the times of mediaeval anarchy, when popes, cardinals, and barons were
all by the ears together, a cardinal was hanged. It was not an
assassination, but a legal punishment, and he was executed in the best
apartment of the castle as an act of grace.

The fortress is a straight-lined structure on the summit of the immense
round tower of Hadrian's tomb; and to make out the idea of it we must
throw in drawbridges, esplanades, piles of ancient marble balls for
cannon; battlements and embrasures, lying high in the breeze and
sunshine, and opening views round the whole horizon; accommodation for
the soldiers; and many small beds in a large room.

How much mistaken was the emperor in his expectation of a stately, solemn
repose for his ashes through all the coming centuries, as long as the
world should endure! Perhaps his ghost glides up and down disconsolate,
in that spiral passage which goes from top to bottom of the tomb, while
the barbarous Gauls plant themselves in his very mausoleum to keep the
imperial city in awe.

Leaving the Castle of St. Angelo, we drove, still on the same side of the
Tiber, to the Villa Pamfili, which lies a short distance beyond the
walls. As we passed through one of the gates (I think it was that of San
Pancrazio) the abbe pointed out the spot where the Constable de Bourbon
was killed while attempting to scale the walls. If we are to believe
Benvenuto Cellini, it was he who shot the constable. The road to the
villa is not very interesting, lying (as the roads in the vicinity of
Rome often do) between very high walls, admitting not a glimpse of the
surrounding country; the road itself white and dusty, with no verdant
margin of grass or border of shrubbery. At the portal of the villa we
found many carriages in waiting, for the Prince Doria throws open the