the slashing, the hewing, the blood hissing and frying on the iron
gloves. His spirit leaps in the returning frenzy of that struggle and
flight. It sinks again as he thinks of Elcorte--Adelaide's escape--her
rescued child; his own doom in the wife and child who were not rescued.

"And now! he has effaced himself in the interests of the Romano house.
Its life has grafted itself on his own; and to what end? The Emperor is
coming. His badge and seal, already in Salinguerra's hands, bestow the
title of Imperial Prefect on whosoever assumes the headship of the
Ghibellines in the north of Italy; and Eccelino, its proper chief,
recoils; withdraws even his name from the cause. Who shall wear the
badge? None so fitly as himself, who holds San Bonifacio captive--who
has dislocated if not yet broken the Guelph right arm. Yet, is it worth
his while? Shall he fret his remaining years? Shall he rob his old
comrade's son?" He laughs the idea to scorn....

Sordello has come with Palma to Ferrara. He came to find the men who
were to be the body to his spirit, the instrument to his will. But he
came, expecting that these would be great. And now he discovers that
very few are great; while behind and beneath, and among them, extends
something which has never yet entered his field of thought: the mass of
mankind. The more he looks the more it grows upon him: this people with
the

"... mouths and eyes,
Petty enjoyments and huge miseries,--" (vol. i. p. 181.)

and the more he feels that the few are great because the many are in
them--because they are types and representatives of these. Hitherto he
has striven to impose himself on mankind. He now awakes to the joy and