During the eighteenth century Italy did not abound in poets or wits, and Master Pasquin seems to have shared in the dulness of the times.  Toward its end, however, when Pius VI. was building the palace under the corner of which the statue was to find shelter, the marble representative of the tailor watched his proceedings with sharp observation.  Long ago he had rebuked the nepotism of the Popes, but Pius had forgotten his epigrams.  “Cerberus,” he had said, “had three mouths with which he barked; but you have three, or even four, which bark not, but devour.”

  “Tres habuit fauces, et terno Cerberus ore
  Latratus intra Tartara nigra dabat. 
  Et tibi plena fame tria sunt vel quatuor ora
  Quae nulli latrant, quemque sed illa vorant.”

Every one who has been in Rome remembers how often, on the repairs of ancient monuments, and on the pedestals of statues or busts, are to be seen the words, “Munificentia Pii Sexti” thrusting themselves into notice, and occupying the place which should be filled with some nobler inscription.  The bad taste and impertinence of this epigraph are often enhanced by the slightness of the work or the gift which it commemorates.  During a season of dearth at Rome, in the time of Pius, when the bakers had reduced the size of their loaves, Pasquin took the opportunity to satirize the selfishness and vanity of the Pope, by exhibiting one of these diminished loaves bearing the familiar words, “Munificentia Pii VI.”

The French Revolution, the Napoleonic occupation of Rome, the brilliant essays of liberalism of Pius IX., the Republic, the siege of Rome, the reactionary government of late years, have alike supplied matter for Master Pasquin, which he has shaped according to the fashion of the times.  He still pursues his ancient avocation. Res acu tetigit. But the point of the needle is not the means by which the rents in the garment of Rome are to be mended,—­much less by which her wounds are to be cauterized and healed.  The sharp satiric tongue may prick her moral sense into restlessness, but the Roman spirit is not thus to be roused to action.  Still Pasquin deserves credit for his efforts; and while other liberty is denied, the Romans may be glad that there is a single voice that cannot be silenced, and a single censor who is not to be corrupted.

[Footnote 1:  Bernini, being asked what was the most beautiful statue in Rome, replied, “That of Pasquin.”  This reply the sensible Milizia taxes with affectation,—­saying, that, although an artist may discover in the work some marks of good design, it is now too maimed to pass for a beautiful statue.  Possibly Bernini was thinking of his own works in comparison with it.]

[Footnote 2:  Andreas Schott,—­who published an Itinerary of Italy about the beginning of the seventeenth century, copies this account, and adds,—­“At present this custom is prohibited under the heaviest penalties.”]