th of
the path; thus the deep convictions of his own mind stamped themselves
irresistibly upon others. He seemed less to promise than to prophesy.

The Bishop of Orvietto, not over wise, yet a man of cool temperament
and much worldly experience, was forcibly impressed by the energy of his
companion; perhaps, indeed, the more so, inasmuch as his own pride and
his own passions were also enlisted against the arrogance and licence of
the nobles. He paused ere he replied to Rienzi.

"But is it," he asked, at length, "only the plebeians who will rise?
Thou knowest how they are caitiff and uncertain."

"My Lord," answered Rienzi, "judge, by one fact, how strongly I am
surrounded by friends of no common class: thou knowest how loudly
I speak against the nobles--I cite them by their name--I beard the
Savelli, the Orsini, the Colonna, in their very hearing. Thinkest thou
that they forgive me? thinkest thou that, were only the plebeians my
safeguard and my favourers, they would not seize me by open force,--that
I had not long ere this found a gag in their dungeons, or been swallowed
up in the eternal dumbness of the grave? Observe," continued he, as,
reading the Vicar's countenance, he perceived the impression he had
made--"observe, that, throughout the whole world, a great revolution has
begun. The barbaric darkness of centuries has been broken; the Knowledge
which made men as demigods in the past time has been called from her
urn; a Power, subtler than brute force, and mightier than armed men, is
at work; we have begun once more to do homage to the Royalty of Mind.
Yes, that same Power which, a few years ago, crowned Petrarch in the
Capitol, when it witnessed, after the silence of twelve centuries, the
glories of a Triumph,--which heaped upon a man of obscure birth, and
unknown in arms, the same honours given of old to emperors and the
vanquishers of kings,--which united in one act of homage even the rival
houses of Colonna and Orsini,--which made the haughtiest patricians
emulous to bear the train, to touch but the purple robe, of the son of
the Florentine plebeian,--which still draws the eyes of Europe to
the lowly cottage of Vaucluse,--which gives to the humble student the
all-acknowledged licence to admonish tyrants, and approach, with haughty
prayers, even the Father of the Church;--yes, that same Power, which,
working silently throughout Italy, murmurs under the solid base of
the Venetian oligarchy; (It was about eight y