The Works of Mary Russell Mitford

At last I find thee, father!
Rie.

What wouldst thou?

Cla. Departed? Rie.

Cla.

Yes.

Alb.

Father!

Well, my child!

He leads

Cam. Alas! sweet lady.
Cla.

Go not forth, dear fatherThey lie-be sure they lie-yet go not forth!

Nay, I know not. Be the guests Stay here with me! Avoid him-stay with me!

All gone; and wherefore went ye To the Lateran, dear father? And where loiters

Rie. Aspic!

Leave me not here alone!

Armed or unarmed, as friend or foe, I'll fly
To meet Lord Angelo. I am his wife-
Cla. Methought a bridal should be merrier- His own true wife.
Not merrier, but happier. Angelo!
Rie. Oh, foulest ingrate! when I wed thy mother-And watch that she escape not.
Oh, fiend accursed!

Cla.

Nay, nay-perchance he's gone
To crave his mother's blessing. Is 't not strange
That I should love so well who loves not me?
But I have felt a yearning of the heart
Toward that majestic lady, which hath reached
Almost to painfulness. If I should kneel
Before her and implore her grace-

Rie.
Thou'dst find
Such welcome as the mountain cat might yield
To the dappled fawn; such greeting as the wolf
To the curled lamb.

Cla.
Oh! she would love me, father,
Even for the prideful love of Angelo,
That woke her hatred first. A mother joys
To tell fond legends of her children; who,
Like me, would listen, with unwearied ear,
To tales of Angelo, and call for more;
And when her store was ended, cry again;
And every day, and all day long, be fed

With praise of that dear name? Why dost thou
groan?

Rie. A scorpion stung me.
Cla.

Before it sting again.

Rie.

Kill it, father-kill it,

Alas, alas!

SCENE I.

An apartment in the Capitol.

[Exeunt.

Rienzi, seated at a table, Camillo and Alberti, dis covered in the front.

Alh. My Lord, Rienzi.

silent.

(Rienzi motions them to be

Cam. See, he waves thee off.

Trouble him not, Alberti-he is chased,
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,

If thine old friend, great Tribune-
Rie.
The difficult duty of supreme command
Rests on my head. Obedience is thy light
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!

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 a 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-'t is 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 re-
venge,
Or smiling death!

Rie.

Ang.

Madman!

Wouldst have me liveThou who hast levelled to the earth the pride

Of my old, princely race? My kinsmen lie

[Exeunt Alberti and Camillo. Scattered and fallen in the highway; and he,

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 crouched i' the dust
At sound of their old masters' 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 they 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.

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.
I spared him once;
Spared 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.
Thy virgin bride!

And Claudia

Alas! alas, for thee,

Ang. Sweet wife! Yet thou art pure as the white clouds That sail around the moon; thy home is heavenThere we shall meet again; here we are parted For ever.

Rie.

Ang.

Rie.

Wherefore?

She is thy daughter.

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.

Rie.

All, my lord?

With all. (Throwing himself into a chair. Ang. For this I thank thee. Bear one fond fare

well

To Claudia. Tell her, that my latest prayer

Shall blend her name with mine. For thee, Rienzi, Rest on my bosom; let thy beating heart
Tremble! a tyrant's rule is brief.
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

[Exeunt Alberti, Angelo, &c.
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.) Father! Father!
Rie.

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

Guard the door! [Looking out. To her vile cubs; the little wren hath care

That, ere they had learnt speech, would smile, and That dwells in the viewless wind, and walks the seek

waves

Oh, father, every stroke thrills through my veins,
Swaying the inmost pulses of my heart
[Kneels. As swings the deep vibration. "Tis the knell-
My child,

And he shall kneel, shall kiss thy feet; wilt pardon?
Rie. Mine own dear Claudia.
Cla.

Rie.

Have I not said that he shall live?

Then stop

Cla.
That bell. The dismal note beats on me, father,
As from a thousand echoes; mixed with groans,
Raise thee up; And shrieks, and moanings in the air. Dost hear them?

Pardon !

Lady C.

It is her husband, Claudia;

My husband died in honoured fight; for him I weep not.

Rie.

Enter Camillo.

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,

[Exit.

Murderer, 't is my son,
(Claudia sinks at her father's feet. Thou shalt give blood for blood.
Rie.
She lives! Aid, aid!
Her pulses beat again. Go, call her maids;
Speed thee, Camillo!
The unspoken curses of her eye? how bear

Angelo is pardoned, Claudia.

Lady C. He is dead. I saw the axe, fearfully

bright,

She is not dead. Lady C.

Claudia! she moves!

Dead! Why, the dead are blessed, 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 AngeloA 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.

[Exit Camillo.

How shall I endure

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, with Ladies and Attendants, who re-
cover and bear off Claudia, from her father.
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!

[Erit Camillo. 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!

That speediest answers to the daring call

Help, there! help, Camillo! Of his mad worshippers. So be it.

All earthly passion, pride, and pomp,
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 is his whose mad ambition thinned the ranks
Of the Seraphim, and peopled hell. These slaves!
Base 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.
Rie.

Singly?

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 you slaves
Were Romans, such as ruled the world, and I
Their Tribune. Vain and idle dream! Take back

Singly, sir. [Exeunt Alberti and Rienzi. The symbol and the power. What seek ye more?

PREFACE.

Or the Tragedy, considered as a literary production, I shall say little: that is before the reader, and must speak for itself. No one can be more conscious than I am of its numerous defects, and still more numerous deficiencies; but great as those faults may be, they are not the result of negligence or carelessness. It would be the worst of all pedantries, female pedantry, were I to enumerate the very many contemporary writers, the Histories, Memoirs, Narratives, and State Papers, the Roundhead Sermons and Cavalier Ballads from which I have endeavoured to

gather not merely an accurate outline of this great event, but those minute and apparently trifling touches which might serve to realize the scene, and supply, by a vivid impression of the people and the time, the usual sources of dramatic attraction, the interest of story and suspense, from which I was cut off by the nature of my subject.

Many of these allusions, those for instance to the papers concealed in the stuffing of the saddle,- to the sowing of the melon-seeds,-to Charles's constant perusal of Shakspeare whilst in prison, so prettily recorded by Milton, and to the falling of the head of the king's staff in the trial scene,—are mentioned by

Böcker

The Works of Mary Russell Mitford: Prose and Verse ...