“And now,” said Rienzi, “let us be more than just; let us be generous.  Speak—­and boldly.  Do any of ye think that I have been over-hard, over-haughty with these stubborn spirits?—­I read your answer in your brows!—­I have!  Do any of ye think this error of mind may have stirred them to their dark revenge?  Do any of you deem that they partake, as we do, of human nature,—­that they are sensible to kindness, that they are softened by generosity,—­that they can be tamed and disarmed by such vengeance as is dictated to noble foes by Christian laws?”

“I think,” said Pandulfo, after a pause, “that it will not be in human nature, if the men you pardon, thus offending and thus convicted, again attempt your life!”

“Methinks,” said Rienzi, “we must do even more than pardon.  The first great Caesar, when he did not crush a foe, strove to convert him to a friend—­”

“And perished by the attempt,” said Baroncelli, abruptly.

Rienzi started and changed colour.

“If you would save these wretched prisoners, better not wait till the fury of the mob become ungovernable,” whispered Pandulfo.

The Tribune roused himself from his revery.

“Pandulfo,” said he, in the same tone, “my heart misgives me—­the brood of serpents are in my hand—­I do not strangle them—­they may sting me to death, in return for my mercy—­it is their instinct!  No matter:  it shall not be said that the Roman Tribune bought with so many lives his own safety:  nor shall it be written upon my grave-stone, ’Here lies the coward, who did not dare forgive.’  What, ho! there, officers, unclose the doors!  My masters, let us acquaint the prisoners with their sentence.”

With that, Rienzi seated himself on the chair of state, at the head of the table, and the sun, now risen, cast its rays over the blood-red walls, in which the Barons, marshalled in order into the chamber, thought to read their fate.

“My Lords,” said the Tribune, “ye have offended the laws of God and man; but God teaches man the quality of mercy.  Learn at last, that I bear a charmed life.  Nor is he whom, for high purposes, Heaven hath raised from the cottage to the popular throne, without invisible aid and spiritual protection.  If hereditary monarchs are deemed sacred, how much more one in whose power the divine hand hath writ its witness!  Yes, over him who lives but for his country, whose greatness is his country’s gift, whose life is his country’s liberty, watch the souls of the just, and the unsleeping eyes of the sworded seraphim!  Taught by your late failure and your present peril, bid your anger against me cease; respect the laws, revere the freedom of your city, and think that no state presents a nobler spectacle than men born as ye are—­a patrician and illustrious order—­using your power to protect your city, your wealth to nurture its arts, your chivalry to protect its laws!  Take back your swords—­and the first man who strikes against the liberties of Rome, let him be your victim; even though that victim be the Tribune.  Your cause has been tried—­your sentence is pronounced.  Renew your oath to forbear all hostility, private or public, against the government and the magistrates of Rome, and ye are pardoned—­ye are free!”