ful smile.

"Till yesternight, I never dreamt that under the robe of state I should
need the secret corselet," said he. "My Lords, you have taught me a dark
lesson, and I thank ye."

So saying, he clapped his hands, and suddenly the folding doors at the
end of the hall flew open, and discovered the saloon of the Council
hung with silk of a blood-red, relieved by rays of white,--the emblem of
crime and death. At a long table sate the councillors in their robes; at
the bar stood a ruffian form, which the banqueters too well recognised.

"Bid Rodolf of Saxony approach!" said the Tribune.

And led by two guards, the robber entered the hall.

"Wretch, you then betrayed us!" said one of the Frangipani.

"Rodolph of Saxony goes ever to the highest bidder," returned the
miscreant, with a horrid grin. "You gave me gold, and I would have slain
your foe; your foe defeated me; he gives me life, and life is a greater
boon than gold!"

"Ye confess your crime, my Lords! Silent! dumb! Where is your wit,
Savelli? Where your pride, Rinaldo di Orsini? Gianni Colonna, is your
chivalry come to this?"

"Oh!" continued Rienzi, with deep and passionate bitterness; "oh, my
Lords, will nothing conciliate you--not to me, but to Rome? What hath
been my sin against you and yours? Disbanded ruffians (such as your
accuser)--dismantled fortresses--impartial law--what man, in all the
wild revolutions of Italy, sprung from the people, ever yielded less to
their licence? Not a coin of your coffers touched by wanton power,--not
a hair of your heads harmed by private revenge. You, Gianni Colonna,
loaded with honours, intrusted with command--you, Alphonso di
Frangipani, endowed with new principalities,--did the Tribune remember
one insult he received from you as the Plebeian? You accuse
my pride;--was it my fault that ye cringed and fawned upon my
power,--flattery on your lips, poison at your hearts? No, I have not
offended you; let the world know, that in me you aimed at liberty,
justice, law, order, the restored grandeur, the renovated rights of
Rome! At these, the Abstract and the Immortal--not at this frail form,
ye struck;--by the divinity of these ye are defeated;--for the outraged
majesty of these,--criminals and victims,--ye must die!"

With these words, uttered with the tone and air that would have become
the loftiest spirit of the ancient city, Rienzi, with a majestic step,
swept from the chamber into the Hall of Council. (The guilt of t