University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—An Apartment in the Capitol.
Rienzi seated at a Table, R.—Camillo and Alberti discovered in the front, R.
Alb.
My Lord Rienzi.

[Rienzi motions them to be silent.
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.

Alb.
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,
A wavering triumph. Even at the gate
Savelli re-collects his scattered band;
The people falter; and the soldiery
Mutter low curses as they fight, and yearn
For their old leaders. Victors though we be,
The Tribune totters. His hot pride—yet, sooth,
He bore him gallantly. Beneath his sword
Fell the dark plotter, Ursini.

Cam.
How fared
The bold Colonna?

Alb.
The old valiant chief,
With many a younger pillar of that high
And honoured house, lies dead.

Cam.
And Angelo?

Alb.
A prisoner. As he knelt beside the corse
Of his brave father, without word or blow,
As easily as an o'er-wearied child,
We seized him.

Cam.
Lo! the Tribune!

Rie.
[Rising and advancing.]
Now admit
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 slight
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!
[Exeunt Alberti and Camillo, L.
Ay,
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 crouch'd i' the dust
At sound of their old master's 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 thy 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.
Alb.
My lord,
The prisoners!

Rie.
(R.)
Bring them to the light. The prisoners!
The noble prisoners! I have seen ye, sirs,
Before, at Claudia's bridal,—you, and you,
The Frangipani, and the Ursini,—
Ay, and the high Colonna: my allies,
My friends, my subjects; ye who swore to me
Allegiance at the altar; ye for whom
One harlot sin is not enough,—who pile,
Adulterate in crime, treason on murder,
And perjury on treason! Hence! begone!
Ye know your doom.

Fra.
(C.)
And fear it not.

Rie.
To death!
[Going, L.
To instant death. Hold! here is one. Lord Angelo,
How shall I call thee, son or traitor?

Ang.
(L.)
Foe.
I know no father, save the valiant dead
Who lives behind a rampart of his slain
In warlike rest. I bend before no king,
Save the dread Majesty of heaven. Thy foe,
Thy mortal foe, Rienzi.

[Crossing to C.
Rie.
Well! my foe.
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 the 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—'tis 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 revenge,
Or smiling death!

Rie.
[Crossing to C.]
Madman!

Ang.
Wouldst have me live,—
Thou who hast levelled to the earth the pride
Of my old princely race? My kinsmen lie
Scattered and fallen in the highway; and he,
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.
(R. C.)
I spared him once;
Spared him for a second treason. And again—

Ang.
Sir, he is dead. If thou wouldst show me grace,
Lay me beside him in the grave.

Rie.
And Claudia—
Thy virgin bride!

Ang.
Alas! alas, for thee,
Sweet wife! Yet thou art pure as the white clouds
That sail around the moon; thy home is heaven,—
There we shall meet again; here we are parted
For ever.

Rie.
Wherefore?

Ang.
She is thy daughter.

Rie.
Boy!
Proud abject minion of a name, a sound,
Think'st thou to beard me thus! thou hast thy will.
Away with them! Dost hear me, dallying slave?
Off with the prisoners.

Alb.
All, my lord?

Rie.
With all.

[Throwing himself into a chair, R.
Ang.
For this I thank thee. Bear one fond farewell
To Claudia. Tell her, that my latest prayer
Shall blend her name with mine. For thee, Rienzi,
Tremble! a tyrant's rule is brief.

[Exeunt Albert, Angelo, &c., L.
Rie.
[Rises and advances.]
They are gone,
And my heart's lightened; how the traitor stood
Looking me down with his proud eye, disdaining
Fair mercy,—making of the hideous block
An altar,—of unnatural ghastly death,
A god. He hath his will; and I—my heart
Is tranquil.

Cla.
[Without, R.]
Father! father!

Rie.
Guard the door!
[Looking out, R.
Be sure ye give not way.

Cla.
[Without, R.]
Father!

Rie.
To see
Her looks! her tears!

Enter Claudia, hastily, R.
Cla.
Who dares to stop me? Father!

[Rushes into the arms of Rienzi.
Rie.
(C.)
I bade ye guard the entrance.

