“And what, then, would the Lord Adrian have us do?” said Rienzi, with that peculiar and sarcastic smile which has before been noted.  “Shall we wait till the Colonna and Orsini quarrel no more? shall we ask the Colonna for liberty, and the Orsini for justice?  My Lord, we cannot appeal to the nobles against the nobles.  We must not ask them to moderate their power; we must restore to ourselves that power.  There may be danger in the attempt—­but we attempt it amongst the monuments of the Forum:  and if we fall—­we shall perish worthy of our sires!  Ye have high descent, and sounding titles, and wide lands, and you talk of your ancestral honours!  We, too,—­we plebeians of Rome,—­we have ours!  Our fathers were freemen! where is our heritage? not sold—­not given away:  but stolen from us, now by fraud, now by force—­filched from us in our sleep; or wrung from us with fierce hands, amidst our cries and struggles.  My Lord, we but ask that lawful heritage to be restored to us:  to us—­nay, to you it is the same; your liberty, alike, is gone.  Can you dwell in your father’s house, without towers, and fortresses, and the bought swords of bravos? can you walk in the streets at dark without arms and followers?  True, you, a noble, may retaliate; though we dare not.  You, in your turn, may terrify and outrage others; but does licence compensate for liberty?  They have given you pomp and power—­but the safety of equal laws were a better gift.  Oh, were I you—­were I Stephen Colonna himself, I should pant, ay, thirstily as I do now, for that free air which comes not through bars and bulwarks against my fellow-citizens, but in the open space of Heaven—­safe, because protected by the silent Providence of Law, and not by the lean fears and hollow-eyed suspicions which are the comrades of a hated power.  The tyrant thinks he is free, because he commands slaves:  the meanest peasant in a free state is more free than he is.  Oh, my Lord, that you—­the brave, the generous, the enlightened—­you, almost alone amidst your order, in the knowledge that we had a country—­oh, would that you who can sympathise with our sufferings, would strike with us for their redress!”

“Thou wilt war against Stephen Colonna, my kinsman; and though I have seen him but little, nor, truth to say, esteem him much, yet he is the boast of our house,—­how can I join thee?”

“His life will be safe, his possessions safe, his rank safe.  What do we war against?  His power to do wrong to others.”

“Should he discover that thou hast force beyond words, he would be less merciful to thee.”

“And has he not discovered that?  Do not the shouts of the people tell him that I am a man whom he should fear?  Does he—­the cautious, the wily, the profound—­does he build fortresses, and erect towers, and not see from his battlements the mighty fabric that I, too, have erected?”

“You! where, Rienzi?”

“In the hearts of Rome!  Does he not see?” continued Rienzi.  “No, no; he—­all, all his tribe, are blind.  Is it not so?”