The curtain rises on a street in Rome; it is night, and in the foreground Rienzi’s house can be discerned.  Orsini and his companions run up a ladder to a window, enter, and come out carrying Irene, Rienzi’s sister.  She screams for help quite in the Donna Anna manner; Colonna and his companions come in and fall to blows—­why, is not too clear—­with Orsini and his men.  Adriano, Colonna’s son, rescues Irene.  Crowds of the common people rush in, wildly asking one another what the row is about; Raimondo, the pope’s legate, comes on, and in the name of holy mother church begs for peace; Rienzi, waked by this time, sees what has occurred, and in a speech—­uttered mainly in the driest of dry recitative—­taunts the patricians with their bad conduct and their reckless readiness to break all the vows they have made.  The nobles announce their intention of going elsewhere to fight out their quarrel to the bitter end, and they go.  Rienzi beseeches the crowd to wait their time, and he will lead them to destroy their oppressors.  They quietly disperse; Rienzi, Adriano and Irene have a scene; Rienzi recognises in his sister’s rescuer the son of his brother’s murderer, Adriano, and the latter, who has fallen in love with Irene, promises to take Rienzi’s part, and the three sing a trio as cold, undramatic and commonplace as anything in Donizetti.  There are two passages in it which possess life:  a variant of a theme from Euryanthe, and a theme distinctly suggestive of the Wagner of Tristan.  Then Rienzi goes off, ostensibly to prepare for battle, but in reality to leave the scene clear for Adriano and Irene to sing a rather maudlin love-duet.  A trumpet-call is heard; people rush in from all sides; Rienzi addresses them; and after choruses, partly double-choruses, all go off to fight the patricians.  There is plenty of bustle; there is tremendous vigour; and the scene affords chances for the stage manager to manipulate big crowds effectively.  But we must remember that the thing had been quite as well done by Auber in Masaniello:  even the energy is not the true Wagnerian energy divine:  it does not show itself through the stuff of the music, but in the common rumty-tumpty rhythms of the day, often offensively vulgar, and in the noisy instrumentation.  Any one can write for a big chorus and orchestra, with plenty of trumpets and drums:  to fill the music itself with energy is a task that Wagner could not cope with as yet.

So far the characters have been consistent.  In the second act they all show signs of weakness.  Messengers of peace enter:  Rienzi has conquered and freed the people from an unbearable yoke; he is congratulated by the messengers who have wandered through the country—­a pilgrimage that in the fourteenth century might well have occupied them for years—­and everywhere peace prevails.  The music here has a certain charm and freshness, but no more can be said for it.  Wagner wanted a contrast to the imposing