Cla.
Against me!
Ye must have men and gates of steel, to bar
Claudia from her dear father. Where is he?
They said he was with you—he—thou know'st
Whom I would say. I heard ye loud. I thought
I heard ye; but, perchance, the dizzying throb
Of my poor temples—Where is he? I see
No corse—an' he were dead—Oh, no, no, no!
Thou couldst not, wouldst not! Say he lives.

Rie.
As yet
He lives.

Cla.
(R. C.)
Oh! blessings on thy heart, dear father!
Blessings on thy kind heart! When shall I see him?
Is he in prison? Fear hath made me weak,
And wordless as a child. Oh! send for him.—
Thou hast pardoned him;—didst thou not say but now
Thou hadst pardoned him.

Rie.
No.

Cla.
Oh, thou hast! thou hast!
This is the dalliance thou wast wont to hold
When I have craved some girlish boon,—a bird,
A flower, a moonlight walk; but now I ask thee
Life, more than life. Thou hast pardoned him?

Rie.
My Claudia!

Cla.
Ay! I am thine own Claudia, whose first word
Was father! These are the same hands that clung
Around thy knees, a tottering babe; the lips
That, ere they had learnt speech, would smile, and seek
To meet thee with an infant's kiss;
Thou hast called so like my mother's; eyes, that never
Gazed on thee, but with looks of love.—Oh, pardon!
Nay, father, speak not yet: thy brows are knit
Into a sternness. Pry'thee, speak not yet!

Rie.
This traitor—

Cla.
Call him as thou wilt, but pardon!
Oh, pardon!

[Kneels.
Rie.
He defies me.

Cla.
See, I kneel,
And he shall kneel, shall kiss thy feet; wilt pardon?

Rie.
Mine own dear Claudia.

Cla.
Pardon!

Rie.
Raise thee up;
Rest on my bosom; let thy beating heart
Lie upon mine; so shall the mutual pang
Be stilled. Oh! that thy father's soul could bear
This grief for thee, my sweet one! Oh, forgive—

Cla.
Forgive thee what? 'Tis so the headsman speaks
To his poor victim, ere he strikes. Do fathers
Make widows of their children?—send them down
To the cold grave heart-broken? Tell me not
Of fathers,—I have none! All else that breathes
Hath known that natural love: the wolf is kind
To her vile cubs; the little wren hath care
For each small youngling of her brood; and thou—
The word that widowed, orphaned me? Henceforth
My home shall be his grave; and yet thou canst not—
Father!
[Rushing into Rienzi's arms.]

Rie.
Ay!
Dost call me father once again, my Claudia,—
Mine own sweet child!

Cla.
Oh, father, pardon him!
Oh, pardon! pardon!—'Tis my life I ask
In his. Our lives, dear father!

Rie.
Ho, Camillo!
Where loiters he!
[Enter Camillo, R.
Camillo, take my ring;
Fly to the captain of the guard, Alberti;
Bid him release Lord Angelo.

Cla.
Now bless thee,—
Bless thee, my father!

Rie.
Fly, Camillo, fly!
Why loiterest thou?

Cam.
The ring.

[Rienzi gives the ring to Camillo—Exit Camillo, L.
Clau.
Give me the ring.
Whose speed may match with mine? Let me be first
To speak those gracious words of pardon.

Rie.
No!
That were no place for thee.

Cla.
I should see nought
But him! whilst old Camillo—Oh, I hear
His weary footfall still!—I should have been
In Angelo's arms ere now. [Bell sounds.]
Hark! hark! the bell!

Rie.
It is the bell that thou so oft hast heard
Summoning the band of liberty—“the bell
That pealed its loud triumphant note, and raised
Its mighty voice with such a mastery
Of glorious power, as if the spirit of sound
That dwells in the viewless wind; and walks the waves
Of the chafed sea, and rules the thunder-cloud
That shrouded him in that small orb, to spread
Tidings of freedom to the nations.” Now
It tells of present peril.

Cla.
Say, of death.
Oh father! every stroke thrills through my veins,
Swaying the inmost pulses of my heart
As swings the deep vibration. 'Tis his knell.

Rie.
My child,
Have I not said that he shall live?

