"I know and appreciate them as they deserve," replied Frederic. "All that remains of their ancient glory is an overweening pride, which I mean to humble." "Hark!" cried Dassel, "what is that noise?" An extraordinary clamor was heard in the direction of the square of St. Peter, where an immense mob shouted and howled in such confusion that it was impossible to understand their meaning. A marble column stood in the centre of the square, but in place of the image of the Holy Virgin, which it usually supported, it now served as a pedestal for the tailor Guerrazzi, while the sacred statue was laid upon the ground beside it, and a dense crowd pressed forward to listen to the excited orator. The tailor laughed and wept alternately, waved his hands, beat his breast, and tore his hair, while his voice assumed, by turns, an expression of menace or of flattery, as the occasion required. Guerrazzi was a paid agent of the Chancellor, and it was his pockets which received the gold pieces of which the latter had spoken, and which were to be distributed among the conspirators. The Romans were sharing the common lot of all those nations who are mad enough to suppose that schemers have any other object in view than self-interest; they were deceived and sold by the very men whom they considered to be their most devoted champions. The orator pointed proudly towards a circular tower, which stood in front of him, commanding the square, with which it communicated by a bridge and a wide street. This building, whose lofty walls overlooked the whole city, was the mausoleum of Adrian, afterwards called the castle of Saint Angelo, and at present the Pope's last refuge. "Look there!" cried the tailor, who was trying to flatter the national pride of his audience by recalling the mighty deeds of their ancestors; "look there at Adrian's mausoleum! there stands a memento of Roman grandeur. How magnificent it still is! I see before me the sons of the Gracchi, of the Scipios, of Brutus, the descendants of the masters of the world. But what are we to-day? We are mere pigmies in comparison with our progenitors. Ah!" said he, weeping, "there was a time when Rome dictated laws to the world, and all nations paid tribute to her majesty. Then our Senate, like a council of gods, sat in the Capitol!--And now?--But who has robbed us of this greatness? Who governs the universe after despoiling the Roman people of its power?--The Pope!"--and the angry tailor paused. "It is true!--It is true!" "Well said!" "What wisdom!" And the crowd burst out in frantic applause. "Romans!" continued the orator, "fellow-citizens! the Popes are the successors of that Saint Peter who thrice denied his master; but many of them seem to take as their model the thief, the traitor Judas!--Consequently, all the Popes are great men, but"--(here he paused and pointed to the castle)--"all the Popes are not saints!"