es. His carriage approached, attended by a
howling, hissing multitude. He smiled, affected unconcern, but must
have felt relieved when his horses entered the courtyard gate of
the _Cancelleria_. He did not know he was entering the place of his
execution. The horses stopped; he alighted in the midst of a crowd; it
jostled him, as if for the purpose of insult; he turned abruptly,
and received as he did so the fatal blow. It was dealt by a resolute,
perhaps experienced, hand; he fell and spoke no word more.

The crowd, as if all previously acquainted with the plan, as no doubt
most of them were, issued quietly from the gate, and passed through
the outside crowd,--its members, among whom was he who dealt the blow,
dispersing in all directions. For two or three minutes this outside
crowd did not know that anything special had happened. When they did,
the news was at the moment received in silence. The soldiers in whom
Rossi had trusted, whom he had hoped to flatter and bribe, stood at
their posts and said not a word. Neither they nor any one asked, "Who
did this? Where is he gone?" The sense of the people certainly was
that it was an act of summary justice on an offender whom the laws
could not reach, but they felt it to be indecent to shout or exult on
the spot where he was breathing his last. Rome, so long supposed the
capital of Christendom, certainly took a very pagan view of this act,
and the piece represented on the occasion at the theatres was "The
Death of Nero."

The next morning I went to the Church of St. Andrea della Valle, where
was to be performed a funeral service, with fine music, in honor of
the victims of Vienna; for this they do here for the victims of every
place,--"victims of Milan," "victims of Paris," "victims of Naples,"
and now "victims of Vienna." But to-day I found the church closed, the
service put off,--Rome was thinking about her own victims.

I passed into the Ripetta, and entered the Church of San Luigi dei
Francesi. The Republican flag was flying at the door; the young
sacristan said the fine musical service, which this church gave
formerly on St. Philip's day in honor of Louis Philippe, would now
be transferred to the Republican anniversary, the 25th of February. I
looked at the monument Chateaubriand erected when here, to a poor girl
who died, last of her family, having seen all the others perish
round her. I entered the Domenichino Chapel, and gazed anew on the
magnificent representatio