University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Hall of Audience in the Capitol. A throne and chairs of State.
Enter Cecco del Vecchio and Citizens.
1st Cit.

But two months in office, and such good
changes in Rome! This den of thieves is grown as
orderly as a convent or a camp.

Cecco.

Ay, since Martino di Porto was hanged for
a common robber. Never was such good justice
done in Rome.

2nd Cit.

The very fishwives have ceased to brawl,
and the meat-sellers to lie. False weights are become
rarities for the cabinets of the curious.

Cecco.

Since God gave the law to Moses, there has
been no such man.

1st Cit.

He's as haughty to the Barons as a born
Emperor, yet a plain citizen with the citizens.

3rd Cit.

A Venetian of their embassy told me that
the Soldan of Babylon had heard of his fame.

Cecco.

Is it possible?

3rd Cit.

Most certain. But have you heard that
old Colonna comes in to-day, to make submission?

4th Cit.

Ay, he's the last of the lot—and the best.

2nd Cit.

He has not kept his vow that he would
pitch Rienzi out of the window of the Capitol.

Cecco.

Bah! He fled from the ding-dong of La
Paterina, like a pigeon at the whizz of a bird-bolt.

3rd Cit.

He found the Tribune in Rome a nettle
too stiff to maul like Pope Boniface at Agnani. Hey!
Here come the nobles to wait on the master, as tame
as hounds at the crack of the huntsman's whip.

Cecco.

Stefanuccio too!

Enter on one side Stefano and Gianni Colonna and party; on the other, Giordano Orsino, Frangipani, Savello, and party. They salute each other.
5th Cit.

What! can these game-cocks meet without
sparring? The Millennium must be near.

3rd Cit.

Fear makes strange friends. The Tribune
is a fire before which the fiercest beasts quail and herd
together.

[Cecco and Cits. draw aside as the Nobles advance.
Giord. O.
My Lord Colonna comes to take the oath,
At last.

Stef. C.
My lord, I do—on your example.
'Tis bend or break. I duck my head with the rest,
And bide the passing of this summer storm.

Giord. O.
Will it pass, think you? It whistles shrewdly still.

Stef. C.
'Twill pass. How long will Roman weathercocks
Point all one way?

Giord. O.
Then let us blow the other,
For once together, in this upstart's face.

Stef. C.
Faith, I lack breath just now, thro' sheer surprise.

Giord. O.
You nursed this tiger; but, one word, my lord.

[They converse apart.
Frang.

This submission of old Colonna makes the
Tribune stronger than ever.

Sav.

His sharp-edged virtue will cut his own throat
yet. But we must bide our time. His popularity
is now in full blossom; he points his finger, and
the timber and stones fly from our castles to fortify
the Capitol.

Frang.

Twenty thousand armed volunteers, ready
to swarm like bees at the first tang of his big bell?

Sav.

They can buzz loud enough; but a volunteer
is an unbroken colt—bears you to-day, and kicks you
off to-morrow. (Flourish of trumpets, and shouting heard.)

His trumpets!

Shouts without.

Long live the Tribune!

Giord. O.
'Tis but the mob, who grime themselves with dust,
Wrestling among the horses' heels, for coin,
Flung to them when the Tribune keeps his state.

Stef. C.
Ha! he gives largesse like an Emperor?

Giord. O.
His insolence swells so high.

Stef. C.
His cap and bells
The varlet jingles still. Smile we, and wait.

Enter Rienzi, robed in crimson and ermine, with his Tribune's sceptre in his hand, and attended by the Bishop of Orvieto, Pandolfo di Guido, Cola Orsino, six Secretaries, Notary Public, Guards, and Citizens. Also Francesca, her train borne by six Pages, and attended by noble Ladies, who fan her as she walks.
Rien.
(to Secs.).
Now, gentlemen, your drafts—I'll look them o'er
Even as I sit.
[Secretaries bow, and proceed to arrange papers at a table.
Approach, Signor Colonna!

Stef. C.
Signor?

Rien.
Ay, sir. We have but one Lord on earth,
His Holiness the Pope, and dare extend
That title no whit further than appears
His delegated power. Stefano Colonna,
We have summoned you three times to take the oath.

Stef. C.
Well, Tribune, here I am, to take the oath.

Rien.
You are wise. We have been patient, for the sake
Of your grey hairs and venerable name;
But, by the mass! you are wise no longer so
To dally with your danger. Notary, give him
A schedule of our laws. Sir, you shall take
The oath anon.

Stef. C.
Content.

Rien.
We have been at pains,
During your country stay, to rid your house
Of certain vermin that do much infest
Our old seignorial mansions—we have hung
Your brigands.

Stef. C.
Brigands?

