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AUTHOR: 
 
 ABOUT, EDMOND 
 
 TITLE: 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY 
 
 A L^a\ \^ II ^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DA TE : 
 
 1861 
 
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 ^OME OP TO-DAi. 
 
 « 
 
 BY 
 
 K D M N D A H U T 
 
 *rc^ ETC. 
 
 :ebmanii,* 
 
 WITJi' AN ILLUSTRATION. 
 
 -■» ' 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 J^f^S 0. NOYES, PUBLISHER 
 '-'5 n o w A li I) K rn e k t. ' 
 
 1 8 C 1. 
 
 
/ 
 
 i 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Co«p«M, Iri Um year I860, by 
 JAMES O. NOTES, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of t»ie Uaited SUtcs foi 
 Southern Dintrict of New Yurk. 
 
 HI 
 
 { 
 
 BTIBKOTYPED BY 
 
 SMITH 8t McDOUGAL, 
 
 82 & 84 Beekman-fit. 
 
 GEO. RUSSELL A « 
 06 Duaiie-«tr«i< 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 rpiIIS is neither ;i pamplilet nor even a political work If the 
 ^ reader e.xpecv:s to find in it general considerations upon tlie 
 1 apal Government, he will be disappointed. 
 
 All has been said for and against the Temporal Power that can 
 
 be said, and I have neither sufficient authority nor sufficient lib- 
 
 :^rty to resume Uie controversy. I have played too active a 
 
 part, both as accuser and accused, not to have my impartiality 
 
 suspected. The word belongs to the chief, who is silent. 
 
 It may also be suggested that the time for discussion is passed 
 like the time for wise counsels and useful reforms. The Roman 
 question has been sufficiently elucidated to enable the least 
 clairvoyant to distinguish the truth, and the most hesitating to 
 choose their part. Some are decided by reasons of conscience 
 otliera by reasons of interest or policy; but it is cert^ that ac- 
 tion has succeeded words. 
 
 The work which I offer to the public is, then, notliing more 
 than a literary study on the Papal States. I have put together 
 in a volume aU the observations made during a journey of six 
 months. "^ 
 
 g^ The materials were collected two years ago, but it seems to 
 Tne that they have matured rather than grown old. Rome has 
 not sensibly changed under a regime that boasts of being im- 
 mutable. Bologna and some other cities have only proclaimed 
 a revolution which was long since accompUshed in the minds 
 of tl e citizens. 
 
 T. ie day when all the subjects of the Holy Father shall have 
 the .- me ideas, Uie same customs, and the same rights as the 
 citizii^s of Bologna in 1860, my book wiU be but an archeologi- 
 cal c . losity ; yet I will not complain of that. 
 
 C 
 f 
 
 304592 
 
 >4 J. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 L 
 
 n.. 
 III.- 
 
 IV.- 
 
 V.- 
 
 VI.- 
 
 VIL- 
 
 nii- 
 
 IX.- 
 
 X.- 
 
 XI.- 
 
 xn.- 
 
 XIII- 
 
 XR'.- 
 
 XV.- 
 
 XTL- 
 
 xn:.- 
 
 Preface 
 
 —The JorE.vEY 
 
 -My In-x 
 
 —The Plebeiax 
 
 -Th^ rrtlETTO 
 
 -The Trastevere. . 
 -Gaiie of Kmtes.. 
 -The Lo iter y 
 -The Middle Cl-\.5^, 
 -The Artisis 
 -The RoAfAN- V,-.-r- 
 -The army. . . 
 -The GovERXifEyT. 
 
 ••••••*••■, 
 
 -Deai 
 
 v. AT*. i_E . . . . 
 
 -Ax EiccRsiox SorxH. 
 
 •*.IE VETTrRIXO , 
 
 ' 
 
 PA6B 
 
 iii 
 5 
 
 41 
 
 52 
 
 63 
 
 T7< 
 
 ... SO 
 
 ... 03 
 
 'OS 
 
 ... 122 
 
 . US 
 
 ... no 
 
 16G 
 
 • • • • JL wO 
 
 .. 193 
 .. 200 
 .. 230 
 
 . 
 
 
 /'. 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 ••• 
 
 THE JOURNEY 
 
 , \ LL road?, they ?ay, lead 
 -^^ to Rome. Still, for 
 us citizeni? of Paris, the 
 shortest road is that which 
 goei? through Marseilles. 
 
 Why 13 the name §f the 
 Canebiere ridicuIou3 in 
 Paris ? "Whence coL^es 
 it that ^farseilles and the 
 Man:oiIIai.^ have inherited 
 the privilege of making us 
 laugh, now that the G-ar- 
 onne and the Gascons no 
 long^ ainTise us? The -^ Sandis !" and the ''Cadedis!' that 
 amused the contemporaries of Moli^^re. have faUen into the do- 
 main of history, like the milita.'y pleasantries inscribed on the 
 walL' of Pompeii : we now laugh at none but the oaths of Mar- 
 seLles. In gatherings of young men, a story-teU^r who can play 
 the y ^ is sure of carrying his audience ; certain jokes, 
 
 assisted by certain eTima/^^-^^ and spiced with a certain accent, 
 act with an un -^ on the most stubborn spleen. 
 
 Ever .- is I. in the conventional Marseilles, which 
 
 the wiL? have pven us : its parched soil filthy streets, pestilen- 
 ti:. or, and rough-mannereil men. The stage Marseillaise is 
 
 a sort of ^ross-grained ape. who is a drinker of ale. a refiner of 
 oil, a in negroes, and '* thou's" everybody. Wliy has this 
 
 ndicuie Men upon the most active and most interesting peopla 
 
 I 
 
HOME OF TO-DAT 
 
 <4 
 
 1 
 
 in France ? Why do the most direct descendants of ancient 
 Greece serve as a butt to the Athenians of Paris ? Wiiy all 
 these minor ofTences of high treason against the queen of the 
 Mediterranean? Wiiy? Why? Why? 
 
 Because Marseilles has furnished the journals of Paris with a 
 dozen spiteful editors, who have done the honors of their coun- 
 try a trifle too wittily. I do not speak of M. Amedt't' Acliard, 
 nor of M. Mery, nor of ^I. Louis Reybaud, nor of M. Leon Goz- 
 lan, nor of those who were rich enough in their own resources 
 to leave Marseilles in peace. But after the emigration of the 
 princes came the emigration of the people. Whenever a little 
 Provencal, with fidgetty ambition and without an idea, enters on 
 his career in the office of some little journal, his first article, as a 
 matter of course, is on the Canebiere. The first of tliem joked, 
 and those that followed went further; comedy ^z;^\''ii place to buf- 
 foonery, buffoonery to broad farce ; and Marseilles has received 
 from the hands of it3 own cliildren some five or six coats of 
 ridi.-jule which will not be wiped out in a day. She comforts 
 herself by saying, " It is my own fault. I should not be ridicu- 
 lous if I had not given birth to all those men of talent." 
 
 For my own part, I humbly confess, ^Lirsoilles did not make 
 me laugh. It is a sight to give one food for thought, llowever 
 little you may be interested in the future of France, you would 
 observe with passionate curiosity that living and growing city, 
 growing almost visibly, like a tropical plant; you hold your 
 breath to watch the course of that adventurous people, galloping 
 madly, at the risk of broken necks, in all the ways of progress. 
 
 I had left Paris in the middle of March, a full month before 
 the end of winter. But winter in Paris is so agreeable that a 
 man of occupation can not tear himself away from it too soon. 
 I was going far away, and for a long time burdened with a thou- 
 sand questions to be settled, happy in having an object, and 
 quieting all my regrets by the hope of bringing back a book. 
 
 The journey from Paris to Marseilles seemed to me very long, 
 for I felt that in a little time we should be able to do it more 
 quickly. No doubt it is pleasant to cross France in twenty 
 hours in an excellent carriage, but steam does not yet keep all 
 its promises. When you travel for the sake of travel, that is to 
 say, for enjoying the variety of tilings at every step, you can not 
 go too slow ; but when you take the cars, it is to reach your 
 
 •I', 
 
 THE JOURNEY. ^ 
 
 journey's end, and for nothing else ; therefore you can not go 
 too fast. On the road from Paris to the Mediterranean, one of 
 the most perfect in France, the passenger trains still make too 
 many and t/3o long stoppages. It carries the Indian mad through 
 in twelve hours, and has done still better within the last few 
 days : a locomotive, sent from Marseilles with government des- 
 patches, fell, nine hours after, like a bombshell, in the depot at 
 Paris. That is the true use of railroads. For mere traveling a 
 cane is enouglu 
 
 After leaving Lyons, where we lost an hour, the climate grew 
 milder, the sun became powerful, the trees by tlie road-side were 
 m leaf. You would have said that spring was running to meet 
 us. They had given us foot- warmers at Paris— they offered us 
 ices at Valence. These transitions will seem yet much more 
 marvelous when we can fall asleep at the Bastille and wake up 
 in sight of the Chateau d'If. 
 
 Between the city of Aries and the marsh of Berre, the road 
 skirts a vast plain, more gloomy tlian tlie dreariest moorland. 
 It is called the Crau. Nature has taken pains to sow it with 
 stones in fabulous quantities. Man has tried here and there to 
 sow something else, but the crop is still to come. As the eye 
 sur\'eys this extent of desert soil, you regret the times when 
 nothing was beyond the power of a fairy's wand. I trust that 
 practical chemistry, that fairy of modern times, will yet be able 
 to raise wheat there, from the gardens of Aries to tlie salt-pits of 
 Berre. The question is under consideration; I even know a 
 young man of science who flatters himself on solving it. 
 
 But forgive me this delay ; tlie railroads make some that are 
 far longer. 
 
 Travelers leaving the railway station, enter Marseilles by wide 
 roads, flanked with fine houses, and planted with old trees. It 
 is tlie entrance to a great city. The road stops abruptly at tlie 
 foot of the Rue Noailles ; you take a hundred steps in the dark 
 in a kind of stifling passage. But suddenly air, light^ space, 
 everything abounds at once. A monumental square expands 
 before you ; two great avenues stretch away to the right and 
 left. In front, a street, much wider but infinitely shorter than 
 the Rue de Rivoli, shows you the old harbor crowded with ves- 
 sels. Hail to the Rue Canebiere ! 
 
 The Canebiere is a door opening on the Mediterranean and the 
 
8 
 
 -RO^lE OF TO-DAT.' 
 
 whole universe ; for the watery road which leads from it goes 
 round tlie world. In 1856 the Canebiere witnes.^od the landinir 
 of four hundred thousand travelers, and two millions of tons of 
 goods, two thousand million kiloq-rammes. Land du the Cane- 
 biere sells at the rtite of a thousand francs the square yard, or 
 ten millions an acre. The Canebiere is, therefore, one of the 
 busiest, most useful, and most respectable streets in the civilized 
 world. 
 
 The harbor which finishes, or rather continues if^ gives it an 
 original appearance. A few years ago the pietures(^iije costumes 
 of the East still enameled it; but that hapj.y time is no more. 
 The East no longer sends its costumes to the world's end. It 
 carefully preser\'C3 its few remaining turbans, with which to 
 exalt itself in the eyes of the foreigner, and to prove to him that 
 it is, beyond doubt, the East indeed. 
 
 As you follow the line of the Canebiere down toward the 
 old harbor, you see at the left the new town, neatly laid out on 
 level ground ; at the right, old Marseilles, heaped promiscuously 
 on its hill. The town of the future is situated farthcT off, beyond 
 the old Marseilles, skirting the Joliette harbors. 
 
 The new town is neat and even elegant. It smells of Paris a 
 league off; formerly it smelt of something very different. The 
 time is gone by in which the citizens used to throw the surplus 
 of their houses out of the window. Three large parallel stn^ets 
 traverse the young Marseilles in its whole length. The Rue do 
 Rome is something hke our Rue de Richelieu : the likeness roust 
 be striking, for Counsellor de Brosses noticed it a hundred years 
 ago. The Rue St. Ferrt'ol is a pleasant copy of the Ri:e Vrvi- 
 enne, though the Exchange is held in the Rue Paradis. If is in 
 the open air, under tlie sky, that the Marseillaise meet twic>e a 
 day, to transact their business. It is true they have a small shed, 
 of zinc or pasteboard, to shelter them in case of rain, but they 
 hardly ever use it. Their custom is so well established, that in the 
 morning between eleven and half-past one, and between four and 
 five in the afternoon, drivers take a circuitous route to avoid the 
 Rue Paradis. When the new Exchange, which is finishinc: 
 on the Canebiere, is thrown open to the merchants and specu- 
 lators, they T\nll only go there when driven, and only stay there 
 when -locked in. 
 
 Marseilles has its Champs Elysees. In the neighborhood 
 
 TUE JOURNEY. -q 
 
 / «llJ'h .l!°"-''''f<' ^"™ yo" way see whole strceU of smalL 
 / Me l-buJ,, c.on.fortol.Ie mansion., deeorated even with a de^ 
 of tasto. r could mention one whieh would be nodced any 
 whore-oven at Pari... This new town, altl,ough wantin'neitW 
 for a,r nor for li.ht, has allowed itself U.e luxury of two" eoS 
 erable promenade.^ One of them is a path eut out of tSk 
 . above he sea at a respectful distance from the ha bo ut 
 called the Prado. The other is a zoological garden ia4nUv 
 
 statue, fft%f"^^^r' I" ^'"''"""-'^ '^'' ^''=""' t''« '^-(^^ the 
 statues (for Marseilles has two), the museum, and the lycenmaro 
 
 m the new town ; you can readily believe it. 
 
 As for the old town, I should like to give you an idea of it, 
 by a comparison with some quarter of Paris; but, happily for us 
 we have nothing like it. That hill, impassable fo vehkles in^I 
 cessible to ladies, revolting t. the sigU and smell, ^ d Th 
 , s^mkmg mud. watered by drains like torrents, resembles notSig 
 m the worid, mdess it be be tlie Ghetto at Rome, which a wS 
 of the eighteenth centuiy called the arch-fminess. Busine^ 
 wretchedness and vice divide this delectable place among them 
 Considerable districts may be noticed there, devoted to the 
 diversion of sailors; and by a toleration which I can not qu7te 
 
 ren rtl"; 'l /'"f ^ "%""•" ■" '' "^ <•- "- trade wS 
 reflects Ue least credit on France. Never did such noble flae 
 cover such foul merchandise. ^ 
 
 A man must be a very determined antiquarian to go lookin-r 
 for pearls in this dung-hill. Xevertheless, I plunged tntoVZl 
 fine mommg, un.ler the guidance of a ve,.; learned young ma^ 
 trate, M Camom do Vance. We sketched together som! houses 
 
 caned M-ith dog-too h ornament; a haU of justice, which is not 
 
 urLns?f'r '"-."'fr .'-<>■ '^'^'^ '^ prison, which is hke all the 
 prisons of the good old times. The city hall is not wanting in 
 grandeur; and m the Consegne may be seen half a dozen tole- 
 
 The fi^h r\''^' ""^ "7"''°' "•" ^^"'-•^' "^y P"=-'' °f i«3. 
 
 Itmef ,t f. " T"""' ''"''P'''" "' '■"^ '^ '"°"«'°'. t° l^-^ar the 
 « omen talk; the eloquence of our fish-women is veir feeble 
 compared to that which flourishes there 
 
 ^ilW call La Majeure, or La Major. ThL« venerable building 
 
10 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 was erected on the ruins of a pa^an temple, and it lias been 30 
 much and so thoroughly cut down, that between ancient and 
 modern, pagan and Christian, there is not enough left to make a 
 village church. 
 
 But, a few steps further on, between the old town, which is 
 doomed to disappear, and the town of the future, -which is grow- 
 ing fast, may be seen rising from the ground the foundations of 
 a new cathedral of some promise. 
 
 The old town has had its day ; not only will the rookeries 
 which abound there be razed, but even the hill on which they 
 stand. The future of La Joliette depends upon it, and two 
 words will make you understand it. Would Paris push toward 
 the Champs Elysees if the hill of St. Genvi^ve stood upon the 
 Place de la Concorde ? 
 
 At present the birds and fishes travel from Marseilles to the 
 Joliette with greater ease than men. Still the future town is 
 building for a numerous population. I saw seven enormous 
 houses, all alike, and of an architecture too rich for my tasto. 
 The merchants of Cartha<?e never stored their bales in such murr- 
 nificent temples, and M. Mirths can already give a lesson to Dido. 
 
 The Society of the Harbors of Marseilles, founded and named 
 by that great financier, was formed to reclaim several acres of 
 land that front on the new harbors. It has no connection with 
 the construction of the harbors and the works of maritime en^-i- 
 neering; it does not open a haven for vessels buflfeted by the 
 mistral; those are none of its affairs. Its relations with the 
 docks in course of construction at the Joliette, are the relations 
 of neighborhood, and it is called the Society of the Harbors 
 because it is estabhshed by the side of them. 
 
