Rienzi continued.—­“Yes, it is the people who intrusted this power—­to the people, therefore, it belongs!  Did the haughty Emperor arrogate the crown?  Could he assume the authority of himself?  Was it born with him?  Did he derive it, my Lord Barons, from the possession of towered castles—­of lofty lineage?  No! all-powerful as he was, he had no right to one atom of that power, save from the voice and trust of the Roman people.  Such, O my countrymen! such was even that day, when Liberty was but the shadow of her former self,—­such was the acknowledged prerogative of your fathers!  All power was the gift of the people.  What have ye to give now?  Who, who, I say,—­what single person, what petty chief, asks you for the authority he assumes?  His senate is his sword; his chart of license is written, not with ink, but blood.  The people!—­there is no people!  Oh! would to God that we might disentomb the spirit of the Past as easily as her records!”

“If I were your kinsman,” whispered Montreal to Adrian, “I would give this man short breathing-time between his peroration and confession.”

“What is your Emperor?” continued Rienzi; “a stranger!  What the great head of your Church?—­an exile!  Ye are without your lawful chiefs; and why?  Because ye are not without your law-defying tyrants!  The licence of your nobles, their discords, their dissensions, have driven our Holy Father from the heritage of St. Peter;—­they have bathed your streets in your own blood; they have wasted the wealth of your labours on private quarrels and the maintenance of hireling ruffians!  Your forces are exhausted against yourselves.  You have made a mockery of your country, once the mistress of the world.  You have steeped her lips in gall—­ye have set a crown of thorns upon her head!  What, my Lords!” cried he, turning sharply round towards the Savelli and Orsini, who, endeavouring to shake off the thrill which the fiery eloquence of Rienzi had stricken to their hearts, now, by contemptuous gestures and scornful smiles, testified the displeasure they did not dare loudly to utter in the presence of the Vicar and the people.—­“What! even while I speak—­not the sanctity of this place restrains you!  I am an humble man—­a citizen of Rome;—­but I have this distinction:  I have raised against myself many foes and scoffers for that which I have done for Rome.  I am hated, because I love my country; I am despised, because I would exalt her.  I retaliate—­I shall be avenged.  Three traitors in your own palaces shall betray you:  their names are—­Luxury, Envy, and Dissension!”

“There he had them on the hip!”

“Ha, ha! by the Holy Cross, that was good!”

“I would go to the hangman for such another keen stroke as that!”

“It is a shame if we are cowards, when one man is thus brave,” said the smith.

“This is the man we have always wanted!”

“Silence!” proclaimed the officer.

“O Romans!” resumed Rienzi, passionately—­“awake!  I conjure you!  Let this memorial of your former power—­your ancient liberties—­sink deep into your souls.  In a propitious hour, if ye seize it,—­in an evil one, if ye suffer the golden opportunity to escape,—­has this record of the past been unfolded to your eyes.  Recollect that the Jubilee approaches.”