338 MODERN BRITISH DRAMA. Rie. SON, Rienzi and Angelo. Methinks this high solemnity might well Live on their tongues; take root within their hearts; And force man's tardier praise by bold desert: May hail his successor. If with thy bride But thou, where wast thou? Ang. I have not seen her.-Tribune, Thou wavest away the word with such a scorn Dost weary of the title? Rie. Wherefore should I? Ang. And wouldst be A king. Rie. There thou mistakest.-A king! fair son! Power dwelleth not in sound, and fame hath garlands Brighter than diadems. I might have been Anointed, sceptred, crown'd, 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 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, Rie. Well! Ang. Alas! When now thou fall'st, as fall thou must, 'twill be Princes cast down, that thy obscurer house Rie. Hast thou ended? I fain would have mistaken thee-Hast done? Ang. No; for, despite thy smother'd 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 Perch'd 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 Of him who kept a sordid hostelry In the Jews' quarter; my good mother cleansed Rie. Add, that my boasted schoolcraft Was gain'd from such base toil, gain'd with such pain, That the nice nurture of the mind was oft Stolen at the body's cost. I have gone dinnerless I've known the pittance of the hospital, The roots delve deepest. Yes, I've trod thy halls, What am I?-Peace, I say!-what am I now? Ang. In an evil hour Rie. Darest 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, Than thy ambition-harden'd heart e'er dream'd of, Rie. Go to, Lord Angelo; Thou lovest her not.-Men taunt not, nor defy The bosom's idol.-I have loved-she loves thee; - Lay not thy hand upon thy sword, fair son— Keep that brave for thy comrades. I'll not fight thee. Ang. Come back, Rienzi! Thus I throw Rie. Once more, Beware! Ang. Take up the glove! [Going. [Throws down his 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, Ang. Now, Ursini, I come— Fit partner of thy vengeance! [Exit, Miss Mitford. Bertram and Prior, and Guards. Prior. WHO art thou? Ber. I am the murderer-Wherefore are ye come?- Sublime in guilt? Ber. Marvel not at me-Wist ye whence I come? The tomb-where dwell the dead-and I dwelt with himTill sense of life dissolved away within me [Looking round ghastlily. I am amazed to see ye living men. I deem'd, that, when I struck the final blow, Prior. Advance, and bind him; are ye men and arm'd? What! must this palsied hand be first on him? Advance, and seize him, ere his voice of blasphemy Shall pile the roof in ruins o'er our heads— Ber. Advance, and seize me, ye who smile at bloodFor every drop of mine a life shall pay I'm naked, famish'd, faint, my brand is broken- [Guards sink back. Now prove what fell resistance I shall make. [Throws down the hilt of his dagger. There-bind mine arms-if ye do list to bind themI came to yield--but not to be subdued Prior. O thou, who o'er thy stormy grandeur flingest A struggling beam, that dazzles, awes, and vanishes→→→ Thou, who dost blend our wonder with our curses— Ber. He wrong'd me, and I slew him To man, but thee, I ne'er had said even this- One prayer, my executioners, not conquerors: Let rack and pincer do their full work on me— [As Guards are leading him off, the Prior lays hold of him. Prior. Yet bend thy steeled sinews, bend and prayThe corse of him thou'st murder'd, lies within [A long pause. Ber. I have offended Heaven, but will not mock itGive me your racks and pincers; spare me words. Prior. Brief rest is here allow'd thee-murderer, pause— How fearful was our footing on those cliffs, Where time had worn those steep and rocky steps!— But thou for pride wast dumb Ber. I heard thee not Prior. Look round thee, murderer, drear thy restingplace This is thy latest stage-survey it well Lo, as I wave my dimmed torch aloft, Yon precipice crag seems as if every tread (Yea, echo'd impulse of the passing foot) Would loose its weight to topple o'er our heads- Those deepening gulfs, have they no horrible tenant? Dare thine eye scan that spectred vacancy? Ber. I do not mark the things thou tell'st me of.— Prior. Wretch, if thy fear no spectred inmate shapesBer. [Starting from his trance] Cease, trifler, would you have me feel remorse? Leave me alone-nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon, In cruelty of mercy will I leave thee [Prior retires. Ber. If thou wouldst go in truth-but what avails it? |