Cla.
Then stop
That bell. The dismal noise beats on me, father,
As from a thousand echoes; mixed with groans,
And shrieks, and moanings in the air. Dost hear them?
Dost hear, again? Be those screams real, father?
Or of the gibbering concerts that salute
The newly mad?

Rie.
Be calmer, sweet. I heard
A shriek—a woman's shriek. Calm thee, my child.

Enter Lady Colonna, L.
Lady C.
He's dead. He's dead!

Rie.
It is her husband, Claudia;
Stephen Colonna.

Lady C.
Murderer, 'tis my son,
[Claudia sinks at her father's feet.
My husband died in honour'd fight; for him
I weep not.

Rie.
Angelo is pardoned, Claudia.

Lady C.
He is dead. I saw the axe, fearfully bright,
Wave o'er his neck with an edgy shine that cut
My burning eye-balls; saw the butcher-stroke
And the hot blood gush like a fountain high,
From out the veins; and then I heard a voice
Cry pardon! heard a shout that chorused pardon!
Pardon! to that disjoined corse! Oh, deep
And horrible mockery! So the fiends shall chant
Round thy tormented soul, and pardon, pardon,
Ring through the depths of hell.

Rie.
“Claudia, my sweet one,
Look up—speak to me! Writhe not thus, my Claudia,
Shivering about my feet.”

Lady C.
“Claudia Colonna!
They say that grief is proud; but I will own thee.
Now, my fair daughter, rouse thee!—Help me curse
Him who hath slain thy husband.”

Rie.
Woman, fiend,
Thou kill'st my child,—avaunt!

Lady C.
“When I have said
Mine errand. Think'st thou I came here to crush
Yon feeble worm?—Thou hast done that! She loved him,
Fair faithful wretch, and thou—Why, I could laugh
At such a vengeance! Thy keen axe, that hewed
My column to the earth, struck down the weed
That crept around its base.”

Rie.
“Claudia! she moves!
She is not dead.”

Lady C.
“Dead! Why, the dead are bless'd,
And she is blasted.—Dead! the dead lie down
In peace, and she shall pine a living ghost
About thee, with pale looks and patient love,
And bitter gusts of anguish, that shall cross
The gentle spirit, when poor Angelo—
A widow's and a childless mother's curse
Rest on thy head, Rienzi! Live, till Rome
Hurl thee from thy proud seat; live but to prove
The ecstasy of scorn, the fierce contempt
That wait the tyrant fallen; then die, borne down
By mighty justice!—die as a wild beast
Before the hunters!—die, and leave a name
Portentous, bloody, brief—a meteor name,
Obscurely bad, or madly bright! My curse
Rest on thy head, Rienzi.”

Rie.
Help there! help! Camillo!

Enter Camillo, L.
Rie.
Ay, I know thou wast too late. Bring aid.—See! see!
Her lips are colouring fast,—she is not dead.
Bring aid.

Cam.
My lord, Savelli, with a power
Gathering in every street, comes on; the guards
Flee, and the people hear the bell, nor flock
To aid or rescue.

Lady C.
Now, revenge! revenge!
Savelli! Murderer, when next we meet,
Thou shalt give blood for blood.

[Exit, L.
Rie.
She lives! Aid! aid!
Her pulses beat again. Go, call her maids!
Speed thee, Camillo!
[Exit Camillo, R.
How shall I endure
The unspoken curses of her eye: “how bear
Her voice!” My child! my child! my beautiful—
Whom I so loved! whom I have murdered! Claudia,
Mine own beloved child! She would have given
Her life for mine. Would I were dead!

Re-enter Camillo, R., with Ladies and Attendants, who recover and bear off Claudia from her Father, R.
Cam.
My lord—

Rie.
Camillo, when I'm gone, be faithful to her,—
“Be very faithful! Save her, shield her, better
Than I, that was her father.” She'll not trouble
Thee long, good Camillo; “the sure poison, grief,
Rankles in those young veins.” Yet cherish her,—
She loved thee.

