‘There had been so many one time that the Government put a guard all round about Pasquino to watch and see who did it, but for a long time they saw no one.
‘One night, at last, a clownish countryman came by with a bundle of hay on his back, drivelling and half silly. “Let me sit here a bit to rest; I’m so weary with carrying this load I can’t go any farther; but I won’t do any harm.”
‘The guards laughed at the poor idiot’s simplicity in fancying they could expect such as he to be the author of the witty, pungent sort of wares they were on the search for, and said with contemptuous pity, “Yes, yes; you may sit there!” And the stupid old countryman sat down at the foot of the statue.
‘“Heaven reward you for your kindness!” he said, when he got up after half-an-hour’s rest.
‘“Don’t mention it; go in peace!” returned the guards, and the man passed out of sight.
‘Next morning, high over head of Pasquino floated a gay paper balloon.
‘“The balloon! the balloon!” screamed the street urchins.
‘“The balloon! the balloon!” shouted a number of men, assembled by preconcerted arrangement, though seemingly passers-by attracted by the noise.
‘The clumsy clodhopper of overnight was an adroit fellow disguised, and he had attached the string of the balloon to the statue.
‘To seize the string, pull down the balloon, and burst it was quick work; but out of it floated three hundred and sixty-six stinging pasquinades, which were eagerly gathered up.’