Rien.
Ay, such parasites
Cling much to nobles. You stir not, understand,
From Rome, save at our pleasure. You shall take
The oath anon; meanwhile peruse the law.
[He takes his seat, the Nobles standing in his presence.
(To Secs.)
Your drafts.
[They hand him papers, which he looks over, signing some.
This letter to his Holiness
Touching the Emperor—let that stand over;
And this, to Lewis of Hungary, on his prayer
For our prompt arbitration in his plea
Against the murderers of his brother. (Gives back letters.)
This,
Of thanks to Petrarch for his golden words
Of love and cordial praise, is coldly writ,
Heavily phrased—Livy or Tacitus,
Not Tully. Praise, sir, from our laurelled bard
Crowns us with laurels of immortal leaf,
And should be answered in as sweet a strain
As Orpheus wooed in. (Gives back letter.)
More?

Sec.
No more, my lord.

Rien.
Then turn we now to business of the State.
Stefano Colonna!

Stef. C.
Here!

Rien.
We summon you
To take the oath. Humble your knees, and make
Submission to the State. (To Bishop of O.)
My lord, administer
The oath in form and all solemnity.

[Stef. Colonna delivers his sword to Rienzi, then kneels to the Bishop.
Bp. of O.
Stefano Colonna, on your knees you swear
Allegiance to the Commonwealth of Rome;
To keep its laws in peace, and with your life
Guard it in time of war; further you swear
Obedience to the Tribunes; and all this
You swear upon the gospels, and invoke,
If you swear false, perdition on your soul.

Stef. C.
All this I swear!

Rien.
Receive your sword again.
We will employ you for the public good,
As we shall find you apt and well-inclined.
[Stef. Colonna bows and retires.
Thus shall the toppling ruins of old Rome,
New-wrought, be new Rome's pillars. One alone
Of all our summoned vassals still defies us—
Gianni di Vico, Tyrant of Viterbo,
Prefect of Rome. His term of grace is past,
And we degrade him from his Prefecture,
And will advance our banners till his walls
Quake at our stern array. We credit you,
Cola Orsino, of Sant' Angelo,
Our captain in this war.

Cola O.
I thank you, Tribune.
I'll be the embodied terror of your name
Marching the earth.

Rien.
If he forthwith surrender,
Bring him your prisoner, but in gentle guise;
If not, attack with every art of siege,
Destroy his forts, and bring him here in chains.
Take your commission (hands document)
, and farewell!

Cola O.
Farewell,
Most noble Tribune! I will be your sword.

[Exit.
Rien.
Admit the Ambassadors.

Enter Ambassadors from Prince Lewis of Taranto, the Doge of Venice, the Seignory of Florence, the Marquis of Ferrara, the Tyrant of Milan, and the Lords of Verona and Mantua, attended; their banners borne before them.
Rien.
Welcome, illustrious friends!

1st Ambass.
Prince Lewis of Taranto, noble Tribune,
Greets you with love; and for his much-wronged cousin,
Giovanna, Queen of Naples—foully charged
Before your throne with murder of her lord,
Andrew of Hungary—craves your gracious aid.
Hungarian Lewis and his barbarous horde,
Tainting the air with slander, waste our fields;
Till, like the Jewish patriot, our vext Prince
Turns Romeward—as 'tis written: Misit viros
Cum eis revocare amicitiam.

Rien.
My Lord Archbishop, it is further writ:
Procul a nobis sint arma et gladius,
Terra marique sit pax.

1st Ambass.
Oh, my lord!
Your wit leaps out like lightning, and astounds
More than the thunder. You cap me in a breath
Out of one page!

Rien.
Nay, marvel not, my lord;
I have read Maccabees. Help but to piece
The silver weft shot thro' the blood-red warp
Of this perplexèd case, and we, with joy,
Will clothe your Queen with robes of innocence.
Meanwhile we test each strand, and watch the web.
Sit, gentlemen. From Venice, sirs, I think?

2nd Ambass.
Andrea Dandolo, our worthy Doge,
Greets you, most noble Tribune, and desires
Your friendship and alliance.

Rien.
Neptune's self,
Taming to draw his car the boisterous powers
That snort in the thundering surge; or, with a stroke
Of his stern trident, making bastioned walls
Yawn into sudden ruin, could not be
A more magnificent ally. We grasp
His aged hand, that with its osprey's gripe
Wrinkles on its sea-prey. Come you from Florence?

3rd Ambass.
The Seignory of Florence asks, my lord,
To be admitted to the League which owns
Rome for its head. Where shines her Tribune's face,
Prosperity and peace, twin flowers of spring,
Break from the wintry world, and warn old Time
To turn for happier hours his tardy glass.

Rien.
We thank your Seignory for their good will,
And swelling terms of honour. For the League,
You are possessed of its conditions: all
Whom faction, vampire of our country's blood,
Has driven to waste in exile, shall return
As living citizens. Does that content you?

3rd Ambass.
It does, my lord.

Rien.
Then you are greatly welcome;
For your content is as a precious seed
From which all Italy shall reap content.

4th Ambass.
Obizzo d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara,
Sends gentle greeting to the Tribune.

Rien.
Ha!
Whence come you, gentlemen?