 This does not mean that the speculation of ^^. Mirths and his 
 shareholders has been useless to the people of ^r.ir.seilK's, The 
 city had lands to sell ; lands that were pestilential, murphy, rot- 
 ten with the refuse of the soap works, difficult to build upon, 
 and, to crown their disgrace, beaten by every wind that rages in 
 that country. These trifling defects were balanced by the imme- 
 diate proximity of a harbor which has a future ; nevertheless, 
 none of the purchasers wlio came forward offered more than 
 twenty francs a yard. M. Mires gave fifty, and the Marseillaise 
 shook hands with him on the bargain. 
 
 The transaction is a profitable one for the city even now ; and 
 
 THE JOUKNEY. 
 
 11 
 
 wiU be so one day for M. Mir^s. The city pockets some mil- 
 hons, which are no inconvenience to it, for it is enterprising and 
 m debt. M. Mires will get his money back when his lands are 
 built upon, and especially when they have^K direct communica- 
 tion with Marseilles. The old town, which annoys every body, 
 annoys him more than any one else. Accordingly, he offers to' 
 uproot the hiil on the most equitable terms. 
 
 In this state of things I will not commit the imprudence of 
 describing at greater length a city which will perliaps be over- 
 turned to-morrow. :Marseilles has this in common with Paris 
 that one must give up the attempt to paint it, unless prepared U> 
 begin the portrait every day afresh. I will wager that Bordeaux 
 on the contrary, is, almost to a single paving-stone, what it was 
 m the montli of April last year. And I promise to give you a 
 picture of Rome which our great grandchildren will be able to 
 verify, word for word, if the revolution does not meddle with it 
 Progress is. bestirring itself in the outskirts of Marseilles as 
 well as in its streets ; it invades with the same step the town 
 the suburbs, and tlie most distant environs. This district was 
 celebrated formerly for being parched, and now, God forgive me, 
 it is green ! The Marseillaise went in search of the Durance' 
 and they have led it by the hand even to their doors. The water 
 circulates in all the houses in the town, up to the highest story; 
 It waters the streets in this fatherland of dust; it fertilizes Uie 
 gardens, and brings grass upon the meadows. 
 
 Yet you need not fear that Provence will become a district of 
 the country of Caux ; the sun is always there. It throws upon the 
 blue waters the charming outlines of Katonneau, of Pomegue, or 
 of the Chateau d'lf ; it tinges with a delicate silver the be°autiful 
 gray hills overhanging Montredon ; it fosters among the rocks 
 the rosemary and cactus, and tlie gigantic stalks of the aloe ; 
 and distils the penetrating perfume of the arbutus and lentiscus! 
 So much for what a newly arrived traveler sees at the first 
 glance on entering Marseilles. And now, if you please, let us 
 chat a little with the inhabitant^, w^ho like notliing better. 
 
 Those who saw Marseilles in 1815 speak of il as ofa fore- 
 court of the great desert. The sohtary harbor of the to^vn was 
 empty; the population amounted to ninety thousand inhabitants 
 who were dying of hunger. Things have greatly changed, espe^ 
 cially in the last few years. The census of 1841 counted one 
 
12 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 hundred and forty-seven thousand Mar3eillaL<'c ; that of 185G 
 gives two hundred and thirty-five thousand, an increase of noarly 
 ninety tliousand souls in fifteen years. The number of births 
 increased one-eighth in 1857, so that we must add one-oi«]rhtii to 
 the number of the population, which brings it to two hinnlrod 
 and sixty-five thousand. Add the floating population, the for- 
 eigners not included in tlie census, Frenchmen voluntarily* omit- 
 ted for local reasons, and you will sec that Marseilles is a city 
 of two hundred and ninety thousand souLs, two hundred thou- 
 sand more than in 1815. 
 
 I have no need to add that these two humlred thousand Mar- 
 seillaise were not all born in Marseilles. The rapid growth of a 
 city is not to be explained by any unusual productiveness in mar- 
 riages. Everywhere where money is to be made, citizens run 
 together and settle, and the population increases without women 
 being concerned in it. Marseilles is still growing daily by the 
 interested incursions of the North and the South. It contain<Ml 
 in the month of December, 1857, more than eighteen thousand 
 Sarthnian subjects. Italians, Greeks, and Spaniards are the 
 material of which almost all the Marseillaise are made. 
 
 In spite of the diversity of their origin, they have a common 
 expression of face, and, so to speak, a family likeness. Not that 
 there is, strictly speaking, a Marseillaise type, but the sun of the 
 South, the life in the open air, the anxieties of business, the 
 number of excitements, the ceaseless alternation of work and 
 pleasure, have marked all those faces with a stamp which is well 
 known. 
 
 The Marseillaise are quick of sight, prompt in speech, indefat- 
 igable in gesture. Their adventurous temper and s;mguine dis- 
 position urge them to great undertakings and great follies. Few 
 Frenchmen are more nimble at making or losing a fortune. In 
 almost every country in the world tlie father amasses milUons to 
 
 ♦ There are certain tuxos which increaae with the population oi' the town, 
 which is therefore interested iti inuier-ostimatitij^ its popnhitii>n. I know a hnin- 
 let in Lorraine of more than four thonsjinJ inh:\hltants, which has ntver con- 
 sented to own to more than three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. 
 "When the increage of its population becomes too evident, it will leap at once 
 from three thousand nine hundred and ninety-uinc to four thouRiind nine hun- 
 dred and ninety-nine, like those wmucn who try to ri'iutiin younif, and at length 
 pass iii a single day from twenty-nine years of age to thirty-nine. 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 13 
 
 be squandered by the son; at Marseilles you can see men of all 
 ages combine the two parts of the father and tlie son. Keen 
 after gain, lavish of their time and trouble, they now and then 
 stop, like the squirrel on the bough, to taste the fruit of their 
 labor. Their life is divided dilforently from ours : we work in 
 the age of pleasure, and begin to take our holiday when we can 
 no longer do anything with it; the Marseillaise does not wait for 
 his last teeth to fall out before he bites his apple. 
 
 His mind is open, like the horizon which surrounds him ; ho 
 has traveled or will travel ; the Mediterranean is a suburb of 
 Marseilles, which he will visit sooner or later. He thinks that 
 the Senegal is not very far off, and that Paris is at his door. If 
 business keeps him at his desk, he can see the world without 
 going out of doors ; does not the whole universe defile through 
 tlie Canebiere? He has seen specimens of all countries; ho 
 knows a little of everything without having opened a book ; ho 
 is in a condition to reason on all questions, though he rarely 
 takes the pains to exhaust one ; the quickness of his'conceptions, 
 the openness of his mind, his readiness to skim the surface of 
 things, make him agreeable in convei-sation, for which he always 
 finds leisure. 
 
 Almost all ^farscillai.se have the same amount of natural sense 
 and tlie same degree of information ; little knowledge, and many 
 ideas. The city in France in which tiie equahty of men is least 
 like a delusion, is Marseilles. There are no more castes there 
 than on yoxir hand ; there can be no old nobility in a population 
 that is all new. Tiie chief inhabitants are successful merlin the 
 most honorable sense of the word ; the rest are in hopes of suc- 
 ceeding by their exertions. There are, therefore, only two classes 
 at ^larseilles, those who have made their fortune, and those who 
 are trying to make it. The first class is less numerous than is 
 generally supposed, and I have explained the reason for this ; it 
 is that the rage for enjoyment is stronger than the desire 'of 
 accumulation. There are not ten fortunes of five million francs 
 in the city. The simple millionaires, if a census of them were 
 tAken, would not be more than forty. These favorites of fortune 
 do not become inflated by their financial superiority, and, whether 
 from remembering what they were, or from meditating some- 
 times on the instability of the best secured fortunes, they receive 
 with friendliness those who have not yet made their way. The 
 
 
r 
 
 /. 
 
 14 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Marseillaise, whether rich or poor, is in all cases familiar, unaf- 
 fected, and good-natured. I know few towns in which " thou " 
 is more used, or where less value is attached to unnecessary po- 
 hteness; men must have been of this fashion in the commercial 
 republics of Greece. 
 
 This bonhomie prevails not only in their langua^re ; it is found 
 in their manners, and even in their business. It goes so far, 
 sometimes, that merchants of the old stamp would be astonished 
 at it. In the days when flourished the Seigneur Arnolphe, tlie 
 worthy Orgon, and that good Monsieur Dimanche, a merchant 
 who did not honor liis signature was a lost man ; nothing re- 
 mained but to throw himself head foremost into the water. 
 These strict principles are still in vigor in some departments of 
 France. If a commercial crisis should interrupt, for six months, 
 the prosperity of Rouen, every Norman, strong in his right, 
 and penetrated with his old ideas, would proceed to extremities 
 against his neighbor and his crony, without pity, and would sleep 
 without remorse. But let the same accident occur at Mar- 
 seilles : everything will be arranged by friendly agreement, and 
 you will see fifty liquidations allowed for one bankruptcy that is 
 declared. Does it arise from good will or from foresight ? from 
 compassion for the difficulties of one's neighbor, or consideration 
 for one's self? I do not venture to pronounce an opinion. In 
 either case the fact remains that in Marseilles a creditor prefers 
 to take ten per cent, and hold his tongue, rather tlian to be se- 
 vere with his debtor. 
 
 Some years ago, a Marseillaise who had made a fortune abroad, 
 after various vicissitudes, bequeathed his property to his native 
 city, and stipulated that the income should be employed in freeing 
 prisoners for debt. Thereupon was seen an embarrassed legatee, 
 namely, the municipal council of Marseilles. In vain they sought 
 for prisoners for debt; none such were made in the district* 
 The lesracv came near hems; sent back to the other world, as 
 useless, injurious, and incompatible with established custom. 
 Matters were in this state, when a sage citizen said to his neigh- 
 bor, *' Have me put into prison for debt. I shall be liberated by 
 the old fellow's legacy, and we will divide the money." The 
 invention seemed so good that the prison eventually found a few 
 tenants. It would never have had any but for the legacy of the 
 good Marseillaise. 
 
 \ 
 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 15 
 
 This American toleration, this indifference on the score of 
 commercial religion, has inconveniences which I need not point 
 out It is not, however, without some advantages. By loosen- 
 ing the rein to bold speculators, and encouraging those who had 
 taken fright, it has quickened the progress of the city, and con- 
 tributed to the prosperity of France. I know all that can be 
 justly said against the spirit of adventure, but when I see what 
 an impetus the Marseillaise give»to tlie public fortune, with what 
 spirit they throw tliemselves into an affair, with what readiness 
 they subscribe for an enterprise the moment that it looks sound, how 
 bold is their capital, how ready for investment, and inclined to in- 
 crease by circulation, I feel a kind of secret longing to excuse this 
 romance of commerce which they are naturalizing among us. 
 
 Need I add that the magnitude of their interests, and the 
 boldness of their enterprises, make them large-hearted, hospit- 
 able, and generous to prodigality. Merchants of the primitive 
 school (a few specimens are still found at Rouen, Lyons, and St. 
 Etienne) would be astonished to see how gold slips through the 
 fingers of a Marseillaise merchant. The twenty-franc piece is 
 no more timid at Marseilles than'at Paris. It hides itself just as 
 little, and plays the same pranks. Luxury, a vice that is excel- 
 lent, wholesome, and honorable among all men when sustained 
 by labor, flaunts in the Canebiere as insolently as on our boule- 
 vards. Marseilles consumes more silks than Lyons, and more 
 ribbons than St. Etienne. The Reserve sees more corks fly than 
 the Moulin- Rouge or the PavWori (T ArmenonviJle ; and, finally, 
 incredible to relate, all the boxes at the great theater are rented 
 by the year. 
 
 I passed a week of eight or ten days at Marseilles. The 
 inhabitants did the honors of their country and of themselves 
 with charming tfordiaUty. I found their hearts and houses open, 
 and became convinced that they are no more miserly in their 
 friendship than in anything else. What I know about their httle 
 faults they told me themselves, for they are ready at confession. 
 They own that a love for the open air, and a certain vagabond 
 spirit, take them too often out of the house. If they show them- 
 selves at home two or three times a day, they scarcely Hve there. 
 Business, the club, gaming, the noise, the motion, the cigar— 
 a certain freedom which they would not allow themselves at 
 home— these are the bonds that unite the men in groups, and 
 
16 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 keep them at a distance from tlie house. This out-door LTe 
 begins with puberty and is prolonged until old age. Marriage in- 
 terrupts it for the whole length of a honeymoon, and then habit 
 resumes its sway. There are many neglected women. For 
 consolation they throw tliemselves into tlie arms of religion, and 
 go to the churches. They might easily go further, for'^they are 
 pretty, or at least very piquant. But they have no life except 
 in the eyes; and so much the happier for their husbands. 
 
 — You can well conceive that such outrageous walkers do not 
 lose much time in reading. They are small consumers of books, 
 and consider that it is quite handsome enough in them to turn 
 over the leaves of a newspaper. If the booksellers told me the 
 truth, not ten copies of Mohere are sold in a year, in this city of 
 two hundred and ninety thousand souls, and, except for New 
 Year's gifts, not one. The booksellers are well posted in this 
 kind of statistics, siuce they undertake to provide for the mind. 
 Nevertheless some serious and cultivated men are known to be 
 in Marseilles ; tliey are from forty-five to sixty years of age — a 
 generation that is passing away. There are also two amateurs 
 of painting, one of them, moreover, a learned connoisseur. He 
 owns five pictures, if 1 remember rightly ; but the number mat- 
 ters nothing. They are Van Dyck's Magdalene, an admirable 
 Christ by Rembrandt, and three Poussins, one of them a master- 
 piece. These five pictures are preserved by tlieir master with 
 religious respect, in a saloon built expressly for them, lighted 
 from above— i.lols in a temple. The other gallery does norbear 
 comparison with this, though it has cost more, and may perhaps 
 be worth as much (about one hundred and fifty thousand francs). 
 Modern painUngs are not in great honor at Marseilles, and 
 whenever an artist of talent is bom there, you may pity him. 
 Hunger will soon drive him toward Lyons, toward ParLs, or 
 even (such a tiling has been known) as far as Constantinople. 
 One may well be astonished that tlie rich mcn.hants, when 
 building in tlie town or in the country are prodigal of marbles, 
 stuccos, rare woods, and jirecious metals, and are penurious only 
 in art, which is the most beautiful luxury of life. I have visited 
 by the sea-side very elegant country-seat.^, marvelously situ- 
 ated, well bJiilt, well furnished, cftrpetcd with rare plants, sur- 
 rounded by delicious fountains, peopled with miracles of birds, 
 and disgraced by pot-house frescoes. One millionaire only had 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 17 
 
 I 
 
 had the courage to introduce artists into his house in Marseilles 
 and his villa at Montredon. Will the example be foUowed ? I 
 hope so, but I do not expect it. It is not imj^ossible tJiat the new 
 generation may be seized wiUi a curiosity for the arts but if I 
 am to ti'ust my presentiments, it wiU take by preference to horses, 
 carriages, and all the silhness of " sport." 
 
 Shooting is already in high honor in the neighborhood of the 
 Canebiere. It is pleasant to hear the Marseillaise themselves 
 ridicule their passion for that noisy exercise. In fact, they are 
 more noisy than successful over it, for game is almost impossible 
 to find in the district A sportsman will go oft into the country 
 with seven-league boots, and bring home a lark. Every chlteau 
 every villa, every country-house, and even the most modest cot-' 
 tJige, IS provided witJi a snare for thrushes. This is an arbor of foli- 
 age surrounded by perches which await the bird. Woe to the poor 
 creature that trespasses in the department of the mouths of the 
 Iwhone. Lvery tree on which it ti-ies t^ alight, brings it under 
 the fire of an enemy. It fl.es from one snare to another, in the 
 midst of lead, noise, and smoke, until it falls dead, and a hundred 
 sportsaien rush in pell-mell to dispute the prey. In the absence 
 of thruslies, they shoot blackbirds; in the absence of blackbirds 
 sparrows; in the absence of sparrows, swallows. A swallow' 
 they say, seUs for four sous in the market The country is de- 
 I>opulated of birds, for the Marseillaise marksmen have an eyo 
 tliat never misses its aim. If, in the deep quiet of a night in 
 spring, the nightingale should imprudently raise her beautiful 
 clear voice, tlie sport^smen would soon take the field, and would 
 not miss her. 
 
