rdly brow, and
the hair grown grey before its time, in the service of that maddening
multitude. Pale and erect he stood--neither fear, nor anger, nor
menace--but deep grief and high resolve--upon his features! A momentary
shame--a momentary awe seized the crowd.

He pointed to the Gonfalon, wrought with the Republican motto and arms
of Rome, and thus he began:--

"I too am a Roman and a Citizen; hear me!"

"Hear him not! hear him not! his false tongue can charm away our
senses!" cried a voice louder than his own; and Rienzi recognised Cecco
del Vecchio.

"Hear him not! down with the tyrant!" cried a more shrill and youthful
tone; and by the side of the artisan stood Angelo Villani.

"Hear him not! death to the death-giver!" cried a voice close at hand,
and from the grating of the neighbouring prison glared near upon him, as
the eye of a tiger, the vengeful gaze of the brother of Montreal.

Then from Earth to Heaven rose the roar--"Down with the tyrant--down
with him who taxed the people!"

A shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Senator,--still he stirred
not. No changing muscle betokened fear. His persuasion of his own
wonderful powers of eloquence, if he could but be heard, inspired him
yet with hope; he stood collected in his own indignant, but determined
thoughts;--but the knowledge of that very eloquence was now his
deadliest foe. The leaders of the multitude trembled lest he should be
heard; "and doubtless," says the contemporaneous biographer, "had he but
spoken he would have changed them all, and the work been marred."

The soldiers of the Barons had already mixed themselves with the
throng--more deadly weapons than stones aided the wrath of the
multitude--darts and arrows darkened the air; and now a voice was heard
shrieking, "Way for the torches!" And red in the sunlight the torches
tossed and waved, and danced to and fro, above the heads of the crowd,
as if the fiends were let loose amongst the mob! And what place in
hell hath fiends like those a mad mob can furnish? Straw, and wood, and
litter, were piled hastily round the great doors of the Capitol, and the
smoke curled suddenly up, beating back the rush of the assailants.

Rienzi was no longer visible, an arrow had pierced his hand--the right
hand that supported the flag of Rome--the right hand that had given
a constitution to the Republic. He retired from the storm into the
desolate hall.

He sat down;--and tears, springing from no weak