As he turned slowly to quit the spot, his steps were suddenly arrested by a loud shout:  “Rienzi!  Rienzi!” smote the air.  From the walls of the Capitol to the bed of the glittering Tiber, that name echoed far and wide; and, as the shout died away, it was swallowed up in a silence so profound, so universal, so breathless, that you might have imagined that death itself had fallen over the city.  And now, at the extreme end of the crowd, and elevated above their level, on vast fragments of stone which had been dragged from the ruins of Rome in one of the late frequent tumults between contending factions, to serve as a barricade for citizens against citizens,—­on these silent memorials of the past grandeur, the present misery, of Rome, stood that extraordinary man, who, above all his race, was the most penetrated with the glories of the one time, with the degradation of the other.

From the distance at which he stood from the scene, Adrian could only distinguish the dark outline of Rienzi’s form; he could only hear the faint sound of his mighty voice; he could only perceive, in the subdued yet waving sea of human beings that spread around, their heads bared in the last rays of the sun, the unutterable effect which an eloquence, described by contemporaries almost as miraculous,—­but in reality less so from the genius of the man than the sympathy of the audience,—­created in all, who drank into their hearts and souls the stream of its burning thoughts.

It was but for a short time that that form was visible to the earnest eye, that that voice at intervals reached the straining ear, of Adrian di Castello; but that time sufficed to produce all the effect which Adrian himself had desired.

Another shout, more earnest, more prolonged than the first—­a shout, in which spoke the release of swelling thoughts, of intense excitement—­betokened the close of the harangue; and then you might see, after a minute’s pause, the crowd breaking in all directions, and pouring down the avenues in various knots and groups, each testifying the strong and lasting impression made upon the multitude by that address.  Every cheek was flushed—­every tongue spoke:  the animation of the orator had passed, like a living spirit, into the breasts of the audience.  He had thundered against the disorders of the patricians, yet, by a word, he had disarmed the anger of the plebeians—­he had preached freedom, yet he had opposed licence.  He had calmed the present, by a promise of the future.  He had chid their quarrels, yet had supported their cause.  He had mastered the revenge of today, by a solemn assurance that there should come justice for the morrow.  So great may be the power, so mighty the eloquence, so formidable the genius, of one man,—­without arms, without rank, without sword or ermine, who addresses himself to a people that is oppressed!

Chapter 1.IV.  An Adventure.

Avoiding the broken streams of the dispersed crowd, Adrian Colonna strode rapidly down one of the narrow streets leading to his palace, which was situated at no inconsiderable distance from the place in which the late contest had occurred.  The education of his life made him feel a profound interest, not only in the divisions and disputes of his country, but also in the scene he had just witnessed, and the authority exercised by Rienzi.