 I was not present at any of this unreal shooting, and I re- 
 peat what my friends at Mai^eilles toM me on the subject But 
 I have seen with my own eyes the Marseillaise at the theater 
 and It IS always an interesting sight They are sincere lovers of . 
 music hke all the peoples of the South : I can not get rid of the 
 Idea that a trifle of aflectation enters hito the dilett^tism of the 
 Aortli The Marseillaise, then, are fond of music, and go to the 
 opera for sometliing besides saying, '^I went there." Are tliev 
 great connoisseui-s •/ Iwouldnotsweartx.it Is there really a 
 I)ubl,c among them that understands it? I heard last evenL 
 an Italian parterre a],plaud the singers every time they slirieked 
 too High ; and the same phenomenon often occurs at Marseilles 
 

 18 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 The pure and classical talent of Mme. Caroline Dnnrez meets 
 wuh a hearty tnumph there; but when M. ArmandUs in " 
 that ,s qu,te a d.flerent thing. M. Armandi is a more than m^ 
 diocre tenor; ye have seen him suflbr .shipwreck at the opera, Z 
 the character of Robert. In due time he came to Mat^-.r and 
 there, for the tnfle of five thou.sand francs a month, he ^dtes 
 alternately the enthusiasm and the rage of the public He s 
 kssed and applauded in the s.,me air; apples are Lown at him 
 as well as bouquets; they praise him to the skies, and threa lu 
 
 ^iri" " ''" ''"'°^- '"^ """^^ "^ ""'« p"-^'- ^'-la t; 
 
 ff'^^V^ Taudevilles are served up to it in a hall that is 
 tolerably d.rty, but always full ; it is in fashion. I saw there 
 fe first rcjpresenuuon of an unpublished drama of M. Alexandre 
 Dum..s -Les Gardes Foresrie,^." The piece was an improvhl! 
 
 malr '"r^J'^'V" ^'"^ ■"-""' '^° '"«" »'"' ''-/of"l c 
 master. The pubhc showed itself undecided tmtil the end of le 
 h.rd act; would neither say yes nor no. It was flattered to 
 learn that a man of talent and reputation had come ft^m Paris 
 purposely to offer it his first performance, but its susp dol vau- 
 Ky was not w.lhng to be duped by accepting a rejS p Lee 
 Two or three excellent scenes complelely reassured it^ and 
 proved conclusively that it w..s not being laughe.1 at. ThenC"; 
 a mad demonstrafon of joy, a frenzy of admiration, which wS 
 appeased three hours after the fall of the curtain. The nie rf the 
 author was pro^Maimed in the midst of a shower of bourr tJe 
 AVorkmens Athenreum threw upon the sta-^e a crown n/ ^U 
 paper as large as Saturn's ring the director brou^hT in on^^a 
 tot Zr?;" ''T "' """'^^ ^"■-^- "- -'ho" d"a" d 
 
 'hall followed l2 \n n\ ''.I '" ^"^''^^■' ''">^'^°'« 
 
 under his w nd t WUll n "T "'"'T "" °^=-''"'^"^ 
 
 ihc u 1 ^ ' -^ ^^">^' "^ ^'^3 obliged to annear if 
 
 tt p\t;?-brtrcrtr;b^ trn ^rt-^ ^^ 
 
 before three o'clock in the mor' n ."^^ .^ ^ ./^^Maf 
 
 d!f r- "'"^" !'7 •''^°" •'-""-'-- into a thing. Se n4 
 day, the piece did not pay its e\-oen<!,.s Ti... \r ,, , 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 19 
 
 ( 
 
 I 
 
 laugh, was too easily written. Still the bill of the Gymnase 
 announced in laro^e letters, *' Les Gardes Forestiers, by M. Alex- 
 andre Dumas, member of tlie Workmen's Athenkum of Mar- 
 seilles." The same day was given at the opera, *' The Barber 
 of Seville, by MM. Beaumarchais, and Castilblaze." I like that 
 3fnnsici(r Beaumarchais. 
 
 You would only half know the people of Marseilles if I 
 forgot to tell you that they are the sworn enemies of the people 
 of Aix. Athens was never more incensed against her neighbors 
 at ^gina. Aix is a superannuated great city ; she has under- 
 gone misfortunes; she still has traces of beauty. Especially she 
 still has an Imperial Court, an archbishopric, and a little Sarbonne, 
 which would greatly please the citizens of Marseilles. They ask 
 themselves with some dissatisfaction v/hy these things are not 
 for sale at the market. 
 
 The inhabitants of Aix do no business and make no money. 
 They have good names, fine houses, considerable chateaux, bur- 
 dene.l with some mortgages. They look from pretty high gi-ound 
 upon the mercantile spirit and restless activity of the Marseil- 
 laise ; they pride themselves on disdaining material things ; they 
 attend the lectures of the Faculty of Literature; their kingdom 
 IS not of this world ; they are pure spirits ; they are like the lily 
 of the valley, which can neither spin nor weave, but wear white 
 garments for all that. If all the towns of France were animated 
 with that spirit, we should not be at the head of civilization. 
 
 You should hear tlie Marseillaise on the subject of their neigh- 
 bors I I remember, one day, in the month of March, there was 
 a score of us seated, all talkative, after dinner, in the conser^'a- 
 tory of a chateau which overlooks the sea. The conversation 
 had already gone two or three times round the world. One 
 guest had told us how a certain Egyptian Pasha, desirous of 
 heading his troops with European music, wrote to his corre- 
 spondent at Marseilles to sc^nd him some. The merchant bought 
 the most improved in.nruments and shipped them for Alexandria. 
 The Pasha, delighted with the beauty of so many brass instru- 
 meiit-, distributed them immediately amon* the most vigorous 
 soldiers of his army, and bade them, under the penalty of the 
 stick, play him something. They executed a cacophony so 
 monstrous that they were lustily beaten and others sent for. 
 After several experiments, equally unsuccessful, the Pasha con- 
 
20 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE JOURXKY. 
 
 21 
 
 ceived doubts as to tho oiiillfir r.f *u 
 
 been sent to l.im. Hemade 7 rl f .'"*^';'""«'i^« ^t-eh I.a.l 
 tl.at l.e had done hfbe" and a In? '' ''' ''"'"'' P™'-'"'' 
 At l..„,„, it occu,xea to" he Trtei lai"e T'TT''"'" '"''"'''■ 
 had any n,u.sieian.s. "Parbleur r i""'"^' ""^ ^"^''^ "' ''« 
 -usi.. L I should not h! in tnt 7^:^" "'""' "'^ ^ ■"''' 
 
 tlie armor on them with l>is o^n hand sta ion d 1 '''''' ''"' 
 pact group, and fired at tl,-. „, stationed them m a corn- 
 
 Not only does the black monaT T T""" '""'"' ^""' ^^P^- 
 
 j..;e^sthe,r^;r-r-,si:-i3 
 
 away some huge spider's web •, 1 , '"'«™"». »■• Crushed 
 
 the company had made bin ^f '^°°' ""^ * ''''"P- ^no of 
 
 of Aix for a score of million > ^""'"'"^ '« l"'y the houses 
 After thi,s faslJon areW^ r ' ""r '° '"™ ''"' "" "'« "'^'ivcs. 
 faculties woul We h ; S'"' '"''"-'™' ^°"«' ""^ "■« ^'-eo 
 seilles. This id 1 amu^ L '"= , "' ""^^'""?, to ,nove to Mar- 
 
 -ore conuo to you ll el!r,"' " "^ """''' ^''" '"«"''<''7 
 speaker, the li -elcss of hi '"^""'' ''"*■■ '''' Sutures of the 
 W and all the w all the 1 T^n 'T' "'" "^""'"'"^^ "f '"3 
 the hun,or which 1 < Ued uj ev^ v f ' ' "iT ^'°"' '"'"■•'■' -"J «» 
 andre Dumas is per! al the fir^M ti'' "" "^^ '""'''^"^^■- ^^^ -^l-''- 
 sation he ahnost*^ od 1 n^t ^"" 'f ^'•'""••^^"' ""^ ««"'--^- 
 seillaise eloquencl of if rJ \1 " '""'"'' i'"''"'- The Mur- 
 
 -Alanufacturer' 1 ''""'';"' '""^ overwhehned him. 
 Marseille^ ' ''''' ''°^' ''P'"'^^"'''""" divide- the city of 
 
 ~, .be coal Uta Jlhe Cn -Sl^ i^r 
 
 I 
 
 IS carried economically over the whole surface of the sea Mar- 
 seilles wiU shortly become one of the capitals of French industry 
 and Its Cictories wUl make a din loud enough to wake Bord.^aux 
 iteauwhile, the chief branches of manufacturing in the city 
 aheady employ some twenty thousand workmen. Abundance of 
 sugar, oil, and soap are made here; for we are in tl.e metropolis 
 ot the ircnch grocery business. 
 
 Cane sugar comes to us from the colonies in boxes or in ba<^ 
 m the form of blackisli, grumous dust. The Marseilles refiners 
 mix ,t, melt it, boil it, clarify it, dry it in loayes, and pulyerize it 
 again. They scatter on all the shores of the Mediterranean this 
 will e, crystaUme, shining powder, of which the people of the 
 South are so fond. The transformation of brown su-rar into white 
 used to take three or four weeks at the time when the yoyage from 
 MarseUles to Constantinojile took three or four months. Now 
 steam, whicli can do eyery thing, transforms sugar in eight days' 
 and transports it in a week, an.i our reOncrs turn over their cap- 
 ital every moment, so to speak. Of a hundred million kilo- 
 grammes consumed every year in the Mediterranean, MarseiUes 
 furnishes twenty. The Belgians and Dutch do the rest. Within 
 ten years, if it pleases God, the wliole market will be ours, and 
 Mi^seiUes will be In a condition to sugar the Mediterranean as if 
 It were a simple cup of coffee. 
 
 It is not olive oil that is made at Marseilles: get that pre- 
 judice out of your mind. Olive oil is made in th^ country on 
 a small scale, m proportion to tlie crops, which are always mod- 
 erate ; It 13 almost a domestic manufacture. The mills of the city 
 which run twenty-four hours a day, would crush in one moment 
 all the olives of Provence. Olives are too unsubstantial food to 
 put under their teeUi; bring them vessels laden with ses;.me 
 earUi-nuts, or cocoa-nuts ; that is the food that a-rees with them' 
 Open, Sesame ! It is the phrase of Aladdin in the story of the 
 Thousand aud One Nights. At that magic phrase, the treasure 
 cave opened wide. Who would liave told us, when we were chil- 
 dren, that tlie sesame, apart from all magic, contained inexhaust- 
 ible treasures ? It is a Utile grain from India, flat, long, and 
 blackish I have seen some mountains of it in the store- 
 l"^uses of Mareeilles. They pass it into the rolling mill. Open, 
 
 fT'L '^ :*''"*-' °" '^'""=-' <■■•"■» i'- «'«^^a>-, and excellent for 
 toorl. Then they roll it under onormons miU-stoiies of Scotch 
 
22 
 
 EOME Of lO-D AY. 
 
 f-'n'e. Open, Sesame/ Tl 
 
 drauhc presses, whierh T^^ '"^""'' ''t to tJ,e , ,■ 
 
 ^hiW breaks a or ^^'"'^ » -^o'^nin of le '""°'' ^^ V 
 
 •■"'J when thevl' ! ?"" " °" ^r soan-Zl- " ^'"'^ hot 
 
 the nut C ''"''-""'' 'he col.a t "'"'' ''«^""ies n 
 
 - ^"- 'C:i?„rtt-x;r'''''«°-^st:r ^""'^ 
 
 ^ <^an not leave the o I, i"^'« "'Suez. "*" " ='•'''" 
 
 "■' '»«. « i;4" "* « ." ~m.t «:""«•'' <■""■ 
 
 r-- Clrr>'' """- ^-"t aT^;': "^ ^^^ 
 
 furnaces- ^.^^ ^'^ ^^ some imn . " ^" adjommp- dp. 
 
 ^K" 'h^VSrt •? ''-^"'' ^ ho "StT'^''^^^^^^^^^ 
 """0, .he only one n ' ° ""^ '^ half of /iC i'"' ^'^"""""e. 
 
 Tins remarkable -,n,l ' ^-^ ""'hin- aboni "' ''""i-h- 
 
 fo; the whole oft r '"''""' "'"'•""'^^^^"^h^^?'"""^^^^^^^^ 
 '^•hat a near relatL , '"'"' herself. Yon , ^""ndation 
 
 ^'he n.annfaeC ?"'" ' ^■""'"^ ""^^'"'-■^ 
 
 ""ont, like that of n,l ' T'' ''* "°' -'"sceptible of , 
 the past t,ro h„n Ir '' '"='"- -T' has bu7 1 , ,'""'' ''"P'-ove- 
 
 '•'•''h'- of Jupit,; "•;''''" -'he spran,. ',elt '""^ "'" "« 
 
 «"''t sinee tie ^^eo.^i: ?'^ '""'hlieatioS^ f. """-^ ^'•«'» 'ho 
 
 ^^etories, whose n, '° ''"''''" of somt ? "'^ »osamo has 
 
 ^"''rter ou Hf t M '^^''S^oeably Sd "th >"• ^^"^ ^o"!- 
 
 n 
 
 ) 
 
 THE JOUKXEY. 
 
 23 
 
 enormous cauldron?, heated by invisil.lo fires, silently boil and 
 foam. A short distance from them the soap is coolinir in lar^-e 
 reservoirs. The cutting it into blocks, the weighing and pack- 
 ing, are all done by liand, steam having nothing to do with it. 
 These enormous buildings are temples of patriarchal industry 
 and hereditary piobity. The manufacturer's constant endeavor 
 is to maintain the reputation of his brand, and that is no easy 
 matter. The slightest adulteration of the oils he uses may spoil 
 a vat full of soap. It is especially to its soap factories that 
 Marseilles formerly owed its rcput^ition lor filth and unhealthi- 
 ness. Nothing is more nauseous than the process of soap-mak- 
 ing. There is a liquid and solid residue left after it is made, 
 which the Marseillaise of die golden age deposited at their doors' 
 or allowed to drain into the harbor. The government no longer 
 permits this liberty, but compels them to carry the liquid portFon 
 fur outside the harbor, and the fetid, earthy residue to a distance 
 from the city. I>erhaps the soap-making interest will at some 
 time be transferred to the suburbs. Should the manufacturers 
 decide to move the distance of a few kilometers, they will save 
 the cost of transportation and the city dues which now diminisli 
 tlieir profits ; they will restore to the well-to-do Marseillaise a 
 handsomely-laid-out, well-built section of the city, which the 
 stench now renders uninhabitable. Factories for making soda 
 could be established in the vicinity, where a thousand workmen 
 might labor <br them. I do not stray too far from the grocery 
 business if I mention that there are in Jklarseilles eighteen sulphur 
 refineries and forty factories of Italian paste. There also aro 
 prepared those sweetmeats of the South which have given Cas- 
 telmuro a reputation over all Europe. But the canal of the 
 Durance, by enriching a loamy soil, has increased the beauty of 
 the fruits, to the detriment of their flavor. The crop is more 
 plentiful, and they are larger in consequence of being better 
 nourished ; but they have lost the delicate taste which distin- 
 gui^rhes those produced in more barren soils. Fruits are hke 
 men — a httle poverty makes them better. 
 
 I also saw at Marseilles truly a curious little machine, and if I 
 mistake not, the only one of its kind. It was for the manufac- 
 ture of bottle corks, where all was done by steam. I have 
 sometimes seen a workman cut out corks from the bark of a 
 cork tree with a sharp knife, and it seemed to me impossible that 
 
24 
 
 BOJ£E OP TO-DAT. 
 
 he ^vould certainly tave?, °' "'^«« "'ou^L^ i' ''"^ '^'^n 
 could shoB^ vo,. t, , '"'" """nted amon„ .t^ ^'"'" ''•■"'''er, 
 
 Uie aJmpe of a cvlim J ' '""'^'' •' over inrl k , ""ey seized 
 
 -no, .topped tot ;:; 'r":;" •' °'^ -"S? n tt T' '■' '■"'o 
 
 retouched iT r, ^^^ »] rirrJit *k^^ f ^^ ^"o form of a 
 
 -0 a bi- rrr "" ''-"^Xs ' tT 'v^""-"- 
 
 t° '-atcl, these "ron 7'°^"'« ove«eer t/'- ^"*'' ""^'S 
 "'°^ni»? to nHrw,r'"'""'=°' '^''° '"for 30 'r/'"' "'--^"rj 
 '«'>, no other ^our^ "° °""^'- ^'-mulant tlL "'''"'''^ fr°m 
 
 the cork than tl>e .-reat n ""* ''''""eJ a fraett ^ '^''^ 
 
 h-heveit, but, even r,/r' "'^ * -^o^k-maker ir """' "' 
 --Pensate their b^' ''' '''''''^ <^^"-"al iabo^ ^^.t't 
 I have said notl,in^ of ,1 • ""'^ 
 
 'hey give emploympnt", """wteries of ir,r,„„ 
 
 "<"• of the tanne. ° ""'"' ">an eleven , "^f 'H "'though 
 
 those magni£7f' T' "'" '■°'-""-> "or Ihe ""'7' ^^"^'''^n. 
 have seen fro^ ll ['^^'"'^ "'^ ^ Ciotlt. jt T""''"''^' »«>• "f 
 ;-- the goodTeJ ' Er /'-' the oii ?:r^'' "^ ^°" 
 
 °f the .AiedS:::? 'v!""" "- -^^ct^r-- ''^^^"''^ 
 
 f:«at to attract na w! j "" ''"''hor Privi,e.^rar"''L'"''™« 
 ''"on to those of Trhe t '^^"^ ."" f'art., and^eve^ l'"'^'^'''"''^ 
 afe exempt fro,,, ,,, ^""'-■'S'^ vesse L tn,, i " ''"'"Pe- 
 
 to certain d,„rt 3 ir' '""• -^ '-^ncV ^l:"^ '°°" "' ^arseiLs 
 "hid, t),e p,inrar/Tr"""''^«°J o'earane t"", '"^J''^' ""'y 
 
 .^-'^ '^"ogr':,.::^ 'Z t '"^ ^''- fiCfrant"'"*"*"* "'- 
 free from ti,e ev,;; / ^ '"' ""Po'ted h. tJ,!, ^^' """ hun- 
 
 « here two ye^^ 1 > '*"• "■'"'^h every'vj " '""''''■''• '"'ho 
 
 »wH,$»-^VBrii*is 
 
 THE JOURXEY. 
 
