) at their
head, entered the city, seized upon the fortresses of the Colonna, and
sent a herald through the city, proclaiming in the name of the Cardinal
Legate, the reward of ten thousand florins for the head of Cola di
Rienzi.

Then, swelled on high, shrill but not inspiring as of old, the great
bell of the Capitol--the people, listless, disheartened, awed by the
spiritual fear of the papal authority, (yet greater, in such events,
since the removal of the see,) came unarmed to the Capitol; and there,
by the Place of the Lion, stood the Tribune. His squires, below the
step, held his war-horse, his helm, and the same battle-axe which had
blazed in the van of victorious war.

Beside him were a few of his guard, his attendants, and two or three of
the principal citizens.

He stood bareheaded and erect, gazing upon the abashed and unarmed crowd
with a look of bitter scorn, mingled with deep compassion; and, as the
bell ceased its toll, and the throng remained hushed and listening, he
thus spoke:--

"Ye come, then, once again! Come ye as slaves or freemen? A handful
of armed men are in your walls: will ye who chased from your gates the
haughtiest knights--the most practised battle-men of Rome, succumb now
to one hundred and fifty hirelings and strangers? Will ye arm for
your Tribune? You are silent!--be it so. Will you arm for your own
liberties--your own Rome? Silent still! By the saints that reign on the
thrones of the heathen gods! are ye thus fallen from your birthright?
Have you no arms for your own defence? Romans, hear me! Have I wronged
you?--if so, by your hands let me die: and then, with knives yet reeking
with my blood, go forward against the robber who is but the herald of
your slavery; and I die honoured, grateful, and avenged. You weep! Great
God! you weep! Ay, and I could weep, too--that I should live to speak
of liberty in vain to Romans--Weep! is this an hour for tears? Weep
now, and your tears shall ripen harvests of crime, and licence, and
despotism, to come! Romans, arm! follow me at once to the Place of the
Colonna: expel this ruffian--expel your enemy (no matter what afterwards
you do to me):" he paused; no ardour was kindled by his words--"or," he
continued, "I abandon you to your fate." There was a long, low, general
murmur; at length it became shaped into speech, and many voices cried
simultaneously: "The Pope's bull!--Thou art a man accursed!"

"What!" cried the Tribune; "and is it ye who for