“Hearken to the shouts of the populace, you cannot appease their honest warmth,” said the demagogue Baroncelli.
Many of the Council murmured applause.
“Friends,” said the Tribune, with a solemn and earnest aspect, “let not Posterity say that Liberty loves blood; let us for once adopt the example and imitate the mercy of our great Redeemer! We have triumphed—let us forbear; we are saved—let us forgive!”
The speech of the Tribune was supported by Pandulfo, and others of the more mild and moderate policy; and for a short but animated discussion, the influence of Rienzi prevailed, and the sentence of death was revoked, but by a small majority.
“And now,” said Rienzi, “let us be more than just; let us be generous. Speak—and boldly. Do any of ye think that I have been over-hard, over-haughty with these stubborn spirits?—I read your answer in your brows!—I have! Do any of ye think this error of mind may have stirred them to their dark revenge? Do any of you deem that they partake, as we do, of human nature,—that they are sensible to kindness, that they are softened by generosity,—that they can be tamed and disarmed by such vengeance as is dictated to noble foes by Christian laws?”
“I think,” said Pandulfo, after a pause, “that it will not be in human nature, if the men you pardon, thus offending and thus convicted, again attempt your life!”
“Methinks,” said Rienzi, “we must do even more than pardon. The first great Caesar, when he did not crush a foe, strove to convert him to a friend—”
“And perished by the attempt,” said Baroncelli, abruptly.
Rienzi started and changed colour.
“If you would save these wretched prisoners, better not wait till the fury of the mob become ungovernable,” whispered Pandulfo.