 25 
 
 These htllo facilities produce very great results The 
 bonded warehouse of Marseilles received i,t 1856 e 'ht \iIlioIs 
 and a half cuntals by measurement, reprosentin, property v^ 
 ued a four h.mdred and seventy-niue .nilhons ol'francs Th^ L 
 ahnost four-n,nths of the goods received at the w^W 
 throughout l.,.„ce. The same year the revenue from the cns- 
 to,n house at Marseilles gave a total of more than thirty-six ml 
 .ons five hundred thousand francs. On the 31st of Cm^r 
 there were e.ght hund.ed and eighty-two sailing vcKsels ow>,ed 
 m the e,ty, registered at one hundred and on^ thousand tv^ 
 Imndred and forty-two tons. But the real source of W futu-e 
 greatne.,a,,d wealth lies in her stc.an, ma,ine. You would bo 
 astonished , I shouhl tell you all about a company" unpretenj! 
 n.g and m,^,ng little noise, which has its officL a MaSs 
 t3 boats at La Jo iette, and it3 dockyards at La Ciotat. iTl: 
 
 2; 7 1 ''■"'' """"^ ''"°'=^' '■■"-^P°"^ ^-o hundred aTd 
 thirty tl,«usand passengers, and sixty-seven thousand tons of 
 
 mc,chand,se m its vessels, which traverse a distance of ti,reo 
 hund,.d thousand leagues, and all this with little ostenta ion or 
 heraldry. You can get so.ne idea of the variety and magn^Lo 
 of lis operat,ons when I tell yon that every year there is ^„t t^ 
 -ts address at MarseUles alone, more than L^y thousan TotL^ 
 I efer, of course to the Company of the Mcssagcies Lnporiale;" 
 wluch was first started on U,e 8th of July, 1851. Up to that time 
 the transportation of dispatches, passenge,., and freight on^e 
 Meu,tenanean was the privilege of U.e post office department 
 1.8 vessels, generally slow, traversed only about ninety'^^houslnd 
 leagues, and realized, in 1847, a deficit for the year of four mU- 
 1-ons and a half exclusive of the general expenses, tl,e"t 
 on U,e capital .nvested, the insurance and the de^reciatbn of 
 property. Not n,oro U,an twenty-seven thousand passcn^erl 
 and nine thousand tons of freight were transj.orted by it. Tto 
 aw of tl,e Sa, of July, by substituting the activity of Jrivat^ in^ 
 tere., for the stagnation of official routine, increased almost ten- 
 fold the nuniber of pas.sengers and quantity of freight; and this 
 nuracle has been accomplished in less than ten yea^ 
 
 T il™)T'"V'''"' ^""^ "S"' "' ""= ^"^'^ °^ this Company, and 
 I can therefore estnnate tl,e progress which has been made. 
 
 J'i't T "?; ?'"""^''' ^^ ""= '^•^Paff^ent, have been cast 
 aside. The fifty ships which now plow the waves of the Medi- 
 
 2 
 
26 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 terranean, form, of tiicmselves, a fine navy. They do not make 
 five leajnics an hour, like the Le VaUetta and Le Vecti, of the 
 Peninsular Company, but they average ten knots no matter 
 how heavily loaded, or what wo.tther. Th,> pa?sen<;er will find 
 all the comforts of life on board, but, above all, that cleanliness 
 so peculiarly French, which any one who has made a vova-e or 
 two under a foreign Hag can highly appreciate. La,.tly "their 
 commanders are geiitl.'men, no more wolCsh than you or I 
 
 The Company, which provides for everything, employs screw 
 steamers for the direct routes, and side- wheel steamers for the 
 voyages along the coast. Travelers pressed for time do not 
 stop to think of the rolling of the ship, but the young couples 
 spending their honeymoon traveling from irarseilles to Genoa 
 rom Genoa to Leghorn, from Leghorn to Civita-Veoohia and 
 rom thence to Naples, sleep in a more stable equilibrium between 
 the large wheels of the paddle steamers. 
 
 Rapidity of transportation has given wings to the commerce 
 of MarseiUes. Every day steam monopolizes more an.l more of 
 tlio co.-,.ting trade of the Mediterranean, which is becoming a 
 Marseillaise lake. It is not worth the while to enumerate hero 
 tlie various kinds of merchandise which the city exports to the 
 -t-ast ; the eight pages of a newspaper would hardly suffice for 
 tlie hst I prefer to tell you, in short, that the merchants of 
 Man<eilles sell everything. I„ exchange they import the raw 
 products of the Mediterranean and the Ulack Sea, the harvests 
 ol America, Africa and India, cotton, leather, spirit^, sugar; but 
 before and above all, every species of grain. I have ju'st sLid a 
 word about the oil-producing grain, but a book could be written 
 concennng the importation of those that are edible. France 
 made five wretched crops between 1852 and 18.J7. Who nour- 
 ished us meanwhile? Marseilles. The CanebicVe has in six 
 years, seen pa.s3 from it more than thirteen millions of loads of 
 grain. In the beginning of the year 1856, when the harvests 
 o Russia were blockaded in the Sea of Azoff, when the mercury 
 of our m.arkets went up higher and higher, the merchants of Mar- 
 seilles ran to Naples, and to Alexandria, and empUed Uie grana- 
 nes of Lgypt, and of the SicUies. 
 
 During this advance in prices, the end of which no one could 
 foretell, si>eeulat,on in grain rose to a most dangerous hci.^ht. 
 The trader sought for it even at the source, and p^id no nLtter 
 
 r 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 27 
 
 ' 
 
 \ 
 
 what price, sure of selling it again at a profit. Indeed, while 
 the cargo was on its way, wafted by a prosperous wind toward 
 Marseilles, it was called for in the market^ sold, resold— always 
 with an increase in price— until it sometimes changed hands 
 twenty times before it reached the harbor. Between the buyer 
 and the seller stood the broker, a cunning man, interested in 
 multiplying the transactions, and increasing the prices. Tliese 
 c.iriroes of grain frequently passed through so many hands that 
 the sale realized only enough to pay the commission upon it. 
 One of the principal brokers of Marseilles, a young man, who 
 veritably has a genius for the business, gained in one year one 
 million two hundred thousand francs. 
 
 This wild speculation of the citizens may have occasioned 
 failures, and affected trade, but let us not forget that it furnished 
 us with bread. 
 
 It was unavoidable that the return of more prosperous times 
 and Hie consequent fall in prices of all kinds of food, should 
 affect many of these dealers. The financial crises affecting cer- 
 tain branches of trade are the inevitable consequences of the 
 development of credit. Our fathers were not acquainted with 
 them, but they knew perfectly what a famine is. 
 
 Speculation in government and manufacturing stocks is com- 
 paratively a recent thing in Marseilles. Nevertheless, it is calcu- 
 lated that between the first of January, 1855, and the first of 
 January, 1858, more than a hundred miJHon francs worth of 
 etock certificates were sold in Marseilles alone. By stocks I 
 mean those possessing a value, such as government funds, rail- 
 road stocks, and guaranteed bonds. Up to that time the board 
 of brokers had carried on a thankless business. The members 
 were in the habit of negotiating stocks of very little value, on 
 account of penniless speculators. They sold interests in mines 
 whose locality even was doubtful, in turf-pits equally hard to 
 find, and stocks of banks without foundation. At last, capital 
 was obhged to hide itself in the deepest recesses of tlie cash-box 
 whenever a broker came in sight. It is truth to say that the 
 conipany of brokers, composed of divers elements, offered but 
 few guaranties for safety. Seats at the board were oflcred at fiay 
 thousand francs without takers; ten brokers out of every twenty 
 were obliged to suspend. In addition to the regular board, an- 
 other of curb-stone brokers had been organized, with a president 
 
28 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 and place of meeting. The public, without meaning to injure 
 the regular board, began at last to look upon these outsiders in 
 the same light as the others. This by no moans pleased the 
 recrulars, who did not wish to be compared with men of such 
 poor credit, so deeply in debt, and so covered with judgments. 
 It happened, luckily for the reputation of the place, that the 
 new board of officers directed their attention to this state of 
 affairs. The president himself, M. Paul Blouet, was a young 
 man of energy and integrity, and at once commenced legal pro- 
 ceedinsrs against the fictitious board. The legal tribunal con- 
 demned the whole set as if it had been one man, and thus freed 
 the corporation of this parasitical and compromising competition. 
 
 The dispersion of the curb-stone brokers was succeeded by 
 attacks upon the entire class of unlicensed brokers, who then 
 found employment in the requirements of trade. This class was 
 composed principally of hard-working, sober men, moderately 
 supplied with money, doing a fair business, and admitted to the 
 best society. They were quietly followed up, more with the 
 idea of compelling tliem to prociu'o licenses than with the hope 
 of entirely exterminating them. Every one of them was forci-d 
 to purchase one of tlie seats then vacant, and in the end the 
 board was letl without a rival. 
 
 These men being reliable, managed their business in an honw^t 
 manner. Stocks of local value were never allowed to be quoted 
 at rates on time, but only as sales for cash. Investments on a 
 Large scale, like tliose on tlie Paris exchange, were the result. 
 Stock transactions daily increiised in magnitude, until to-day the 
 cost of a seat at the board, which was oftered not long ago for 
 fitly thousand francs, is now worth from one hundred and twenty 
 to one hu!ulred and fifty thousand. 
 
 It is only necessary to visit Bordeaux, Lyons, or Marseilles, to 
 discover that the brokers' boards of provincial cities, if v»'ell 
 manacred, tend to draw away stock speculation from one central 
 point. Formerly Paris was the only market. Ortlers to purchase 
 or st'll were sent thither from the whole of France. The provin- 
 cial agents had been appointed only for the sale and purchase of 
 notes and bills of exchange, precisely hke the merchandise brokers ; 
 in proof of which they are still classed with them, and are under 
 the supervision of tlie Muiister of Commerce. The brokers of 
 Paris, who engaged only in transactions in stocks, were placed 
 
 THE JOUKNEY. 
 
 29 
 
 
 in a special category, and under the supervision of the Minbter 
 of Finance. Whenever any individual at Marseilles, Bordeaux, 
 or Lyons wished to buy or sell some stock, he was obliged to 
 apply to the Receiver-General, who directed the completion of 
 the transaction at Paris through the agency of a broker. But 
 since the regulation of the i>rovincial boards, stocks can be 
 bought and sold equally well at Marseilles and at Paris, and the 
 merchants of Bordeaux or Lyons can speculate on the rise and 
 fall through their own brokers, without the trouble of commu- 
 nicating tlirough the Receiver-General. This change is much 
 more important and serviceable to the provinces than would be 
 supposed at first sight In times of political crisis or financial 
 pam'c the collections of largo uumbefs of orders for sale at one 
 point have a^Uirect tendency to depreciate credit and enhance tho 
 decline. Their distribution through the provincial markets, by 
 dividing the blow, lessens its severity. 
 
 It is exactly a year since I blamed with all my power the 
 Municipal Council of Bordeaux, i reproached it witli being rich 
 from ill-gotten gains. I charged it with a niggardly manage- 
 ment of the funds of a wealthy and powerful city, and Uamed 
 it for seeming to creep along in the road to luxury and progress 
 in which aU the rest of France, imitating Paris, was rushing at a 
 gallop. Of all the virtues, economy is certainly the most stupid 
 and uninteresting. Whenever an expense is necessary, it should 
 be incurred, without bargaining or waiting. I know a man who 
 is compelled to travel six months in a year, and who makes it a 
 principle never to pay too dearly for anything. This habit of 
 beating down saves him about ten francs a day, and detracts 
 more than a hundred francs' worth from Iiis happiness. My 
 grandfaUier was a very worthy farmer, but most careful, to his 
 misfcjrtune as well as mine. He possessed at the " Reign of 
 Terror," twelve thousand francs and six children. By chan'ce an 
 opportunity occurred to purchase at a low rate the chateau of 
 the village, and a largo adjoining domain, now worth at least a 
 million of francs. :My grandlUther was not such a tool as to buy. 
 lie prudently held on to his money, and when he died, in 1845, 
 the twelve thousand francs were found safely locked up in a 
 chest. I, myself, and I profess to be no more economical than 
 any other man, saw, a few days ago, in a shop at Rome, tlie 
 dagger of Trivulcus, a memento avcII authenticated, and of the 
 
30 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE JOURXEY. 
 
 31 
 
 greatest interest. The scabbard, at least half a yard in length, 
 was of bone, and bore the name of the original owner, his por- 
 trait, the likeness of Louis XII., and also of an unknown female, 
 whose name seems to be ignored by history. This beautiful 
 weapon was for sale at only one hundred and fifty irancs — it was 
 worth at least four times that sum. I allowed it to bo carried 
 off by a second-hand dealer in Paris. What should I have done ? 
 I waited, like my granrlf-ither, with this dinerence, that the one 
 hundred and fitly francs will never be discovered by my heirs. No 
 one would ever think of practicing economy, who is fully aware 
 of this incontestible fact, namely, that gold and silver are depre- 
 ciating almost imperceptibly day by day, while human labor and 
 ingenuity are increasing in value. The seven and a half Louis, 
 which I so stupidly kept in my drawer, are already worth some- 
 thing less than last week ; while the dagger of Trivulcus, in four or 
 five hundred years, will be worth ten times its weight in gold. 
 
 If economy is ridiculous in private individuals, it is almost a 
 a crime when practiced by a government. The wealth and 
 greatness of a country do not come from the quantity of silver 
 hoarded up by its sovereigns, but from that which has been judi- 
 ciously spent. The money which is expended alone remains, 
 the money which is treasured up will in the end disappear. The 
 authorities in the rural districts do not accept this creed, because 
 they belong to the same school as my grandfather, and choose to 
 be mean for the present, without regard to prospective advan- 
 tages. Panurge went a little too fsxr in his Salmigundian 
 kingdom, but there was more sense in the httle finger of 
 Panurge than in the body of a whole parliament. The habit 
 of cutting down appropriations, and especially the systematic 
 procrastination of useful works, have cost France very dear. If 
 the railroad from Paris to Marseilles had been completed u few 
 years earher, the port of Trieste would never have attained its 
 present wealth at our expense. The improvements which are 
 now being so rapidly made in the crowded quarters of Paris, 
 could have been ejected for one half the outlay in 1758. They 
 will cost ten times as nuicb, if the delay of ollicial routine post- 
 pones them, from year to year, until 1958. It follows from this, 
 that in all works of ornament or public utility, notliing is more 
 pnident than to be precipitate, nothing is more economical than 
 outlay. 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 History, from whose judgment of the acts of governments 
 there is no appeal, looks with httle favor upon the millions they 
 liave hoarded. It regards Galba as a miser, and holds Vespasian 
 far removed from the odor of sanctity. The extravagances of 
 Louis XIV., although somewhat selfish, have left a more pleas- 
 ant souvenir than the meannesses of Louis XI. For this reason, 
 if we wish to be blessed by our children, and admired by pos- 
 terity, we should expend all our revenues in great and useful 
 works : it will be the best investment. 
 
