
What wouldst thou?

Cla.
Nay, I know not. Be the guests
Departed?

Rie.
Yes.

Cla.
All gone; and wherefore went ye
To the Lateran, dear father? And where loiters—

Rie.
Aspic!

Cla.
Methought a bridal should be merrier—
Not merrier, but happier. Angelo!

Rie.
Oh, foulest ingrate! when I wed thy mother—
Oh, fiend accurs'd!

Cla.
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?

Rie.
A scorpion stung me.

Cla.
Kill it, father—kill it,
Before it sting again.

Rie.
Alas, alas!
I'll think of him no more.
Enter Camillo, followed by Alberti, L.
Camillo, speak!
Thy breathless speed and pallid cheeks have told
A world of news already. Quick, Alberti!
Thy tidings, man,—thy tidings!

Alb.
Good my lord,
Rome is begirt with foes. The barons lead
Their vassals,—every palace voids a horde
Of armed retainers.

Rie.
By Our Lady's name,
I have not heard so glad a sound, since that
Which hailed me Tribune of the people! What!
These masking murderers turned to warrior knights?
Their mine of treason sprung! Now we shall work
In daylight. Toll the bell—summon the guards!—
Sweet, to thy chamber!

[To Claudia.
Cla.
Angelo!

Alb.
He leads
The rebel force.

Cla.
'Tis false!

Alb.
I would it were.

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!
Stay here with me! Avoid him!—stay with me!
Leave me not here alone!

Rie.
Peace, peace!

Cla.
I'll meet him.
Armed or unarmed, as friend or foe, I'll fly
To meet Lord Angelo. I am his wife—
His own true wife.

[Exit, R.
Rie.
Entice her to her chamber,
And watch that she escapes not.
[Exit Camillo, R.
Now, good captain,
Let the great bell, with loud and hasty tongue,
Summon the people, and the trumpet-sound
Collect the scattered guard. Be they all faithful?

Alb.
I'll answer for them with my life.

Rie.
What, ho!
My armour! See that Saladin be barbed
Complete in mail. By heaven, there is a joy
In fronting these proud nobles,—they who deem
Man valiant by descent.

Alb.
Shall we not send
To guard the city gates?

Rie.
To fling them wide!
Let the weak timid hare and wily fox
Fence their dank earthy holes,—the lion's den
Is open. We will fight for Rome and freedom,
Here in Rome's very streets, beside the hearths
Of the freed citizens, the households gods
Worshipped in every faith. Fling wide the gates!
I'll follow on the instant. Ho, my armour!

[Exeunt, R.