butcher, leaning over the chains. "Ah, if Rienzi were minded, every poor
man would have his bit of meat in his pot."

"And as much bread as he could eat," added a pale baker.

"Chut! bread and meat--everybody has that now!--but what wine the
poor folks drink! One has no encouragement to take pains with one's
vineyard," said a vine-dresser.

"Ho, hollo!--long life to Pandulfo di Guido! Make way for master
Pandulfo; he is a learned man; he is a friend of the great Notary's; he
will tell us all about the picture; make way, there--make way!"

Slowly and modestly, Pandulfo di Guido, a quiet, wealthy, and honest man
of letters, whom nought save the violence of the times could have roused
from his tranquil home, or his studious closet, passed to the chains. He
looked long and hard at the picture, which was bright with new, and yet
moist colours, and exhibited somewhat of the reviving art, which,
though hard and harsh in its features, was about that time visible, and,
carried to a far higher degree, we yet gaze upon in the paintings of
Perugino, who flourished during the succeeding generation. The people
pressed round the learned man, with open mouths; now turning their eyes
to the picture, now to Pandulfo.

"Know you not," at length said Pandulfo, "the easy and palpable meaning
of this design? Behold how the painter has presented to you a vast and
stormy sea--mark how its waves--"

"Speak louder--louder!" shouted the impatient crowd.

"Hush!" cried those in the immediate vicinity of Pandulfo, "the worthy
Signor is perfectly audible!"

Meanwhile, some of the more witty, pushing towards a stall in the
marketplace, bore from it a rough table, from which they besought
Pandulfo to address the people. The pale citizen, with some pain and
shame, for he was no practised spokesman, was obliged to assent; but
when he cast his eyes over the vast and breathless crowd, his own deep
sympathy with their cause inspired and emboldened him. A light broke
from his eyes; his voice swelled into power; and his head, usually
buried in his breast, became erect and commanding in its air.

"You see before you in the picture" (he began again) "a mighty and
tempestuous sea: upon its waves you behold five ships; four of them are
already wrecks,--their masts are broken, the waves are dashing through
the rent planks, they are past all aid and hope: on each of these ships
lies the corpse of a woman. See you not, in the wan face and livid
limbs, how