 We say then that the city of Bordeaux drew too little from 
 her revenues to pay for improvements. It is true the previous 
 centuries have left her but a small task. On the other hand, the 
 inhabitants of Marseilles, who had everything to accomphsh, 
 worked like veritable magicians for the glory of their country. 
 They postponed nothing ; they began ten things at a time, took 
 the lead in the useful, the ornamental, and the imposing. Two 
 harbors, a canal, a city hall, an imperial residence, an exchange, 
 a cathedral, a zoological garden, were the results. Do I forget 
 anything ? Notliing, except the widening of the Rue Noailles 
 and Rue d'Aix. It was a slight expenditure of nine millions, 
 tliat widening of the Rue Noailles, and of seventeen millions for 
 the other ; twenty-six milhons of francs spent for the simple 
 purpose of allowing carriages to pass more freely at the entrance 
 of the city. Louis XL and .people of his class would decide un- 
 animously that they were crazy. 
 
 I allow that at the outset, this apparent madness completely 
 astounded me. I asked mysell'— Is not this young and energetic 
 Marseilles blindly squandering its present and future resources- 
 would it not be wise to give her a judicial in place of a municipal 
 council ? The city treasury has answered my question. Expenses 
 the most enormous and apparently the most unwise, become 
 trivial when he who incurs them is on the high road to pros- 
 perity, when all his undertakings are successful, and silver tlirowa 
 from the window returns immediately by the door in the form 
 of gold. 
 
 The private enterprises that flourish so well at Marseilles fully 
 prove tlie truth of tliis assertion. The directors of the theaters 
 pay annually seventy-five thousand francs for rent, five thousand 
 francs a month to the principal tenor, two thousand five hundred 
 to the basso, four thousand francs to tlie prima donna, and every- 
 
32 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 thing else in the same proportion. Nevertheless, they deposited 
 in bank seventy-five thousand francs as profits for the year 1857 
 T^ie concert -ardens of the Casino and I'Alcozar display a do-ree 
 of luxury which is almost ridiculous, which would a.tonish"'tlie 
 mhahitants of Paris ; but the more they spend, the more they 
 make, and the folly of their extravagance seems to enrich them 
 m no time. 
 
 The sharehoUler. of the zoological gardou bo,,^l,t their grounds 
 mlSoo. Ihey pau for thorn one hundre.l an.l eighteen thou- 
 sand franc., ,n add.fon to the expenses for buildings and ani- 
 mals But the mcome, the receipts for the year 1857 alone were 
 nmety-five thousand six hundred and sixty francs ; that i. the 
 
 But to pass from small things to great-the result is the same 
 
 ^Zrj'T' °! .f"' '"^ '""^"-^^ '"'^y y^'"- ^''ti-^r .00 fast, but 
 
 ivhat matters i , ,f the receipts are always one or two mUlions in 
 advance? I„ 1855 they spent nearly ten millions, and rece ved 
 n return more than twelve; the next year, for eleven expended 
 there were tlnrteen returned. In 1857 the expenses seemed ouN 
 rageously large, being eighteen millions and a half, but the receipts 
 were almost twenty miUions. Do you know that tlxere are oo,m! 
 tnes m turope whose whole budget is iot so large as tliat ? In 
 any case I know of none making such rapid strides in prosperity 
 Everybody has so much conlidence in the ultiu.ate dest ny of 
 Marseilles, .ts resources are so well known, its financial integrity 
 BO estabhshed that it can borrow whatever sum it pleasef 
 Every loan ,t has authorized has been taken up at once by U.o 
 .nhab,tants at a most moderate discount: four and a half p^r 
 cent, for by far the largest portion. Its financial report can bo 
 
 ernmen t. 1 he city, by laws passed at various times, is author- 
 zed to borrow forty-three million two hundred nn.i fifty thoi^^Tnd 
 francs. It has availed itseU" of only thirty-five uiillion sLnlZ 
 dred and filtythousaml francs; it has already reimburse,! ei"lt 
 niUhon nme hundred thousand francs, so that the debt Is i^any 
 
 Sr ThT"' """"?'" ""'^'^^^^ »"•' ^''y tl'ousand fl f 
 i-oorl why any man who has an income of twenty thousand 
 
 t"trn.r '^ °f ^'""f " "'— «- hundrS, e~n- 
 tract twenty-seven thousand francs of debts witliout incurring 
 
 THE JOUEXEY. 
 
 33 
 
 any legal restraint. He would be permitted to run in debt to 
 thrice this amount, if he had any reason to expect a future be- 
 quest But my Marseilles is the son of commerce and manu- 
 factures, and possesses in the future an incalculable legacy— has 
 no limit to its expectations. 
 
 The principal item of expense has been the construction of the 
 Canal of the Durance, which cost nearly thirty-five millions and 
 a half; but the sale of its waters gives already an annual profit 
 of four hundred and fifty thousand francs, without mentioning the 
 improvement in the sanitary condition of the city, and the gain 
 from the laying of the dust in the streets, and the general im- 
 provement of the neighboring country. The expenses for the 
 construction of the harbors have been shared by the city, the 
 department, and the state. The city will be the first to realize 
 the benefit. The building of the cathedral will be expensive. 
 How much? No one can tell. The estimate for the founda- 
 tions is about one million three hundred thousand francs. But 
 then the Bishop of Marseilles can no longer officiate in a village 
 church. The state has appropriated two millions and a half to 
 this object: the city will furnish four, one to come from the rev- 
 enue, three from the sale of the lands at La Joliette. The city 
 hall will cost four millions ; but this the department pays for. 
 The Exchange is to cost six and a half millions, but the chamber 
 of commerce assumes nearly the whole of the expense. The 
 city is to furnish a subsidy of six hundred thousand francs, pay- 
 able in ten years. Why, it has granted no more than the dirt 
 from the streets! 
 
 The construction of an imperial residence has been begun 
 south of the old harbor, on the square of La Reserve, near that 
 village of the Catalans whom Monte Christo has rendered cele- 
 brated. For a long time past, this village has been but a mere 
 name. This republic of fishermen, who have all come from 
 abroad, talks about emigrating. Is it because of the conscrip- 
 tion for the navy ? Is it because the fishes have left our shores? 
 I can not say. But tlieir little port looks always deserted, and 
 their whitewashed cabins are nearly empty. In that solitude 
 the guttural sound of a Spanish word is rarely heard. One 
 must wander a long time among its ruins before coming across a 
 bronze-visaged old woman at a threshold, picking over the head 
 of her grand-child. 
 
 2* 
 
 W'^it V f^(A*« 
 
34 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 The Marseillaise spend their revenue hke sensible people, per- 
 haps not very artistically. As men of spirit I stand ready to 
 award them every degree of praise justly their due; but in the 
 matter of art I should not go to them for instruction. The ap- 
 preciation of the beautiful is the result of education rather than 
 a gift of nature, and the Marseillaise have not yet directed their 
 attention that way. They lack that traditionary love of art 
 which is preserv(.'d in certain cities of France, as Lisle, Valen- 
 ciennes, Dijon, Grenoble, and Lyons ; I will include even I^or- 
 deaux. . The new edifices of Marseilles can hardly be considered 
 models of architecture ; yon can find them of equally pure style 
 at Washington or Cincinnati. In front of the new Exchanije 
 which is conspicuously ugly, you can see an executioner show- 
 ing to the people a freshly decapitated head. It is (he statue of 
 Puget, sculptured by M. Pianius, and presented to the city by a 
 grand seigneur of Jerusalem. The museum has some good paint- 
 ings, but they are neither well arranged, Well lighted, nor well 
 cared for. It is for this cause that I complain of the municipal 
 council of Marseilles. It is too bad that of the two picture gal- 
 leries, the first is badly lighted, the second is not lighted at all. 
 One regrets to see enthroned in the place of lionor five or six 
 daubs of the modern school, while the Mercury of Ilaphael, 
 painted in the Famesine style by M. Ingnes, is hung just )mder 
 the ceiling, in the dfirkest corner of a gloomy room. Finally, 
 those who have been employed to restore them are almost as 
 unscrupulous as our Parisian vandals. 
 
 Do you know what municipal privilege is most highly prized 
 in the provinces? that on which they j>ride themselves the most? 
 that which they defend with the most obstinacv atrainst the en- 
 croachments of the capital ? I will tell you. It is the right to 
 tear down a handsome edifice for the sake of building an ugly 
 one. To choose a bad statue out of ten good ones. To make 
 night and day in a museum. To appoint a piofessor of drawing 
 who does not know how to draw. This ambition is by no 
 means peculiarly French ; the same thing can be observed at 
 leisure throughout civilized Euro{)e, and it has been contnbuting 
 for a number of years to the decline of art which we now wit- 
 ness. In every city of ten thoui^and souls the princii»al men 
 unanimously declare, " We have the right to spend our money as 
 we please in patronizing art No human power shall prevent 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 35 
 
 US from sailing our ships broadside on, provided the cargo belongs 
 to us." 
 
 A Bavarian who was living at Rome told me the following 
 anecdote. I will give you the whole of it, although it has little 
 to do with Italy, or even Marseilles, but simply because it 
 touches a question that interests educated men of every coun- 
 try. List^-n attentively, for it is the Bavarian who speaks : 
 
 " I was born at Niguenau, a city of twelve thousand inhabi- 
 tants, situated sixty miles from Munich, and the chief city of 
 that province. My fellow-citizens were all in good circum- 
 stances, having acquired fortunes by manufacturing cotton stuffs 
 and porcelain dolls. Their chief pleasure consisted in eating 
 sausages and drinking the beer of the country, which is really 
 excellent: they know nothing better or more worthy of a man's 
 ambition than to drink beer and eat sausages. Nevertheless as 
 the study of art has been rather fashionable in Bavaria for a 
 number of years past, and as everybody's attention was directed 
 to it in Munich, the most respectable citizens of Niguenau, in 
 order to maintain their rank in the kingdom of art, appropriated 
 yearly some thousands of florins for its encouragement. They 
 employed a sworn architect, who was charged with the repairs 
 of tlie public buildings, and to repaint them red. They had 
 a museum, whose contents were picked up by chance, but 
 chance is sometimes lucky. Finally, they supported, in one' way 
 and another, a professor of painting. In conformity with the 
 municipal axiom, 'Give none of the money of the commune to a 
 stranger,' the professor, the superintendent, and the architect 
 were all natives of the province. These three persons depended 
 for tlieir living upon tlie burgomaster, and consequently looked 
 to him alone. It happened, however, that the burgomaster was 
 a most excellent man, a skillful physician, and one of the most 
 inteUigent individuals in Niguenau, but in matters of art a perfect 
 ass. Consequently he was all the more jealous of his prerogative, 
 and arguments relating to art were the only ones to which he 
 wouM not listen. 
 
 ** The administrator of the province (he would b-j called pre- 
 fect in France) was a connoisseur whose taste had been refined 
 by travel, life at Munich, and his intercourse with great artists. 
 For this reason tliey were careful not to consult with him. Fi- 
 nally, when he obligingly ventured to give a little good advice, 
 
36 
 
 KOME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 the burgomaster wrapped himself up in his official conceit, and 
 replied in terms of most studied impertinence, * Monsieur, the 
 Prefect, no doubt knows more tlian we do, and we are persons 
 liable to be deceived, but Niguenau is rich enough to pay for our 
 blunders, and I can assure you it shall not cost the government 
 one kreutzer.' 
 
 " When the question arose as to rebuilding the city hall, which 
 had almost tumbled down in ruins, the burgomaster and his archi- ' 
 tect devised a kind of diminutive Grecian temple, surmounted 
 with a gothic bell-tower, and surrounded by a balcony in the 
 Swiss style. The prefect accidentally saw the plans of this hy- 
 brid edifice, and could not supress his surprise. With the utmost 
 suavity he was answered, ' The city pays for it' About the 
 same time the superintendent of the museum, who had never 
 touched a pencil in his life, stepped in front of a painting by 
 Perugino. We have only one, but that is the gem of the col- 
 lection. That animal (excuse me for not using a more respect- 
 ful term) took it into his head that the painting was too yellow, 
 and accordingly set to work scraping it with some instrument 
 until at last he came down upon the wood. Perceiving that he 
 had made that place a little too clear, and in order to remedy his 
 clumsiness, he spread over the whole surface he had thus whit- 
 ened a coat of bitumen. Then remembering, luckily, that the 
 painting originally had certain portions light and others dark, he 
 fell to scratching with his penknife where he thought there should 
 be strong liglits. The prefect surprised him in the midst of his 
 labors, and shouted witli anger. His first impulse was to kick 
 hira over, but finally contented himself with demanding his dis- 
 charge. *You will excuse us,' replied the burgomaster, 'but 
 this officer is of our appointment* we pav him.' 
 
 "The professor of painting in the school of the commune died 
 about this time. lie never knew any thing in his life, and for 
 twenty years had taught tlie young people of Niguenau a style 
 of painting d la pommade, to the admiration of their relatives. 
 The prefect persuaded himself that this lucky event was likely to 
 preserve tlie taste of the city. lie want»jd to call from Munich 
 an elderly man, who was talented, a favorite at the exhibition, 
 honored by several rewards, and yet sufficiently modest to prefer 
 an established position in the provinces to the precHrious life of 
 t]w capirnl. P.iif the bnri:oma'^ter Rud his councilors had another 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 \ * 
 
 < f 
 
 37 
 
 candidate m view. This was a young man, a native of the 
 place, who had distinguished himself by some happy efforts at 
 the age of twelve. He had been sent to Munich with an income 
 of three hundred florins, in the hope that he could gain the Ro- 
 man prize, and thus C(jnfer luster on the city of Niguenau 
 He had done as well as he could, considering his age of thirteen 
 years, and yet had not gained even a second prize. The reason 
 was, not that he painted in the pomatum style, but that he sketch- 
 ed his pictures with the point of a nail. He was unanimously 
 elected by the city council, and the burgomaster, as in duty 
 bound, mformed the prefect. 'Your lordship,' he. said, 'will 
 appreciate tlie sentiments which have inspired us. We alone 
 have carved out for this young man a pathway in the realm of 
 art, by fin-nishing him with the means to study. As he has not 
 succeeded, it becomes our duty to furnish for him the means of 
 subsistence.' 'But why,' answered the prefect, 'because tliis 
 young man has proved his want of cap.-icity at Munich, do you give 
 him a place which should be filled by a competent person ? You 
 can not be aware of the evil an incompetent professor of draw- 
 mg can do in a country, and what a deplorable influence he can 
 exercise upon the public taste.' ' We alone run the risk,' re- 
 plied the burgomaster; ' besides, it is we who pay him.' Mor- 
 bleu ! lijis a man the right to poison his children under the simple 
 pretext that he has paid for the poison ? 
 
 "These three ignoramuses— the architect, the superintendent 
 an.l the professor— had just gained this triumph over the prefect' 
 when the King happened to be traveling in that direction and 
 stopped at the city. You very well know how gentle the dis- 
 position of tlie King was, butjfelso that he was a devoted admirer 
 of art, and decided when a^question of taste was concerned. 
 He called the burgomaster and his councillors to his hotel and 
 addressed them as follows : ' 
 
 " ' My good citizens, you imagine that you have a right to build 
 hideous buildings, ruin the pictures in your gallery, and deprave 
 the taste of your children, because your master of drawin<r, the 
 supermten.lent of your museum, and the architect of the city are 
 paid out of your own revenues. This mistake exists in all the 
 chief places of my kingdom, in consequence of which there are 
 not ten men with any amount of good taste outside of Munich 
 It IS high time to remedy this error. Henceforth I wish all thJ 
 
VJJtjftt 
 
 38 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 public edifices to be designed by my o\v\\ architects, that all the 
 superintendents of the museums gain first an ostabHshed repu- 
 tation at the capital, (md tliat all the professors of painting be 
 appointed by my micister, as the professors of Greek and Latin 
 in the royal colleges are chosen. You may raise the objection 
 that these gentlemen are appointed l)y you because their ex- 
 penses are paid by you ; so says the law. But the law also says 
 that when an officer is paid by tlie state, or a city, the right to 
 make the appointment rcj^ts with the government. For this 
 reason, from this day fortli, I shall appropriate one fiorin a year 
 for tlie support of the architecf, tlie superintendent of tlie gal- 
 lery, and the professor of drawing at Niguenau, and they shall 
 be appointed by me.' 
 
 " Since this act of regal power, there has been a city hall built 
 at Niguenau, against which no objections can be raised, the 
 pupils at the school of design no longer turn out daubs, nor make 
 their original designs with nails, and the museum is well lighted, 
 well kept, and admirably arranged ; under each picture there 
 has been painted the name of the artist, and the period when he 
 lived. The gems are properly hung in the most conspicuous 
 places, so that the public can be instructed at once what it is 
 their duty to admire ; and if the collection is not the most val- 
 uable in existence, it very well compares with the one at Munich." 
 
