a strange and startling light the sculptured form of a colossal Lion of
Basalt, (The existent Capitol is very different from the building at
the time of Rienzi; and the reader must not suppose that the present
staircase, designed by Michael Angelo, at the base of which are two
marble lions, removed by Pius IV. from the Church of St. Stephen del
Cacco, was the staircase of the Lion of Basalt, which bears so stern a
connexion with the history of Rienzi. That mute witness of dark deeds is
no more.) which gave its name to a staircase leading to the Capitol.
It was an old Egyptian relic,--vast, worn, and grim; some symbol of a
vanished creed, to whose face the sculptor had imparted something of the
aspect of the human countenance. And this producing the effect
probably sought, gave at all times a mystic, preternatural, and fearful
expression to the stern features, and to that solemn and hushed repose,
which is so peculiarly the secret of Egyptian sculpture. The awe which
this colossal and frowning image was calculated to convey, was felt yet
more deeply by the vulgar, because "the Staircase of the Lion" was the
wonted place of the state executions, as of the state ceremonies.
And seldom did the stoutest citizen forget to cross himself, or feel
unchilled with a certain terror, whenever, passing by the place, he
caught, suddenly fixed upon him, the stony gaze and ominous grin of that
old monster from the cities of the Nile.

It was some minutes before the feelings of the assembly allowed
Rienzi to be heard. But when, at length, the last shout closed with a
simultaneous cry of "Long live Rienzi! Deliverer and King of Rome!" he
raised his hand impatiently, and the curiosity of the crowd procured a
sudden silence.

"Deliverer of Rome, my countrymen!" said he. "Yes! change not that
title--I am too ambitious to be a King! Preserve your obedience to your