“Even I,” rejoined Raimond, colouring as he spoke, “though Vicar of the Pope, and representative of his spiritual authority, was, but three days ago, subjected to a coarse affront from that very Stephen Colonna, who has ever received such favour and tenderness from the Holy See.  His servitors jostled mine in the open streets, and I myself,—­I, the delegate of the sire of kings—­was forced to draw aside to the wall, and wait until the hoary insolent swept by.  Nor were blaspheming words wanting to complete the insult.  ‘Pardon, Lord Bishop,’ said he, as he passed me; ’but this world, thou knowest, must necessarily take precedence of the other.’”

“Dared he so high?” said Rienzi, shading his face with his hand, as a very peculiar smile—­scarcely itself joyous, though it made others gay, and which completely changed the character of his face, naturally grave even to sternness—­played round his lips.  “Then it is time for thee, holy father, as for us, to—­”

“To what?” interrupted the Bishop, quickly.  “Can we effect aught!  Dismiss thy enthusiastic dreamings—­descend to the real earth—­look soberly round us.  Against men so powerful, what can we do?”

“My Lord,” answered Rienzi, gravely, “it is the misfortune of signors of your rank never to know the people, or the accurate signs of the time.  As those who pass over the heights of mountains see the clouds sweep below, veiling the plains and valleys from their gaze, while they, only a little above the level, survey the movements and the homes of men; even so from your lofty eminence ye behold but the indistinct and sullen vapours—­while from my humbler station I see the preparations of the shepherds, to shelter themselves and herds from the storm which those clouds betoken.  Despair not, my Lord; endurance goes but to a certain limit—­to that limit it is already stretched; Rome waits but the occasion (it will soon come, but not suddenly) to rise simultaneously against her oppressors.”

The great secret of eloquence is to be in earnest—­the great secret of Rienzi’s eloquence was in the mightiness of his enthusiasm.  He never spoke as one who doubted of success.  Perhaps, like most men who undertake high and great actions, he himself was never thoroughly aware of the obstacles in his way.  He saw the end, bright and clear, and overleaped, in the vision of his soul, the crosses and the length of the path; thus the deep convictions of his own mind stamped themselves irresistibly upon others.  He seemed less to promise than to prophesy.

The Bishop of Orvietto, not over wise, yet a man of cool temperament and much worldly experience, was forcibly impressed by the energy of his companion; perhaps, indeed, the more so, inasmuch as his own pride and his own passions were also enlisted against the arrogance and licence of the nobles.  He paused ere he replied to Rienzi.

“But is it,” he asked, at length, “only the plebeians who will rise?  Thou knowest how they are caitiff and uncertain.”