 The translation of this conversation from the German has 
 taken me so far away from Mai'seilles, that, upon my word, I ana 
 almost tempted not to go back to it. I shall liavc done very 
 well, however, if I have succeeded in these few pages in con- 
 vincing you of what it took me ten days to study out. I have 
 told you what I think of the PhociMis, both good and bad, and 
 I am sure you will agree with nj, that the amount of good 
 largely preponderates. Now, if you please, we will return to 
 Kome, and enter it on foot. If I had concluded to go in the 
 guise of a pilgrim, with knapsack on my back, like the artists of 
 the good old times, I should have had all the more landscapes to 
 describe to you, and adventures at the little country inns to 
 relate. But I left in a steamer of the Mess.ageries, at ten o'clock 
 in the evening, promptly to the minute, and debarked at Civita 
 Vecchia, thirty hours afterward, without having been the least 
 sea-sick. That is all the history I can give of my sea voyage. 
 The scenery round me did not change for one moment ; every- 
 
 TIIE JOUEXET. 
 
 39 
 
 tSof mv "• ''r^''"^' ' ^^"^^ ^^""^ >-- the por- 
 
 nr. t f.^ ^'^^^^-\oynSors ; but then I could say nothing but in 
 pra.se of them; and besides, as they were not public men thefr 
 aflan^ are none of your business. There was one of them how- 
 ever, whon. I recall with too much pleasure, not to de^otea 
 few words to lum. This was M. de Baillieneourt, colonel of the 
 40th reg.n.ent of the line, one of the most ag eeable cTentr 
 inanly, chsmterested men I ever n.et in any c^untn ' ? h ^ 
 
 ^ay lor an author who so prides Irlmself on his philosophy 
 I udge! I know as well as you that man was not iced upln 
 th.s ear h for the sake of killing his fellow-men. Energ/ eour- 
 age, and intellect, have a thousan<l other ways of findinc^fmnlov 
 ment more useful and more dignlQed. I slfall not enrerTn 7a 
 discussion on that score. But I love soldiers for all that and the 
 reason is beyond my comprehension. I love them for thdr' old 
 qualities and their faults, their intelligence and theVr itTrfn^ 
 their magnanimity and their eccentricity, but e.peciallv for tW 
 perpetual youthful feeling which distinguishe'C'^^^^^^^^^ 
 f^om the rest of us. W,,at fascinates nurses, grisettes, and 0^" 
 t mes nne ladies, is a uniform. What attracts me i^ a soMier 
 no ma er what rank he may hold, is the strange, honest s^i^ 
 
 tt^'Trr ^""T" '' """- ^'^^ ingenuousness wl^eh 
 IS preser^ ed under a uniform, even to old age. My distincnii.hed 
 companion on that voyage is still young. I think he gr« 
 from the school of St Cyr at the same^time with Marfl Can 
 robert. And yet he is an old soldier. He adored the ^my as 
 mir common country, his regiment as liis family, and his flT^ L 
 
 inonT ' ". t ""' '' ''' '•^^'^-^'^- T^- ^^^ or a numbe" 
 upon a coat-button made liis heart beat with emotion When 
 
 Te oT h If n ''"''^' '' '''''-' with joyT ^e^og^i;:; 
 one ot tlie men of liis own regiment TTo t^i.i ™ * a 
 timo crnnn„ o. 1 • > • "^r-'"'<-nt. lid tolU mi', at the Siime 
 time gen ly strokmg l„s moustache to subdue his feelin-- "to- 
 morrow they are to bring me my eolors, with the fuU hind t 
 
 ot the world had procured a leave of absence for a montj, for 
 
 ive" :4rr'^",''^ '^'""^' '™"' ^''°'" '>^ '--l "-" "tn 
 several jeais. On h,s return to his regiment, at the exniration 
 
 At Cmu Veechia I took the mail carriage, like a man of 
 
 1^^ 
 
 ^^^^i^^ 
 
40 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 means. It costs two or three francs less to travel by it than iho 
 diligence — if a man knows how to manage — and transports you 
 much more quickly. I firmly believe — may God pardon me for 
 the assertion — that we made the journey in seven hours. My 
 four horses thundered over the streets of the Eternal City, with 
 an amazing jingle of bells, and deposited me in the Place d'Es- 
 pagne, where I took leave of them. I was at home : at least I 
 had but two or three hundred steps to mount. 
 
 II. 
 
 Mr INN 
 
 QHARLLMAG^E was loJfred in the palace of the Caesars 
 ^ upon Mount Palatine. This imperial hostelry, whichTh" 
 barbanans respected until .800, is no longer inl,abLd. There 
 
 rr-^s: ir-' -''-- -- '- -'^ -^^ ^-^^-^^^ 
 
 ti^tT7!^^^r""^""'■ ''" "''"^"' '"' '""'"P'"^ '••^'^''P'"^--'. dwelt at 
 the end of he Corso m the great Venetian palace, so u-^Iy and 
 
 Montaigne was encamped at the Hotel de I'Our^ ; pedants are 
 no longer encountered there, but plenty of drivers. 
 
 Our divine Kabelais, lodged at the same sign, but they came 
 very near g,vi„g him the finest apartment of theVortre^ o'^&rn 
 Angelo for no hn.g. The father of French wit would have been 
 well situated there to ratiocinate at leisure upon the manners and 
 customs of the island of Sonnante ^ 
 
 TrSr'^T-^rl" "''" ""^ ^''' '° ^™°' °^ ">e Church of the 
 Tnmtu del Monti two steps from the beautiful fresco of Daniel 
 de \olterre, which he held at so high a price, and which Xe 
 French government once thought to place in the Louvre 
 
 and uhen he showed such strange figures on his carria-^e-door 
 
 elfa!",/ /'"'? i^'"""^'- ^'- "^ Chateaubriand ke^pt IZ'. 
 Bclf at the French Embassy, anj Mad. de Stael in the clouds 
 I, poor devU, am better lodged than so many illustrious French- 
 
 I have just counted again the steps which raise me above the 
 
- ;■■• ■•^T^^'^; 
 
 42 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Place d'Espagno, where the strangers have their rcnJezvoua. 
 They rmmber three hundred and twenty-seven ; not one more 
 or less. A hundred and thirty-five carry you to the level of the 
 Academy of France, add seventy-seven to the soil of the garden, 
 for the garden is in the second story, like the palace of Semira- 
 mis. Finally you will, with great effort, mount still one hun- 
 dred and fifteen steps, before entering into the Turkish chamber, 
 which is mine. 
 
 You can not miss the door — we are at the top of this winding 
 stair, on the summit of the right bell-turret. The only Imlgers 
 above me, from time to time, are the crows perched upon the 
 roof An iron crescent traced above my lock, announces to you 
 that you will enter into Turkey, and that this (porte) door is 
 gi'eat-grand cousin of the Sublime Porte. 
 
 An II and a V, designed upon the key, indicate to you that it 
 ■was made for M. Horace Vernet. 
 
 For my inn also has sheltered illustrious guests. It is the 
 ancient Villa of the Medicis. Galileo was detained here, if tradi- 
 tion be true. The prison of the great astronomer is a beautiful 
 and marvelously situated chamber. I wish that every martyr 
 for truth may have a like dungeon. 
 
 It was in 1803 that the French Academy, founded by the 
 munificence of Louis XIV., was transported away from the 
 tunmlt of the streets to the Villa of the Medicis. Since the 
 removal, almost all the great artists of our country have lived in 
 this palace and dreamed under its fine trees. David, Pradier, 
 Delaroche, ^I. Ingres, and M. Vernet have written their names 
 upon its walls. 
 
 The first aspect of tlie palace is grand and majestic, but with- 
 out many ornaments. From a distance the arms and fiag of 
 France may be recognized above the door. The only luxury of 
 the entrance consists in an avenue of evergreens and a jet of 
 water falling into a large vase. You pass between the door 
 posts of antique marble, very rare and very beautiful, but very 
 modest ; they are not there for less than six thousand francs. 
 
 The porter is in appearance one of the finest types of the 
 Roman race ; txW, large, well-made, full-faced, a fan-shaped 
 beard, he carries with dignity the cane of the tambour-raajora 
 and the Swiss of the establishment. lie is an important man ; 
 he has his servants ; his son kisses his hands every time that ho 
 
 MY INX. 
 
 43 
 
 enters or goes out. F(5te-days, when he is in fall livery at the 
 doorway of the Academy, the idlers form an admirin^r circle 
 around lum. Ho allows them to come, but by squads, to avoid 
 confusion. Every five minutes he gently motions thim away 
 with us cane, saying to them in a paternal tone, "Enough • vou 
 have had your look— let the others come !" ° 
 
 The fir.t story is occupied by the large and ma-nificent recep- 
 tion rooms, adorned with the finc^.t specimens of Gobelin tapestry 
 and in all pouits worthy of the grandeur of Fi-anct^. Continuous 
 and dependent upon it is an admirable vestibule, adorned with 
 antique columns and statues modelod after the antique But the 
 greatest affectation of the house is the back fi-ont It ranks 
 among the chef d'oeuvres of the Renaissance. One would say 
 that the architect had exhausted a mine of Greek and Roman 
 bas-rehefs to adorn liis palace. The garden is of the same 
 epoch ; It dates from the time when the Roman aristocracy pro- 
 fessed the most profound contempt for flowers. Nothin- is seen 
 but groups of verdure, laid out with scrupulous care, slx -reen 
 swards surrounded with hedges breast-high, spread out b'efore 
 the \,lla, and allow the sight to extend even to Mount Soracte 
 which shuts in the horizon. To the left, four times four squares 
 of grass plot are enclosed within high walls of laurel, gigantic 
 box and evergreens. The walls meet again over the alleys and 
 envelop them m a fresh and mysterious ^lade. To the ri^ht a 
 terrace of a noble style encloses a wood of evergreens, splft ai'id 
 twisted by time. I sometimes go there to work in the shade 
 and the blackbird rivals the nightingale above my head, as a fine 
 village singer might compete with Mario or Roger. A little 
 furtlier, a rustic vineyard extends quite to the Pincian gate 
 where Bclisarius is said to have begged. At any rate, a stone is 
 there to be seen, adorned with this celebrated inscription-/>a^^ 
 obohan Belisario. The gardens both small and great, are sprinkled 
 with statues, with Mercuries, and marbles of all kinds. The 
 water fiows into antique siircophagi or gushes out from vases of 
 marble. .Marble and water are the two luxuries of Rome->we 
 know them only by reputation in Paris. 
 
 Tliis fine property of France has in the rear, throughout its 
 whole length, the ramparts of the city. It is bounded on one 
 side by the promenade of the Pincio, on the other by the French 
 
44 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 Convent of the Trinity. As it overlooks all Rome, it takes it in 
 with a single glance of the eye. 
 
 The Academy practices hospitality largely. Its gardens are 
 public ; its galleries for study, and its sittings for models are ac- 
 cessible to the young artists of all countries; its salons are open 
 once a week to all French of good society ; its territory is an 
 inviolable asylum, where the Roman police has not the right to 
 pursue an accused person. 
 
 The artists who by competition obtain the right to complete 
 their studies there, have not all the same talent, although they 
 have obtained the same prize. If each of them returned to 
 France in the state of a man of genius, France would not know 
 where to put them, and this excess of our glory would cause us 
 great embarrassment. But it may be boldly ailirmed that a res- 
 idence of some years in such a dwelling, and in such a country, 
 is never useless for the development of a man. An unpretend- 
 ing life, without the care for daily bread ; the strict obligation to 
 labor, joined to an absolute liberty of the laborer ; the spectacle 
 of tlie finest scenery, of the grandest buildings, and the most 
 picturesque inhabitants ; the neighborhood of tlie richest collec- 
 tions ; the perpetual contact with the souvenii-s of a past more 
 living than the present — all this makes the Academy the healtlii- 
 est dwelling in the world. Necessarily I must be convinced of 
 this, since I have placed myself here as a lodger. 
 
 To all the excellent things I have enumerated, add the pen- 
 etrating calmness which emanates from the Eternal City — a cer- 
 tain spirit of peace and harmony, of steadiness and dignity — which 
 insensibly affect the most troubled mind. In this inhabited sol- 
 itude, which extends from St. Peter's to St. John of Latran, the 
 souvenirs of miUtary life appear as distant to us as the dreams of 
 a stormy night He who beholds the agitation of Paris without 
 mingling in it, perceiVes the same astonishment, the same uneasi- 
 ness, and the same disdain as when he sees a whirling carnival- 
 ball, without hearing the violins. 
 
 The blustering journals which deafen the Parisians do not get 
 to Rome ; the most celebrated loafers and the most distinguished 
 artists are not even known ; the patois of the petty press will not 
 be comprehended. One works at his ease, and without excite- 
 ment, in honest meditation, without suspicion of what may be 
 
 MY IXN. 
 
 45 
 
 said, without regard to the passing caprices of the public, with 
 the eyes turned alternately to nature and to the great masters. 
 
 Rome is, after Athens, perhaps the city of the world where 
 one is least amused. Still the young people themselves avow 
 that there is nothing more attractive. The first experience of 
 the pensioners of the Academy is to become ennuyte, as at a 
 task, and to count the days of exile that separate them from 
 Paris; they all depart with regret, or rather are torn away. 
 
 It may be said of Rome what a critic said of the greatest poet 
 of anticjuity, C est avoir profile que de savoir sy plaire. The ele- 
 vated pleasure which a great city gives, is not enjoyed at the end 
 of eight days. A copy of the Guid^ Joanne was shown me, en- 
 riched with manuscript notes by a drumming clerk. This fine 
 bird of passage had written on the margin at the article on St. 
 Peter's at Rome, '' I have seen better than that." I do not know 
 precisely where he could have seen better, but I excuse these 
 blunders in an eight days' traveler. 
 
 The Pope Grregory XVI., who was a spiritual old man, vi'iX- 
 liogly f?ave audience to strangers. , He regularly inquired how 
 long a time they had been in Rome. When they answered *' for 
 three weeks," he smiled shrewdly, and said, ^' AUonsf Adieu T 
 But if the traveler had passed three or four months in the city, 
 the holy father said to him, ^' Au revoirT 
 
 In fact, all those who have known Rome long enough to enjoy 
 it, are possessed with a desire to return there, as if they had for- 
 gotten something oi' themselves. They know each other, or at 
 least they recognize each other after ten minutes' conversation. 
 They exchange a masonic grip of the hand, as men who have 
 loved the same person at some years' distance, and who have 
 been equally well treated. Finally, they rendezvous on tlie Fo- 
 rum, the Vatican, or at the eternal Plaza d'Espagna. 
 
 The actual director of the Academy, ^M. Schnetz, came here 
 for the first time in 1816, nearly half a century ago. He made 
 tlie journey on foot, following the excellent example of artists 
 of that time. Since the day of his arrival he has not quitted the 
 city except with the intention to return. He has lived here 
 twenty-tour years, and he finds it short. M. Schnetz is seventy-, 
 two years old, but he would not be suspected of more than six- 
 ty; the climate of Rome is as favorable to painters as to pictures. 
 This excellent man has preserved all the vigor of both body and 
 
46 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 mind ; he surveys rapidly, and with an equally assured step, the 
 ruins and the souvenirs of the city. No Frenclimau better knows 
 the Romans, or is better known. The indigenous nobility look 
 upon him as belongin*^ to them ; he has the same train as tlie 
 princes, and the same opinions as the can.linal*i. His interiQr 
 life, eiccept the days of representation, is also of a Roman sim- 
 plicity. I breakfast with him, and I dine with the pensioners. 
 The only difference between his repast and that ot his pupils, is 
 that one is served on the second floor, and the other on tho 
 first. 
 
 Perhaps it is time to invite you to enter into my chamber. It 
 is not the largest in the house, but I can make seven steps 
 in it, in a straight line, which is all that is necessary for my 
 work. The cupola (I have a cupola) is so high that the air 
 never fails my lungs. M. Horace Vernet had it painted in 
 oriential style from designs copied in Algeria. Tradition has it 
 that the birds of every color which fly over the luster are 
 from the hand of this master. If this be true, the swal- 
 low of the Cafe Foy would, have a sister here. The walls are 
 covered with a porcelain paint, the freshness of which pleases 
 me exceedingly. The entrance of the alcove is cut out d la 
 Mauresque, between two great bouquets of fantastic flowers. 
 There are Arabic inscriptions over the bed, the door, and the 
 windows. You may sleep upon the carpet, stretch yourself 
 out upon one of these two divans, or you may sit down in the 
 arm-chair, but do not touch this little table ; it is here that I 
 make my prose, in front of Mount Mario. 
 
 I can not say why I am attached to this window rather than to 
 the other; it is probably because the sun comes into it later. 
 That looks nearly to the south ; this almost west. I see the six 
 plots of the Academy in their frames of evergreen ; the Lincian 
 comes next ; then the green country, the yellow Tiber, and a 
 row of quite low hills. Mount Mario is covered with trees, 
 which my traveling drummer might oompare to umbrellas, the 
 pines resembling opened umbrellas, and the cypresses closed um- 
 brellas. I see, to the right, the Villa BorghOse, and to the left 
 tlie obelisk in the Plaza del Populo. To sum up, very little of 
 Rome, and not enough of country. Still, when the sun makes 
 his bed in the black clouds marked witli great red spots, I regret 
 that all my friends are not here to see them with me. 
 
