“The next day the Tribune, resolving more than ever to rid himself of his prisoners, ordered tapestries of two colours, red and white, to be laid over the place whereon he held his councils, and which he had made choice of to be the theatre of this bloody tragedy, as the extraordinary tapestry seemed to declare.  He afterwards sent a cordelier to every one of the prisoners to administer the sacraments, and then ordered the Capitol bell to be tolled.  At that fatal sound and the sight of the confessors, the Lords no longer doubted of sentence of death being passed upon them.  They all confessed except the old Colonna, and many received the communion.  In the meanwhile the people, naturally prompt to attend, when their first impetuosity had time to calm, could not without pity behold the dismal preparations which were making.  The sight of the bloody colour in the tapestry shocked them.  On this first impression they joined in opinion in relation to so many illustrious heads now going to be sacrificed, and lamented more their unhappy catastrophe, as no crime had been proved upon them to render them worthy of such barbarous treatment.  Above all, the unfortunate Stephen Colonna, whose birth, age, and affable behaviour, commanded respect, excited a particular compassion.  An universal silence and sorrow reigned among them.  Those who were nearest Rienzi discovered an alteration.  They took the opportunity of imploring his mercy towards the prisoners in terms the most affecting and moving.”

Will it be believed, that in the original from which the Pere Du Cerceau borrows or rather imagines this touching recital, there is not a single syllable about the pity of the people, nor their shock at the bloody colours of the tapestry, nor their particular compassion for the unfortunate Stephen Colonna?—­in fine, the People are not even mentioned at all.  All that is said is, “Some Roman citizens, (alcuni cittadini Romani,) considering the judgment Rienzi was about to make, interposed with soft and caressing words, and at last changed the opinion of the Tribune;” all the rest is the pure fiction of the ingenious Frenchman!  Again, Du Cerceau, describing the appearance of the Barons at this fatal moment, says, “Notwithstanding the grief and despair visible in their countenances, they shewed a noble indignation, generally attendant on innocence in the hour of death.”  What says the authority from which alone, except his own, the good Father could take his account?  Why, not a word about this noble indignation, or this parade of innocence!  The original says simply, that “the Barons were so frozen with terror that they were unable to speak,” (diventaso si gelati che non poteano favellare;) “that the greater part humbled themselves,” (e prese penitenza e comunione;) that when Rienzi addressed them “all the Barons (come dannati) stood in sadness.” (See “Vita di Cola di Rienzi”, lib. i. cap. 29.) Du Cerceau then proceeds to state, that “although he (Rienzi) was grieved at heart to behold his victims snatched from him, he endeavoured to make a merit of it in the eyes of the People.”  There is not a word of this in the original!