eur of the New Rome; and on the corner-stone
of the mighty fabric posterity shall read my name."

Uttering these lofty boasts, the whole person of the speaker seemed
instinct with his ambition. He strode the gloomy chamber with light and
rapid steps, as if on air; his breast heaved, his eyes glowed. He felt
that love itself can scarcely bestow a rapture equal to that which is
felt, in his first virgin enthusiasm, by a patriot who knows himself
sincere!

There was a slight knock at the door, and a servitor, in the rich
liveries worn by the pope's officials, (Not the present hideous
habiliments, which are said to have been the invention of Michael
Angelo.) presented himself.

"Signor," said he, "my Lord, the Bishop of Orvietto, is without."

"Ha! that is fortunate. Lights there!--My Lord, this is an honour which
I can estimate better than express."

"Tut, tut! my good friend," said the Bishop, entering, and seating
himself familiarly, "no ceremonies between the servants of the Church;
and never, I ween well, had she greater need of true friends than now.
These unholy tumults, these licentious contentions, in the very shrines
and city of St. Peter, are sufficient to scandalize all Christendom."

"And so will it be," said Rienzi, "until his Holiness himself shall
be graciously persuaded to fix his residence in the seat of his
predecessors, and curb with a strong arm the excesses of the nobles."

"Alas, man!" said the Bishop, "thou knowest that these words are but as
wind; for were the Pope to fulfil thy wishes, and remove from Avignon to
Rome, by the blood of St. Peter! he would not curb the nobles, but
the nobles would curb him. Thou knowest well that until his blessed
predecessor, of pious memory, conceived the wise design of escaping
to Avignon, the Father of the Christian world was but like many other
fathers in their old age, controlled and guarded by his rebellious
children. Recollectest thou not how the noble Boniface himself, a man of
great heart, and nerves of iron, was kept in thraldom by the ancestors
of the Orsini--his entrances and exits made but at their will--so that,
like a caged eagle, he beat himself against his bars and died? Verily,
thou talkest of the memories of Rome--these are not the memories that
are very attractive to popes."

"Well," said Rienzi, laughing gently, and drawing his seat nearer to the
Bishop's, "my Lord has certainly the best of the argument at present;
and I must own, that s