But nothing is more curiously indicative of the disjointed state of society, and general disorder prevailing in these times, than the frequent apparent powerlessness of rulers wielding despotic authority to do as they would with things immediately, as it should seem, beneath their hand. Nothing works regularly. Appointed forces abdicate their functions; and the position of the baulked autocrat puts one in mind of that of the old woman of the nursery rhyme: "Fire won't burn rope,—rope won't hang man;" and the despot can't get over the small stile that impedes the path of his wishes. The immediate instruments of the tyrant's will, act as if he were a bad child or dangerous madman. If his orders can be evaded, or escaped from for the day, it is probable that the morrow may find him busy with some new freak of power. As there is no inviolable law, there is no certain line of demarcation between the criminal and the correct citizen. And all the mass of society is prepared to oppose at least such inert resistance as it can with safety, to the unreasonable will of an unrespected master. [Sidenote: TRAITS OF MANNERS.] Another curious trait of manners has been preserved by two of the diarists so frequently cited.[105] Girolamo had besieged and driven out the Colonnas from one of their castles in the neighbourhood of Rome. This achievement was of course made much of in the city; and a young painter, one Antonio, son of Giuliano, made the bombardment the subject of a picture. All the fight was, we are told, painted to the life with its various incidents and episodes. But in one corner of the picture, the painter, in one of those whimsical moods so often indulged in by the artists of that day, had represented[106] a lady in closer conversation with a Franciscan friar than was consistent with strict propriety. The painting was talked of; and to the poor painter's great delight, the Pope desired to see it. Sixtus was at first much pleased; but then observing the two figures above mentioned, he took it into his head that the lady was intended to represent the Countess Catherine. Whereupon, without further ado, he ordered the painter to be put on the rack, and then hung,—his house to be sacked, and all his and his father's substance confiscated. All of which was done, except the hanging, for which exile was substituted, on the pretext that the offender was little better than crazy. The constant cause, however, of the worst and most frequent of the disorders that then rendered Rome little better than a den of outlaws and anarchy, was the great feud between the Colonnas and the Orsini, in which the Pope and Girolamo warmly espoused the side of the latter. No pretext was too flimsy, no injustice too flagrant, no violence too lawless, for these rulers to commit, in pursuit of the utter ruin of the hated family.