d, Adrian, stealing softly behind the Tribune,
bids him be on the watch as treachery is lurking near. He has
scarcely ended his warning and slipped away ere the conspirators
suddenly surround the Tribune, and there, in the presence of
the assembled people, they simultaneously draw their daggers,
and strike him repeatedly. This dastardly attempt at murder
utterly fails, however, as the Tribune wears a corselet of mail
beneath the robes of state, and his guards quickly disarm and
secure the conspirators while the people loudly clamour for
their execution by the axe, a burly blacksmith, Cecco, acting
as their principal spokesman.

Rienzi, who is principally incensed by their attack upon Roman
liberties, and by their utter lack of faith, is about to yield to
their demand, when Irene and Adrian suddenly fall at his feet,
imploring the pardon of the condemned, and entreating him to
show mercy rather than justice. Once more Rienzi addresses the
people, but it requires all his persuasive eloquence to induce
them, at last, to forgive the barons' attempt. Then the culprits
are summoned into the Tribune's august presence, where, instead
of being executed as they fully expect, they are pardoned and
set free, after they have once more solemnly pledged themselves
to respect the new government and its chosen representatives.
This promise is wrung from them by the force of circumstances;
they have no intention of keeping it, and they are no sooner
released than they utter dark threats of revenge, which fill
the people's hearts with ominous fear, and make them regret
the clemency they have just shown.

The next act is played on one of the public squares of Rome,
where the people are tumultuously assembled to discuss the secret
flight of the barons. They have fled from the city during the
night, and, in spite of their recently renewed oaths, are even
now preparing to re-enter the city with fire and sword, and to
resume their former supremacy. In frantic terror, the people
call upon Rienzi to deliver them, declaring that, had he only
been firm and executed the nobles, Rome would now have no need
to fear their wrath. Adrian, coming upon the spot as they march
off toward the Capitol, anxiously deliberates what course he
shall pursue, and bitterly reviles fate, which forces him either
to bear arms against his own father and kin, or to turn traitor
and slay the Tribune, the brother of his fair beloved. While he
thus soliloquises in his d