he present, because I had that which can make me forget the present.
I had the power to re-people--to create: the legends and dreams of
old--the divine faculty of verse, in which the beautiful superfluities
of the heart can pour themselves--these were mine! Petrarch chose
wisely for himself! To address the world, but from without the world;
to persuade--to excite--to command,--for these are the aim and glory
of ambition;--but to shun its tumult, and its toil! His the quiet cell
which he fills with the shapes of beauty--the solitude, from which he
can banish the evil times whereon we are fallen, but in which he can
dream back the great hearts and the glorious epochs of the past.
For me--to what cares I am wedded! to what labours I am bound! what
instruments I must use! what disguises I must assume! to tricks and
artifice I must bow my pride! base are my enemies--uncertain my friends!
and verily, in this struggle with blinded and mean men, the soul itself
becomes warped and dwarfish. Patient and darkling, the Means creep
through caves and the soiling mire, to gain at last the light which is
the End."

In these reflections there was a truth, the whole gloom and sadness of
which the Roman had not yet experienced. However august be the object
we propose to ourselves, every less worthy path we take to insure it
distorts the mental sight of our ambition; and the means, by degrees,
abase the end to their own standard. This is the true misfortune of a
man nobler than his age--that the instruments he must use soil himself:
half he reforms his times; but half, too, the times will corrupt the
reformer. His own craft undermines his safety;--the people, whom he
himself accustoms to a false excitement, perpetually crave it; and when
their ruler ceases to seduce their fancy, he falls their victim. The
reform he makes by these means is hollow and momentary--it is swept away
with himself: it was but the trick--the show--the wasted genius of a
conjuror: the curtain falls--the magic is over--the cup and balls are
kicked aside. Better one slow step in enlightenment,--which being made
by the reason of a whole people, cannot recede,--than these sudden
flashes in the depth of the general night, which the darkness, by
contrast doubly dark, swallows up everlastingly again!

As, slowly and musingly, Rienzi turned to quit the church, he felt a
light touch upon his shoulder.

"Fair evening to you, Sir Scholar," said a frank voice.

"To you, I r