 MY INN. 
 
 47 
 
 When I place myself at the other window, I see four-fifths of 
 the city. I couut the seven hills, I run over the regular streets 
 'Nvhich extend between the Corso and the Piazza d'Espagna ; I 
 numljcr the palaces, the churches, the domes, and the towers ; 
 I lose mvself in the Ghetto and in tlie Trastevere. I do not 
 see the ruins as much as I would wish ; they are collected there, 
 on my left, in the environs of the Forum. Still we have near 
 us the column of Antonius and the Mausoleum of Adrian. The 
 view is agreeably closed by the pines of the Villa Pamphilli, 
 which unite their large parasols, and make, as it were, a table 
 with a thousand feet, for the repast of giants. The horizon 
 extends at the left to an infinite distance ; the plain is naked, un- 
 dulating, and blue as the sea. But if you place yourself in the 
 presence of so extended and varied a spectacle, a single object 
 will attract your regard, one alone will strike your attention ; 
 you will have eyes only for St. Peter's. My traveling drummer 
 had seen better. I defy him to have ever seen anything so, grand. 
 From the greatest distance Rome is seen, it is St. Peter's that 
 outlines the horizon. Its dome is half in the city and half in the 
 heavens. When I open my window, about five o'clock in the 
 morning, I see Rome bathed in a feverish mist ; only the dome 
 of SL Peter's is colored by tlie rosy light of the rising sun. I 
 remember that, one day, in going from Syria to Malta, I saw 
 Sicily at a distance of forty leagues ; it was magnificent weather, 
 at the close of day. At least, I was shown a large and liigh 
 mountain, which seemed to liave its roots in the sea. It was 
 .Etna, that raises itself above Sicily as St Peter's above Rome. 
 We did not see Sicily, but we saw ^tna. 
 
 One grand fete day (it was, 1 think, during holy week) I met 
 a greatly scandalized man in front of St. Peter's. He was a 
 worthy Normand, i)ea<*eful by nature and education, and an old 
 muuicipal counselor of the city of Avranches. When I saw him 
 shrug his shoulders, and take the sun to witness, I could not 
 refrain from saying, " What is the matter ?" 
 
 *' What the matter? for two hours and more, torrents of people 
 have entered the church, and still there is no crowd in it. The 
 building is too large. These peoj^le have not good taste, and 
 they exaggerate every thing." 
 
 " Alas I sir," I answered him, " what say you of the parson- 
 age ? The A'atican is but a dependency of the churcli, and it 
 
 ilit^'^isiBseitJS^ 
 
 ?^i^ 
 
 SiSi*#;^i'3*%Fg^;Sfe3H^5S1ff5;Si^^ 
 
48 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 has been constructed with the same exafrpferation. It contains 
 not less than twelve thousand rooms, thirty courts, and three 
 hundred flij^hts of stairs." 
 
 " Absurd, truly I It is like that church which they have taken 
 me to see, two or three kilometres from here." 
 
 " St. Paul's, outside the walls of the city ?" 
 
 " Precisely. It is nnich too large, and out of all proportion 
 to the necessities of the location." 
 
 " I believe so I The parish is composed of an inn and two 
 drinking-shops." 
 
 " We, sir, wlien we constructed the new church of Avranches 
 took our measures so well that there was not a mill spent use- 
 lessly." 
 
 " I compliment you upon it. But it may be said, as an excuse 
 for the Romans, that tlicy have constructed St. Peter*s and St. 
 Paul's, not for parish churches, like that of Avranches, but as 
 central churches for the whole catholic people." 
 
 Fine as Rome may be, such as I see it from my w^indow, I 
 imagine that it was still more astonishing three hundred years 
 ago. St. Peter's was not then built, nor any of the edifices 
 which we most admire ; but antiquity was living and flourish- 
 ing, in spite of the invasion of the barbarians and the pillages 
 of Alaric. According to statistics of the sixteenth century, re- 
 covered by the Cardinal MaY, and cited by M. Ampt're, the 
 great city then enumerated : 
 
 Three hundred and eighty large and spacious streets ; forty- 
 six thousand six hundred and three houses ; seventeen thou- 
 sand and ninety-seven palaces ; thirteen thousand and fiffy-two 
 fountains; 'thirty-one theaters; eleven amphitheaters ; two cap- 
 itols ; nine thousand and twenty-five baths ; five thousand com- 
 mon sewers ; two thousand and ninety-one prisons ; eight large 
 gilded statues; sixty-six ivory statues; three thousand seven 
 hundred and eighty-five statues in bronze; eighty-two equestrian 
 statues in bronze ; two colossi. 
 
 If any think tliese figures improbable, they do not know the 
 Romans — a nation excessive in everythinGr, and more exac'o-er- 
 ated in their actions, than the Greeks themselves in their words. 
 
 There are days when I look from my two windows, and 
 see nothing but rain and clouds. Bad weather is worse here than 
 anywhere else in the world. When the wind is from the south- 
 
 MY INN. 
 
 49 
 
 west, the accursed sirocco begins to blow, long leaden clouds col- 
 lect in the west, and men and animals are seized with a peculiar 
 discomfort. Over the uniform level of the sea and the land the 
 African wind rolls tumultuously, without meeting ahy obstacles. 
 Rome is the first resistance which it encounters upon its road. 
 It whirls and whistles around the seven hills, and one would think 
 that the houses were shaken by its concussion. The clouds are 
 heaped one upon another, like mountains piled up by a Titan, to 
 the summit of the vault of heaven. Soon they form but one com- 
 pact mass, by which daylight is obscured. Then everything bursts, 
 and thick, uniform, exhaustless torrents descend blusteringly 
 upon tlie city. The wind always blows, brings up new clouds, 
 and fills up the reservoirs of the skies before they are exhausted! 
 Thunder sometimes has a part in it, and water, winds, lightnings, 
 the shocks which cause my chamber to tremble, make "for me a 
 finished picture of a ship beaten by the tempest. 
 
 The storm also sometimes threatens, passes and disappears 
 witliout leaving any trace, like a sovereign who is awaited in a 
 city, but who only stops to change horses. 
 
 Some one knocks at the door of my observatory : it is a visit 
 for me. The visitor is a man of good sense, although he is not 
 exempt from certain aristocratic prejudices. He installs himself, 
 makes cigarettes of Turkish tobacco, and smokes a full half hour 
 without ceasing to talk. His conversation gives me pleasure 
 and fear at the same time. He offers to teach me all he knows 
 about Italy, but then he defies me to write a book which has 
 common-sense. 
 
 "If you would trust to me," he says, "you will devote three 
 or four months to the study of Rome, without regarding either 
 its paintings, statues, ruins, or anything that strangers come 
 here to see. You assuredly have not the intention to repeat 
 that which all the travelers have written : furthermore, the Italy 
 of to-day has nothing in common with antiquity, the middle 
 ages, or the Renaissance. Devote yourself to the examina- 
 tion of tlie institutions, the manners and characteristics,— it 
 will occupy you a long time if you seek the truth. Tiy to see 
 all for yourself — count not upon the French nor upon the 
 Italians to inform you. The French observe httle, and the divi- 
 sion of occupation— to which I have the honor to belong— is not 
 composed of philosophers. We will tell you much good and 
 
 ^q* I fcrk.^ J A* «iiMb^MUIhi 
 
 '^a^^i 
 
50 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 much ill of the Italians, accordinp^ to the house where each mny 
 be lodged. We will also tell you some foolish things. One of our 
 Foldiers speaking to an Italian, and furious at not being under- 
 stood, cried out, shaking his list, 'What? stupid 1 We have 
 been here nine years and you do not yet understand French.' 
 Every now and then we fall into the reasoning of this soldier. 
 Speak with Itidians, and in tlieir tongue, when they can not 
 express themselves in yours. The Roman nobiiity, conmiencing 
 with the Holy Father and the Cardinal Antonelli, know French 
 almost as well as you. Slill the uneducated Italian is not 
 entirely himself when he does not speak Italian. Furthermore, 
 why should you deprive yourself of tlie pleasure of hearing this 
 beautiful, harmonious language ? To come to Italy to converse 
 in French, is hke going to the opera without hearing the music. 
 Go on foot in tlie streets and try to never know your way ; luck 
 will conduct you into good places. If you enter a church, do 
 not regard only what is there ; observe also what is said and 
 what is done there. Engage in conversation with every one you 
 meet. You are not in England ; do not wait for some one to 
 introduce you to a mason to question him ; he will answer — I 
 will not promise you that he will tell you the truth, neither he 
 nor any one. All the Italians, rich and poor, are by nature sus- 
 picious, for they have almost always been duped. You will 
 have a good deal of trouble in drawing a yes or no from your 
 interlocutors. Do not be discouraged if you are closely watched, 
 and if an evasive answer is made when you ask what o'clock 
 it is. 
 
 *' Roiuan society is divided into three classes — the nobility, the 
 ]^lebeians, and the middle class, which fluctuates between the 
 two. The nobility is hospitable, and will receive you if you de- 
 sire; but there is little to be said of it. The princes of the 
 Ciuirch and tlie Roman princes long ago put an end to it by ne- 
 polisiii and cicisbeism. The Cardinals are poor, and the fine 
 ladies go about without lovers. 
 
 " The plebeians are more curious to observe, but tliey are 
 known already by the works of the artists, who have met with 
 the most picturesque manners in seeking the picturesque in fig- 
 ures and costumes. 
 
 " Wliat is still more interesting and the least known, is the 
 middle class. It is very extensive ; it includes all that which is 
 
 MY INN. 
 
 51 
 
 neither noble nor mendicant, from the most unpretending mrr- 
 cliants of the Corso even to the ancient ministers of 1848. All 
 the lawyers, all the doctors, all the employees, and the minister 
 himself, when he happens not to belong to the prelacy, ujake a 
 part of this intermediate world, which comes into no contact with 
 thnt of the great. It is the middle class that progresses, works 
 t*x«Mtes, and threatens. It made the revolution of 1849; it can 
 do better, it may do worse. There is much to fear and much to 
 hope from that sort of people. Where do you meet them ? 
 They live by themselves. Many of them pass half the year in 
 the fields. They are called country merchants ; they cultivate 
 the lands of the nobility, pay enormous rents, yet grow rich 
 without seeming so. I have been assured that many of them are 
 intelligent and upright, but I doubt whether their company suits 
 you, since you can have but few ideas in common. Supposing 
 that the great people should permit you to frequent their society ; 
 siipi)Osing that this middle class consents to receive you, it will 
 be more than difficult to go with both at once. They do nothing 
 in the same style, nor at the same hours. 
 
 " Nevertheless, granting that you have the patience, the tnlcnt, 
 and the good fortune requisite to fathom Roman society, it will 
 be but a step forward. Rome is an exceptional city, that resem- 
 bles no other. Neither Italy, nor the Roman States even, should 
 be judged by it It is a magnificent sample, but the piece is of 
 quite another stuff." 
 
 *• No matter," replied I. " Let us begin by knowing Rome. 
 It seems to me, tliat if I come out here with credit, the rest will 
 go of itself, and cost me httle effort" 
 
 KH fim mt f lai n n t^-iMMi i w wi ii fTn _>.._ 
 
THE PLEBEIAN. 
 
 53 
 
 III. 
 
 THE PLKBEIANS. 
 
 rPHE foreign nobles w}io have visited Rome in their cir- 
 J- nages know but little of the small world which I am about 
 to descnbe. They remember having been harassed by yellin- 
 rascals and followed by indefatigable beggars. They saw only 
 
 foTalmT" '° '^'"''''^ ' """^ '"'"'^ ""'^ '''"" '■°''-''"' screaming 
 Behind this curtain of mendicity are hidden a hundred thou- 
 sand persons, almost indigent, but not idle, and hardly earn- 
 ing their daily bread. .The gardeners and vinedresse4 who 
 cultivate .a part of the suburbs of Rome, the mechanics, the 
 laborers, the domestics, the coachmen, the models, the itinerant 
 merchants, the clever vagabonds who look for their supper to a 
 miracle of Providence or a lucky number of the lottery, compose 
 the majority of the population. They almost subsist durino- the 
 winter, when strangers sow manna over the lan^ ; in summer 
 they draw in their waistbands. Many of them are too proud to 
 ask five sous of you, none are rich enough to refuse them if 
 ottered. Ignorant and curious, simple and subtle, excessively 
 sensitive without much dignity, ordinarily more than prudent 
 but capable of the most glaring imprudences ; extreme in friend- 
 ship and hatred, easily moved, with difficulty convinced ; more 
 open to feeling than ideas ; habitually sober, terrible in intoxi- 
 cation ; sincere in the practice of an excessive devotion, but 
 allmg out .with the saints as readily as with men ; persuaded 
 that they have little to hope for on this earth, but comforted at 
 times by the hope of a better, they hve, in a somewhat murmur- 
 ing resignation, under a paternal government, which gives them 
 bread when there is any. The inequality of conditions, more 
 
 *•' 
 
 apparent in Rome than at Paris, does not drive them to hatred. 
 They comprehend their unpretending lot, and congratulate them- 
 selves that there are rich people, so that the poor may have 
 benefactors. No people ia less capable of self-direction, and the 
 first comer easily leads them. They have played the part of 
 supernumerary in all the Roman revolutions, and more than one 
 has fought well without comprehending the piece which was per- 
 formed. They have so little faith in the republic, that inthe 
 absence of aU the authorities, wlien the Holy Father and the 
 Sacred College had taken refuge at Gaeta, tliirty plebeian flunilies 
 encamped in the palace of Cardinal Antonelli, without break- 
 mg a glass. Tlie reestablishmeut of the Pope under the protec- 
 tion of a foreign army did not astonish them ; they looked for 
 It as a happy event and the return of public tranquillity. They 
 hve in peace with our soldiers when our soldiers do not interfere 
 with their households, and the French occupation disturbs them 
 only when they are personally incommoded. They are not 
 afraid to plant the knife under the uniform of a conqueror but I 
 will answer for it, that they will never celebrate the Sicilian 
 Vespers. 
 
 They plume themselves upon their direct descent from the 
 Romans of great Rome, and this innocent boast appears to me 
 well founded. In fine, they are great bread-eaters and very 
 fond of shows. They treat their women as the female animal 
 merely, leaving not a raiU at their disposal, but spending every- 
 thmg themselves ; every one is the dependant of the dependant of 
 a patrician. They are well built, robust, and capable of giving a 
 blow from the shoulder that would astonish a bufialo ; but there 
 is not one who is not looking for a way to hve without work. 
 Excellent laborers when they have not a cent, impossible to get 
 hold of while there is a crown in their pocket ; honest, unpretend- 
 ing, simple-hearted people, but convinced of their superiority 
 over the rest of mankind ; economical to the last point; chewers 
 of dry peas, till they come upon a glorious chance to spend their 
 savings in a single day ; they hoard, sou by sou, ten crowns in 
 the year, with which to hire a prince's box at the .Carnival or 
 a coach to show themselves at the fete of the Divine Passion. It 
 is thus that the Roman populace forgets the past and the future in 
 the Saturnalias. Their hereditary want of foresight is explained 
 by the irregularity of their resources, their periodical holidays, 
 
 
54 
 
 ROME OF TO-DxVY. 
 
 THE PLEBEIAN. 
 
 55 
 
 and the impossibily of attaining, without a miracle, a better con- 
 dition. They are wanting in several virtues, and, among others, 
 in delicacy ; that was not in their heritage from their ancestors. 
 They are not -deficient in steadiness and self-respect. They 
 drag themselves into no vulgar jests or low debauch. You will 
 not find them gratuitously insulting a gentleman who is passing, 
 or using an indecent expression before a woman. That class of 
 degraded men, called the canaille, is absolutely unknown here — 
 the ignoble is not a Roman commodity. 
 
 I passed the whole of yesterday in the plebeian world ; it was 
 Sunday. As I descended the staircase of the Academy, I met a 
 begging friar. These are the plebeians of the church. lie bowed 
 to me politely, without knowing tliat I belonged to the house, 
 and stopped to odor me his snutT-box. 
 
 " Many thanks," said I, " I do not use snuff." 
 
 "So much the worse," he replied, smilingly. 
 
 " And why ?" 
 
 "Because, if you had accepted my pinch, you would have 
 given me some pence for my convent." 
 
 I smiled, in my turn, and said to him, " Never mind, 1 will 
 give you what you want, but on one condition." 
 
 " What is it r 
 
 " It is that you will conduct mo to the Farnese Gardens, and 
 answer my questions by the way." 
 
 " Willingly I I have nothing else to do before breakfast I 
 have just carried in my last salad." 
 
 " What salad ?" 
 
 "What will be eaten at the Director's table this evening." 
 