5th Ambass.
Lucchin' Visconti,
The Tyrant of Milan, sends—

Rien.
Good; and you?

6th Ambass.
Mastino della Scala, Lord of Verona,
Greets you, great Tribune.

Rien.
He does well. The last?

7th Ambass.
Filippo da Gonzaga, Lord of Mantua,
Sends his felicitations to the Tribune.

Rien.
These eagles, then, yield homage to the wren.
Your masters' mocks are changed to reverent greetings,
And sweet felicitations. It is best
For their own peace. Join you the League with Rome?

4th, 5th, 6th, 7th Ambass.
My lord, we do.

Rien.
'Tis very well. We crave
Your patience while our Heralds make report;
Then ye shall grace our banquet. Now, the Heralds
Enter Heralds of Peace.
Speak one for all. What welcome have ye found,
Bearing, like doves, our olive thro' the land?

Herald of Peace.
Your name, my lord, strides like a Hercules.
About the world, achieving prodigies.
Thro' all the worst-famed nooks of Italy
Bandits are ghosts, and deeds of blood but legends.
To Avignon, armed only with this rod,
I bore your letters. The Annunciant Angel,
Holding the heavenly lily, could not win
More reverence than I found. Rejoicing crowds
Knelt in the gates, the streets, the dusty highways,
As to the Host; the great ones of each town
Met me with music; gay-clad village maids
Welcomed my feet with flowers; grey-bearded men
Wept as they kissed my hand; and fair young mothers
Held high their babes to see me as I passed.
From every hearth in the glad land rise up,
More constantly than kindly household smoke,
Prayers for the Tribune's health.

Rien.
Thanks for your tale.
This is good news indeed. My secretaries
Will fill your trusty wallets with new salves
To make our country whole. Once more, God-speed!

[Secretaries give letters. Exeunt Heralds of Peace.
1st Ambass.
These sing like morning stars. Methinks the Tribune
May gaze upon his new-created world,
And, without boasting, say, 'Tis very good.

Rien.
Be God's the glory! What is done but preludes
The more that is to do. The League shall meet
In solemn synod in this Capitol,
To make the fragile clay that shapes my dream
Immortal marble. Gentlemen, your welcome
Shall at the banquet be more fitly spoke
Than graver hours would stay for. Will you grace me?

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—A Room in the Orsini Palace.
Enter Stefano Colonna, Giordano Orsino, Savello, Frangipani, and other Nobles.
Giord. O.
Then you refuse to join us?

Stef. C.
Ay, my lord,
On present thinking.

Sav.
If, my lord, your conscience
Shies from your oath, late spoken, give me leave
To show how you may read it null and void.

Stef. C.
God's bread! my lord, I need no lawyer's craft
In mangling words to think it null and void.
Oaths to plebeian knaves are empty breath,
Their breach not worth a penance. But if oaths
Broken could belch hell-flames, they should not let me
From what my will resolved.

Giord. O.
Well then, my lord,
I trust you'll join us. This seditious knave,
Like an ambitious pawn upon the chess-board,
Pushes himself to crowning. But to-morrow,
And, by his knighthood, he will rank with kings.

Sav.
And make Colonna's oaths less empty breath.

Stef. C.
Can the poor farce of his ennoblement
Make noble his base blood?

Giord O.
He gives it out
That he's an Emperor's bastard—smaller seeds
Have borne great flowers. Now, cut him timely off—

Stef. C.
Tush! let him flaunt his hour, and his own height
Will cut him timely off. Such demagogues
Are hungry wretches' dreams, and melt like dreams,
Abortions of the unquiet age. My lords,
I do not like your plot; nor, to be plain,
Care much to risk—I will not say, my soul
Upon its perjury, but my old neck
Upon its rashness.

Giord. O.
Then, farewell, my lord.
Heaven send your reverend wisdom a good nurse.

Stef. C.
Farewell, my lords! If you must play with fire,
Glove well your fingers.

[Exit.
Giord. O.
Curse his dotard's cunning!
Must we be his catspaw, while on our risk
He smiles aloof?

Sav.
You were too frank with him.
You should have blown his pride to steer his mind
Full sail upon our plans, flattered his tongue
To word our thoughts, lured him to lead the way
Where we would drive him. All must seem his motion,
Or he holds off. Your half-hatched plot offends
The nose of his grey craft and self-esteem.

Giord. O.
I am too much his peer to lackey him thus.
Let him go. We stand firm without him.

Sav.
Surely.

Frang.
We hold young Gianni hand and foot—his head
Must stand or fall with ours.

Sav.
And more, his father's,
Though they draw back, checked in the greybeard's leash.

Giord. O.
Then, for Rienzi—

Sav.
All's prepared.

Giord. O.
Your bravo
Is trusty?

Fran.
He's inflamed with private hate,
And our rich promises.

Giord. O.
Then he dies to-night,
Watching his arms within the Baptistery?

Sav.
If steel can do it.

[Exeunt.

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.