“Although, Barons and Citizens of Rome, my well-beloved flock, and children,—­I, no more than yourselves, anticipated the exact nature of the address ye have just heard,—­and, albeit, I cannot feel unalloyed contentment at the manner, nor, I may say, at the whole matter of that fervent exhortation—­yet (laying great emphasis on the last word), I cannot suffer you to depart without adding to the prayers of our Holy Father’s servant, those, also, of his Holiness’s spiritual representative.  It is true! the Jubilee approaches!  The Jubilee approaches—­and yet our roads, even to the gates of Rome, are infested with murderous and godless ruffians!  What pilgrim can venture across the Apennines to worship at the altars of St. Peter?  The Jubilee approaches:  what scandal shall it be to Rome if these shrines be without pilgrims—­if the timid recoil from, if the bold fall victims to, the dangers of the way!  Wherefore, I pray you all, citizens and chiefs alike,—­I pray you all to lay aside those unhappy dissensions which have so long consumed the strength of our sacred city; and, uniting with each other in the ties of amity and brotherhood, to form a blessed league against the marauders of the road.  I see amongst you, my Lords, many of the boasts and pillars of the state; but, alas!  I think with grief and dismay on the causeless and idle hatred that has grown up between you!—­a scandal to our city, and reflecting, let me add, my Lords, no honour on your faith as Christians, nor on your dignity as defenders of the Church.”

Amongst the inferior nobles—­along the seats of the judges and the men of letters—­through the vast concourse of the people—­ran a loud murmur of approbations at these words.  The greater barons looked proudly, but not contemptuously, at the countenance of the prelate, and preserved a strict and unrevealing silence.

“In this holy spot,” continued the Bishop, “let me beseech you to bury those fruitless animosities which have already cost enough of blood and treasure; and let us quit these walls with one common determination to evince our courage and display our chivalry only against our universal foes;—­those ruffians who lay waste our fields, and infest our public ways,—­the foes alike of the people we should protect, and the God whom we should serve!”

The Bishop resumed his seat; the nobles looked at each other without reply; the people began to whisper loudly among themselves; when, after a short pause, Adrian di Castello rose.

“Pardon me, my Lords, and you, reverend Father, if I, inexperienced in years and of little mark or dignity amongst you, presume to be the first to embrace the proposal we have just heard.  Willingly do I renounce all ancient cause of enmity with any of my compeers.  Fortunately for me, my long absence from Rome has swept from my remembrance the feuds and rivalries familiar to my early youth; and in this noble conclave I see but one man (glancing at Martino di Porto, who sat sullenly looking down) against whom I have, at any time, deemed it a duty to draw my sword; the gage that I once cast to that noble is yet, I rejoice to think, unredeemed.  I withdraw it.  Henceforth my only foes shall be the foes of Rome!”