Cam.
My dear master—thou thyself—

Rie.
My business is to die. Watch o'er my child;
And, soon as I am dead, conduct her safely
To the small nunnery of the Ursulines,
Her pious steps so often sought.—Away!
[Exit Camillo, R.
She will not curse me dead.—She'll pray for me,
In that poor broken heart. Oh, blessings on thee,
My child! mine own sweet child!

Enter Alberti, L.
Alb.
My lord, Savelli
Comes on apace.

Rie.
Summon the people.

Alb.
They, too,
Advance against thee.

Rie.
And for such I left
The assured condition of my lowliness,—
The laughing days, the peaceful nights, the joys
Of a small quiet home; for such I risked
Thy peace, my daughter. Abject, crouching slaves!
False, fickle, treacherous, perjured slaves! how come they?
How led, how armed, how number'd?

Alb.
They sweep on,
A thickening cloud, as locusts, when they light
On the green banks of Nile. The furious mother
“Leads them, and saints revenge, in her fierce prayers
And frantic imprecations.”

Rie.
“Tis the fiend
That speediest answers to the daring call
Of his mad worshippers. So be it.”

Alb.
Some mix with their shouts the name
Of mighty liberty.

Rie.
Oh, had I laid
All earthly passion, pride, and pomp, and power,
And high ambition, and hot lust of rule,
Like sacrificial fruits, upon the altar
Of Liberty, divinest Liberty!
“Then—but the dream that filled my soul was vast
As his whose mad ambition thinned the ranks
Of the Seraphim, and peopled hell. These slaves!”
These crawling reptiles! May the curse of chains
Cling to them ever. Seek the court, Alberti—
Dismiss the guard—unbar the gates.—I'll seek
The people.

Alb.
Singly!

Rie.
Singly, sir.

[Exeunt Alberti and Rienzi, R.

SCENE II.

—Before the Gates of the Capitol.
Enter Lady Colonna, Savelli, Soldiers, and Citizens, R. and L.
Lady C.
(R.)
Come on! Why loiter ye? Ye that have sons,
Ye that have known a mother's love, come on;
A woman leads to vengeance.

First Cit.
(L. C.)
Say, to justice.

Sav.
(L.)
Look, look, the gates are barred. The Tribune means
To stand a desperate siege. Bring axes, sirs,
And fire. Consume the palace! hew the doors!
Bring torches!

Lady C.
Ay, with mine own hand I'll light
The accursed and murderous den; thy funeral pyre,
My Angelo.

Sav.
Bring torches! hew the gates!

Citizens.
Down with the tyrant! drag him forth.—Rienzi!

[The gates are opened—Rienzi appears.
Rie.
Who calls upon Rienzi? Citizens,
What seek ye of your Tribune?

Lady C.
Give me back
My son.

Rie.
Oh, that grim Death would give him back
To Claudia! But the cold, cold grave—why come ye?

Second Cit.
For vengeance, perjured tyrant! for thy blood—for liberty!

Rie.
For liberty! Go seek
Earth's loftiest heights, and ocean's deepest caves;
Go where the sea-snake and the eagle dwell,
'Midst mighty elements,—where nature is,
And man is not, and ye may see afar,
Impalpable as a rainbow on the clouds,
The glorious vision! Liberty! I dream'd
Of such a goddess once; dream'd that yon slaves
Were Romans, such as ruled the world, and I
Their Tribune;—vain and idle dream! Take back
The symbol and the power. What seek ye more?

First Cit.
(L.)
Tyrant! thy life!

Rie.
Come on. Why pause ye, cowards?
I am unarmed. My breast is bare. Why pause ye?

Enter Claudia, through the gate in the centre of the flat— Rushes forward to Rienzi.
Cla.
Father!

Sav.
Oh, save her!

Rie.
Drag her from my neck,
If ye be men! Save her! She never harmed
A worm. My Claudia, bless thee! bless thee! Now—now!—

[Rienzi falls, pierced by many spears, and the people divide, leaving Claudia stretched on her father's body.
Sav.
Ay, that thrust pierced to the heart; he dies
Even whilst I speak.

Cla.
Father!

Lady C.
Alas! poor child!

Sav.
She bleeds, I fear, to death. Go bear her in,
And treat the corse with reverence; for surely,
Though stained with much ambition, he was one
Of the earth's great spirits.