pher, and I wot well could explain a much knottier
riddle, which we will presently submit to his acumen."

The Barons, who had been much embarrassed by the bold speech of the
old Colonna, all turned their eyes to Savelli, who answered with more
composure than was anticipated.

"The question admits a double reply. He who is born a ruler, and
maintains a foreign army, governing by fear, should be penurious. He who
is made ruler, who courts the people, and would reign by love, must win
their affection by generosity, and dazzle their fancies by pomp. Such, I
believe, is the usual maxim in Italy, which is rife in all experience of
state wisdom."

The Barons unanimously applauded the discreet reply of Savelli,
excepting only the old Colonna.

"Yet pardon me, Tribune," said Stephen, "if I depart from the
courtier-like decision of our friend, and opine, though with all due
respect, that even a friar's coarse serge, ('Vestimenta da Bizoco,'
was the phrase used by Colonna; a phrase borrowed from certain heretics
(bizocchi) who affected extreme austerity; afterwards the word passed
into a proverb.--See the comments of Zerfirino Re, in 'Vita di Cola di
Rienzi'.) the parade of humility, would better become thee, than this
gaudy pomp, the parade of pride!" So saying, he touched the large loose
sleeve fringed with gold, of the Tribune's purple robe.

"Hush, father!" said Gianni, Colonna's son, colouring at the unprovoked
rudeness and dangerous candour of the veteran.

"Nay, it matters not," said the Tribune, with affected indifference,
though his lip quivered, and his eye shot fire; and then, after a pause,
he resumed with an awful smile--"If the Colonna love the serge of the
friar, he may see enough of it ere we part. And now, my Lord Savelli,
for my question, which I pray you listen to; it demands all your wit.
Is it best for a State's Ruler to be over-forgiving, or over-just? Take
breath to answer: you look faint--you grow pale--you tremble--you cover
your face! Traitor and assassin, your conscience betrays you! My Lords,
relieve your accomplice, and take up the answer."

"Nay, if we are discovered," said the Orsini, rising in despair, "we
will not fall unavenged--die, tyrant!"

He rushed to the place where Rienzi stood--for the Tribune also
rose,--and made a thrust at his breast with his dagger; the steel
pierced the purple robe, yet glanced harmlessly away--and the Tribune
regarded the disappointed murtherer with a scorn