University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—Before the Portico of Octavia, as in Scene I.
Enter Rambault.
Ramb.
Now morning breaks o'er Rome. There Pentecost
With golden fire floods all the orient sky,
In its full-throbbing life so beautiful
It might renew these ruins.
Enter Montréal.
Welcome! What news from fair Perugia?

Mont.
My squadron will keep contract to an hour.

Ramb.
So you will win your trick?

Mont.
My hand is strong.
[Rienzi's trumpet heard.
Whose clarion's that? It hath an eerie sound.
All's quiet here?

Ramb.
As ocean, in the pause
'Twixt storm and storm.

Mont.
Rienzi promised so.
[Trumpet again, nearer.
I know the Barons' brass; but this grave note
Rings clear and silvery.

Ramb.
'Tis a silver trump,
And yon strange herald blows it—he draws nigh.

Mont.
He durst not, in mere prudence, play me false.

Ramb.
Rienzi?

Mont.
Ay; but these Italian brains
Are subtler than the snake that tempted Eve.
I'll bide in Rome, and watch this fortnight by,
While he matures his rising.
Enter a handsome Youth, richly attired as a Herald, and carrying a silver trumpet. He ascends the steps of Sant' Angelo in Peschiera, and blows a third blast. A concourse of Citizens begins to assemble.
What means this?

Ramb.
One of Rienzi's fantasies.

Mont.
Yes, yes—
He was too frank, perhaps. He has an eye
That baffles question with its changing light.
Enter Gianni Rosso, Cecco del Vecchio, and Cits.

Ha! my old friend, what may this gaudy trumpeter
betoken?

Gianni R.

Save you, sir! Rienzi's in that church.
All night long he has heard thirty masses of the Holy
Ghost for his soul's comfort.

Mont.

Is it his wont, then, to sound a trumpet
when he prays, like the Pharisees?

Gianni R.

O sir, Rienzi is a public man—writes
with a silver pen, for the dignity of his office, and
blows a silver trumpet—as, between ourselves, he would
balance a lemon on his nose in open market—to attract
a crowd. His present purpose none knows. I am as
deep in his counsels as any, and yet I know not.

[Trumpeter blows a flourish.
Mont.
What now? The doors open.

Enter from the church, Rienzi, armed—his helmet borne by a Page. He is accompanied by the Bishop of Orvieto, Pandolfo di Guido, and a hundred armed conspirators. Three banners are borne behind him: the first of Liberty—red, with the figure of Rome, seated between two lions, holding the globe in her left hand, and the palm of victory in her right; the second of Justice—white, with the figure of St. Paul, holding the sword; the third of Peace —green, with the figure of St. Peter, holding the keys of concord and peace.
Cits.
Long live Rienzi, and the Good Estate!

Mont.
What means this mummery?

Ramb.
Something out of sight.

Rien.
Romans! Dear friends! ye have kept tryst with me;
I will keep faith with you. Lift up your heads,
And shout; for ye are free! Rome, Rome is free!

Mont.
Is this mere charlatanry?

Ramb.
Wait, he speaks.

Rien.
Here is plain truth for you. Ye know the Barons
Are foraging abroad, like hungry rats,
To pillage corn. Well, we have stopped their holes,
My friends and I—their castles stand at siege;
The city gates are barred; and Rome is ours,
Is yours, her own, to hold against the world.

Cits.
O great Rienzi! Evviva! Evviva!

Mont.
Oho! Tricked, Rambault, tricked! This man of books,
This tongue, this lawyer's clerk! Tricked!

Ramb.
Peace, good brother!

[The great bell of the Capitol tolls.
Cits.
What says La Paterina?

Rien.
Hark to that iron tongue! It tolls the death
Of hoary tyranny and ancient wrong.
Our friends are in the Capitol.

Cits.
Evviva!

Mont.
I'll drive my sword thro' his heart!

Ramb.
O frantic thought!
This is a man.

Mont.
The Devil, rather! Away!

[Exeunt Mont. and Ramb.
Rien.
That bell, whose soul hath slept in sullen rust
Thro' Freedom's trance, now wakens to proclaim
Her victory. Henceforth its ominous clang
Shall, like the voice of Rome's own conscience, warn
Of danger and of doom. And now I fling
My life into the current of your love,
To bear me where it will—content and proud
If I have earned your grace in what I do.

Cits.
Long live the great Rienzi! the good Rienzi!

Rien.
Have I your voice, to be your sentinel
To guard the Good Estate, as I have been
Its herald? May I live your proxy still?

Cits.
Long live Rienzi, the People's friend!

Rien.
God be my surety, then! His Holiness
Confirms my acts, and, doubling your great trust,
Sends me his blessing by his Vicar here.

[Kneels, and receives Bishop of Orvieto's blessing.
Bp. of O.
The Church's blessing swell the prosperous sail
Of all thy good intents, and waft thee safe.

Cits.
Viva! Evviva!

Pand.
Rienzi, thou hast freed our flock from wolves,
Be thou our shepherd, lead us now to graze
In greener pastures than we knew before.

Cits.
Bravo! bravo!

Pand.
Our liberator, be our governor,
The sceptre and the sword of new-born Rome.

Cits.

Bravo! bravo! Rienzi shall be Emperor—
the people's Emperor.

Cecco.
Nay, we'll have no more Emperors!

Voices.
No, no more Emperors!

Rien.
If ye demand an Emperor, seek elsewhere.
Degrade not me so far. But if ye seek
A sleepless watch-dog for your city's guard,
A careful steward of your rights, a brain
To plot your happiness and lasting peace,
Make me your Tribune.

Cecco.
Tribune, ay tribune! Long live Rienzi,
Tribune of Rome!

Cits.
Long live Rienzi, Tribune of Rome!

Rien.
That is a title I am proud to wear
Like laurel round my brow. Tribune of Rome!
It throbs thro' all my pulses with a sound,
Stern and majestic, as of Rome's best day,
When men of iron and of adamant
Were pillars of her right. But, with your leave,
I'll crave your suffrages that I may share
With this good priest, the Vicar of the Pope,
The anxious glory of so great a trust.
Do you consent, my lord?

Bp. of O.
With all my heart,
So that my hand may heal the wounds of Rome.

Rien.
And now, come with us to the Capitol,
Where we may choose a Council of the State,
From rich and poor, to ratify our powers
For Rome's defence, security, and peace.
On, to the Capitol!

[A March. Exeunt.