uld be excusable enough if Rienzi--the eloquent
and gifted student, called from the closet and the rostrum to assume the
command of an army--should have been deficient in the art of war; yet,
somehow or other, upon the whole, his arms prospered. He defeated the
chivalry of Rome at her gates; and if he did not, after his victory,
march to Marino, for which his biographer (In this the anonymous writer
compares him gravely to Hannibal, who knew how to conquer, but not how
to use his conquest.) and Gibbon blame him, the reason is sufficiently
clear--"Volea pecunia per soldati"--he wanted money for the soldiers!
On his return as Senator, it must be remembered that he had to besiege
Palestrina, which was considered even by the ancient Romans almost
impregnable by position; but during the few weeks he was in power,
Palestrina yielded--all his open enemies were defeated--the tyrants
expelled--Rome free; and this without support from any party, Papal
or Popular, or, as Gibbon well expresses it, "suspected by the
People--abandoned by the Prince."

On regarding what Rienzi did, we must look to his means, to the
difficulties that surrounded him, to the scantiness of his resources. We
see a man without rank, wealth, or friends, raising himself to the head
of a popular government in the metropolis of the Church--in the City
of the Empire. We see him reject any title save that of a popular
magistrate--establish at one stroke a free constitution--a new code of
law. We see him first expel, then subdue, the fiercest aristocracy in
Europe--conquer the most stubborn banditti, rule impartially the most
turbulent people, embruted by the violence, and sunk in the corruption
of centuries. We see him restore trade--establish order--create
civilization as by a miracle--receive from crowned heads homage and
congratulation--outwit, conciliate, or awe, the wiliest priesthood of
the Papal Diplomacy--and raise his native city at once to sudden yet
acknowledged eminence over every other state, its superior in arts,
wealth, and civilization;--we ask what errors we are to weigh in the
opposite balance, and we find an unnecessary ostentation, a fanatical
extravagance, and a certain insolent sternness. But what are such
offences--what the splendour of a banquet, or the ceremony of
Knighthood, or a few arrogant words, compared with the vices of
almost every prince who was his contemporary? This is the way to judge
character: we must compare men with men, a