University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Rome.—A Room in the Capitol.
Enter Rienzi.
Rien.
So, like a grey, world-wandered prodigal,
I am come home, to find my father's house
An hostelry for change. Where is my Rome?
Where, rather, is her Tribune? Mighty dreams,
Go back once more into the world of dreams,
Regretted, not forgotten, but with love
Buried. The King is dead, long live the King!
Shut to the brazen gates that sepulchre
The glorious past, fling wide the golden doors
That on the future's field unconquered gaze.
Now, what's to do? I stand this day more baited
By dangers than a spendthrift by his duns—
Dangers most vile, since to be shunned, not faced,
Outwitted and not fought with. 'Tis our curse
That we who scavenge this most filthy world
Must soil our fingers. Miracles are done,
We work with tools, and, scorning what we need,
Perish our folly's martyrs, nothing won.
[Rings a handbell.
Enter a Secretary.
Your abstract of the news?

Secretary.
Our troops, my lord,
Beleaguer Palestrina. The Orsini
Still hold aloof.

Rien.
'Tis well. What of the town?

Sec.
The jealousies between the crafts and guilds,
Which smoulder hotly, would in faction burn,
But your authority makes faction dumb;
Yet you are coldly scanned in several quarters,
As you'll see here. (Hands papers.)
The taxes are all paid,
Though grumblingly. Your speech and proclamation,
Both well received, have solved some discontent.

Rien.
(aside).
This tallies with my private informations.
(Aloud.)
You may retire.
[Exit Sec.
The Barons' day is past—I fear them not;
But currish faction must be muzzled strait.
But how? I ring my Rome with foreign swords,
Making her foes her fence, till she be grown,
And may defy her foes. There's danger too—
These Germans are a fire, which in due bounds
Will cook our food and warm us, but once free
Will burn us out of house. There is much danger.
O for the flame that once I stole from heaven,
To make my country live! There were no need
Of any earthly, dangerous, purchased fire,
To tinker with. I should have souls for arms,
Romans for hireling legions, zeal for gold.
Prometheus mounts not twice—perchance can ne'er
The flickering spark he kindled once relume;
Yet in my breast, a beacon lone, it burns,
And while Rienzi lives can die not Rome.

[Exit.