 " Why, father, do you sell salad ?" 
 
 " No, I present it to the benefactor of our order. The Acad- 
 emy, like most of the other great houses, gives us alms every 
 month, and in exchange for the kind attention, we bring a salad 
 here every Sunday." 
 
 He related to me, on the way, all the small trades which he 
 practiced gratuitously for the profit of the benefactors of his order. 
 He extracticd teeth with a certain dexterity — he stood for a head 
 or beard in the studios of the painters — he attended, candle in 
 hand, the interment of great personages. The profession of the 
 mendicant monk is not a trade? of indolence. They are tlie con- 
 fidants and familiar friends of the lowly, and the very humble, 
 
 »« 
 
 
 ve>7 devoted servants of the great. The peonle listen to them 
 w. bngly because they are also of the people. They preach in tl™ 
 Coh^seum, m the squares, in tl>e streets, in very eommon lan-^uaie 
 the hand on the lup, and with perfeet plainness. If a Cse 
 
 Z'aiy' """ '"" "^ ''"' ^'"^"^™' ^"^y '■-- ■' out unrt 
 
 know httle about the telegraph, or steau,, o gas, but we knmr 
 enough to give good advice." fc , "ui T^e know 
 
 An old woman here cut him short, by calhng his name. 
 J-ather saidshe, "my number has not come up- give me 
 ano l.er. Next Saturday noon the Roman drawing be/n," 
 
 nepu.shed her away with his hand, sayin- " Walk oft'wi.l. 
 yourselfl Wouldn't it be better, whe^ you have ten 1^ t 
 buy a loaf and a bottle of wine, ^hieh wo'uld ^: ^ st en^h 
 than to lose everything in the lottery ?" strength, 
 
 The Capuchin turned his back without a reply. "Sir " said 
 he to me, resuming his walk and eonvei^tion, "they will'neTer 
 S^t .t out of the>r heads that we are in the secret o7tre oUer^ 
 If I were to make up lucky nuu.bers for ail who apply fo S" 
 there would bo none lea for myself." 1 1 J""' "lem, 
 
 I undertook to question him upon the revenues of his order 
 and the rece,,« that may be made by a capuchin in a day His 
 reply was like that of La Fontain's cobbler: 
 
 "Sometimes more, sometimes less. Formerly," said he "I 
 was „, a convent of Tivoli; I begged from the country people . 
 and received alms m kmd. On such travels one must go L and ' 
 sweat much, to get a little. I made four journeys a year in tho 
 order of the harvests. On the first trip they gave me wheat and 
 cocoons; on tlie second Indian corn and beans; at the third wine 
 and 01 at the last. In each village the benefactor of our order 
 offered me hospitahty, and kept my small collection, which the 
 convent ste«.ard afterward sent for. At Rome, cliarities are al- 
 most always made in money. When I pose in a studio, they are 
 good enough to give me the price of a sitting for a model When 
 i pull a tooth, the generous patient makes me a present of a ten- 
 
56 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 cent piece. When I follow a nobleman's funeral, I bring back 
 five cents and a candle. When an artist wants my elegant 
 boxwood rosary, I rarely come back to the convent without a 
 crown. And, lastly, when I place my little stock of knowledge 
 at the disposal of a pious and charitable stranger, I am almost 
 sure that he will drop twenty cents into this money-box." 
 
 Mendicancy is and will be flourishing in the capital of the 
 Christian world. It can not be interdicted, nor limited, since it 
 is a perpetual provocation to the exercise of one of the three 
 cardinal virtues. Every appeal to charity has been permitted 
 there since the earliest days of the Church. The cripple has the 
 right to show the passers-by the pitiful nakedness of his limbs. 
 The Romans, solicited on every hand, satisfy all according to 
 their means, and the precepts of alms-giving. Rich and poor 
 give much. OstenL-ition goes, perhaps, for something in the ex- 
 ercise of so costly a virtue, but the native kind-heartedness of 
 the people has also its share. 
 
 Of all the beggars who swarm in the city, the most honest 
 and the most useful are certainly the begging friars. But it is 
 said that they have the disagreeable habit of entering every- 
 where, without warning, of penetrating abruptly to the back 
 shop, and begging, in a toue of authority embarrassing to the 
 young and timid. 
 
 We will return, if you please, to the Place Farnese ; it was 
 there that my distributor of salads left me. Travelers who are 
 eager to behold the imposing pile of the Fames* Palace, its cor- 
 nice designed by Michael Angclo, and the twonfine fountains 
 which play before the facade, may go there at all times. But it 
 is on Sunday morning that I go by choice. On Sunday the 
 country people come into Rome. Those who seek work for their 
 arms, come to hire themselves to tlie country merchants, that is 
 to say, the farmers. Those who are liired, and who work beyond 
 the walls, come to look after th^ir aflairs and renew their provi- 
 sions. They come into the city at twilight, after walking a large 
 share of the night. Each family leads an ass, which carries the 
 baggage. Men, women, and children, urging on the ass in front, 
 establish themselves in a corner of the Place Farnese or the Place 
 Montanara. The neighboring shops are kept open till noon by 
 special privilege. They go, they come, they buy, they crouch in 
 corners to count the copper change. Meantime the asses stand 
 
 THE PLEBEIAN. 
 
 57 
 
 on their four feet around the fountains. The women, dressed in 
 their cuirass corset, with a red apron and a barred vest, frame 
 their ruddy faces in a drapery of very white linen. They are 
 like pictures, without exception ; when it is not for the beauty 
 of their features, it is for the simplicity of their attitudes. The 
 men have the long, sky-blue cloak and pointed hat'. Beneath 
 these their working-clothes do wonderfully well, though of par- 
 tridge color, reddened by the weather. The costume is not uni- 
 form ; more than one gray cloak is pieced with bright blue, or a 
 madder red. The straw hat abounds in summer. They are ca- 
 pricious in the matter of shoes ; Jboot, shoes, and sandals succes- 
 sively tread the pavement The unshod may find large and deep 
 shops, where the desired merchandise is sold. There are shoes 
 of all leathers and all ages among these treasures for the feet ; 
 you may find buskins of the year oOO of the republic, by looking 
 well for them. I have just seen a poor fellow who was trying on 
 a pair of top-boots ; they fit his legs like a feather in a pig's ear, 
 and it was comical to see the grimace which accompanied each 
 attempt to put his foot to the floor. But the sliopkeepcr's elo- 
 quence kept up his courage. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," said he, " thou wilt suffer for five or six 
 days, and then thou wilt think no more of it." 
 
 Another merchant measures out nails by the pound, the cus- 
 tomer himself drives tliem into his boot poles ; there are benches 
 ad hoc. Along the walls five or six straw chairs serve as shops 
 for so many barbers in the open air. It costs one cent to fell a 
 beard of a week's growth. The patient, well smeared with 
 soap, looks with resignation at the sky: the barber pulls his 
 nose, puts his fingers in his mouth, stops to sharpen his razor on 
 a bit of leather fastened to the back of the chair, or to break off 
 a corner from the black loaf hanging on the wall". Still the ope- 
 ration is soon finished, the shaved man rises, and his place is re- 
 filled. Me might go and wash at the fountain, but he finds it 
 easier to dry himself with his coat-sleeve. The public writers 
 alternate with the barbers. Letters which have been received 
 are brought to them ; they read them and write the reply — total, 
 three cents. As soon as a country fellow approaches a table to 
 dictate anything, five or six curious neighbors press closely round 
 him, for the more perfect hearing. There is a certain good nature 
 in this indiscretion ; each one puts in a word, each gives his 
 
 .3* 
 
58 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 council. " Thou sliouklst have said this ;" '• No, better say that ;" 
 " Let him speak for himself," cries a third, " he knows what he 
 wants to write bettor than you." 
 
 Some wagons, loaded vwith barley and corn-cake circulate 
 through the crowd. A lemonade dealer, armed with a wooden 
 squeezer, crushes lemons into the glasses. One frugal fellow 
 drinks at the fountain, making an aqueduct of the brim of his 
 hat. The gourmand buys festal viands from a small booth, 
 where odds and ends from some kitchen are sold by the liand- 
 ful. For one cent the retailer fdls a scrap of newspaper with 
 hashed beef and the bones from a ciitlut. An added pinch of 
 Sfilt sets off the commodity agreeably. The buyer looks to 
 his bargain, not as to the price, which is invariable, but as to the 
 quantity ; he adds to the heap some scraps of meat, and lie is 
 not interfered with, for no bargain is concluded in Kome without 
 chafferiniT. 
 
 Monks and hermits pass from group to group, begging for the 
 souls in purgatory. I think to myself that these poor laborers 
 have their purgatory in this world, and that it would be better 
 to give them money than to ask it from them ; they give, how- 
 ever, and without waiting for importunity. 
 
 Sometimes a ready talker amuses himself by telling a story. 
 A circle forms round him, and as the audience grows, he raises 
 his voice. I have seen among these story-tellers some delicate 
 and spirited physiognomies, but I know nothing so charming as 
 the attention of their audience. The painters of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury might have taken from the Place Montanara the disciples 
 whom they grouped around Christ 
 
 Music distracts me from the conversation ; I nin. You know, 
 perhaps, ' that but little music is heard in Rome. The common 
 ])eople sing almost as false as the Athenians, and with the same 
 nasahty. I find myself here, before a bHnd guitaris^ a lame 
 viohnist, and an old prima donna of the streets, who make as 
 much noise as two Barbary organs. I bought their lamentation, 
 for it is printed by permission. I might translate it for you from 
 beginning to end, but you will understand the hbretto, when you 
 have read the title page : 
 
 
 THE PLEBEIAN. 59 
 
 TRAaiC EVENT, 
 
 WHICH OCCURRED AT BURGUNDY. 
 
 PBAWN 
 
 FROM THE HISTORY OF MARGUERITE, 
 
 QUKEN OF THE SAID CITY. 
 
 It is unnecessary to add that it is the story of the Tour de 
 Neslc — in Italian Tour de Nesler. They who think that Flor- 
 ence is in England, because Englishmen come from Florence ; 
 they who ask which of the two is the largest, France or Paris, 
 do not find it difficult to persuade themselves that Marguerite 
 was queen of a city called Burgundy, and that her husband 
 strangled her last year. 
 
 I was still laughing at it when I observed near a booth where 
 cigar stumps were sold at wholesale, a countryman, more than 
 forty years old, who was weeping without speaking a word, or 
 even wiping his eyes. His face was of a commonplace ugliness, 
 and his grief did not serve to embellish him. Two or three men 
 of his own age pressed round him in the attempt to comfort liim. 
 In one hand he held an open letter. I approached, and asked 
 him what was the matter, for ihe indiscretion of these good 
 people is contagious. He hstened stupidly, without replying. 
 
 One of the bystanders said : 
 
 " It is a letter which he has received from his mother !" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "She is dead!" 
 
 " Simpleton, since she w'rites she is not dead." 
 
 "Oh, sir!" interrupted the sufferer, "it is the same as dead. 
 But read !" 
 
 He ofiered me his letter, and I read it aloud, slowly, for it was 
 ill written and full of faults in orthography, but antique in style 
 and resignation. The poor fellow, to whom one of the writers 
 of the place had already spelt out the sad news, repeated each 
 W'ord aller me with a deep, tranquil sorrow, his tears continuing 
 to run. 
 
 This is what his motlier had written : 
 
 " My son. I write you those lines to Ml yon that I have reooived the viaticnm and 
 the extreme unction. Hasten, then, to come hark here, that 1 may see you once 
 inrre before I die. If you delay t<jo long, you will find the house empty of me. 
 I tenderly cnihrace you, and send you my maternal blessing." 
 
60 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 What say you of it? For me, I do not believe that the 
 heroines of old Rome could have faced death more bravely, and 
 do not suppose this to be an exceptional courage. The Romans 
 look upon natural death as a debt to be paid ; they dislike every- 
 thing which m,ay hasten the time of its falling due. They say 
 with a very original simphcity, "I don't like bathing, people are 
 drowned ; I don't wish to ride on horseback, one might fall ; I 
 shall not go to the war, one might be in the way of a bullet." 
 But when old age or sickness gives them the signal of departure, 
 their knapsacks are soon packed. I shall relate some curious 
 things on this head when we come to speak of death, and you 
 you will see that there are good lessons to be learned in this 
 countrJ^ 
 
 I returned his mother's letter to my rustic, slipping a crown 
 into his hand. lie did not think of thanks, but lie began again 
 to look through his tears at the sorrowful writing which he could 
 not read. 
 
 When the cannon of Saint Angelo sounded noon, every 
 corner of the Place Montanara was crowded with i^leepers. 
 Each family formed a heap of magnificent rags, worth a fortune 
 to a painter. The barbers and public writers begin to fold their 
 arms ; the neighboring taverns clear themselves ; the bakeries, 
 which have not been empty since morning, lose their crowds, 
 and a httle silence comes after so much noise. But let a priest 
 go by, with the retinue attending the viaticum, every sletper 
 wakes with a start, and, hat in hand, falls on his knees. 
 
 I quitted the Place Montanara to pay a visit to the Ghetto, 
 but aslv me not what way I took. I have forewarned you that 
 I never know my way. I have an idea that the Place Farnese 
 is somewhere near the Chancery, where fell poor Count Rossi 
 I think I am sure that the Place Montanara is nearly at the foot 
 of the Tarpeian Rock ; the Ghetto borders, in some part, the 
 Tiber. There are few straight streets in Rome, except between 
 the Corso and the Piazza d'Espagna. All the lines run zig-zag, 
 and half the city must be demolished before a Rue de Rivoli 
 can be drawn. The Tiber, which has no wharves, winds so 
 capriciously that one meets it every where. You discover ita 
 yellow waters here, through a door ; there, by an open window. 
 You think you have turned your back upon it 1 Not at all; it 
 
 THE PLEBEIAN. 
 
 61 
 
 is there before you. Look for a boat or a bridge ; they may 
 always be found. 
 
 Thanks to my favorite system, I often occupy half a day in 
 discovering the house where I happen to have business ; but the 
 adventures by the way make up for lost time. What makes 
 Rome the most agreeable city in the world, and the very best to 
 live in, is that there is always something new to be found Old 
 men of a hundred years, who have never left it, still make dis- 
 coveries at their very door. The complication of the streets, the 
 mystery of the divisions, adds to each discovery the charm of 
 surprise. I begin to reUsh that Roman delicacy which is called 
 the uncertain. Uncertainty here is the main-spring of society. 
 How many there are who exert themselves only in the hope of 
 tlie uncertain I A servant would allow you to cut off" a hundred 
 francs from his yearly wages, rather than renounce tlie forty or 
 fifty francs of bonne main which compose the uncertain in his 
 revenue. A coachman drives you not for the stipulated forty 
 cents, but for the five or six cents of 2^our boire which he is not 
 certain to get. What is the lottery, if not the temple of the un- 
 certain? When I am accosted in the streets of Rome, I am 
 almost always in a condition to reply like Esop : I do not know 
 where I am going. Neverthless, I never miss the Ghetto, because 
 I smell it from afar. 
 
 Before involving myself in its streets and its odors, I took care 
 to breakfast. That is not an easy operation in Rome, for want 
 of restaurants. There are, it is true, the tables cChote of the large 
 hotels, and three confectioners, who will serve you if it suits 
 them, but all that belongs to the neighborhood of the Piazza 
 d'Espagna, and we are fur away from there. Faith, said I, in- 
 ternally, since I am up to the neck in la PUbe, I will even break- 
 fast in plebeian fiishion, and the first fruit shop shall be my 
 restaurant. I had soon found what I looked for. At a turn in 
 the street, a large stall, in the open air, offered to my choice ten 
 gilded mountains, in large dishes of copper, tinned and covered 
 with gothic inscriptions. Two steps away an enormous stove was 
 sputtering; the wares were hot and tempting. I got a small 
 loaf of the nearest baker, a glass of lemonade at the next foun- 
 Uin ; fried fish, fried artichokes, and fritters furnished a glorious 
 repast. I have, perhaps, never breakfasted better in Rome, since 
 the fryin,u was in (»ii. without intprmixtnro with the strono: 
 

 62 
 
 ROITE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 butter, wliich poisons every thing. Oh, ye magnificent herds of 
 the Campagna Romana, large, white, gray-striped cows, what 
 butter is produced from your milk ! The cooks of Paris have a 
 saying that spinage is death to butter; at Rome, on the contrary. 
 it is butter that is death to spinage. 
 
 III. 
 
 TUE GHETTO. 
 
 T HAD washcu :uy hands in the fountain, and was drying them 
 J- in the sun, when the murmur of a sniffling voice' at'tracted 
 my attention. Following the direction of the sound. I wa3 ?oon 
 led to one of those innumerable madonnas which the devotion 
 of tjie Romans has caused to be set up in all the walls. Four 
 men of the humbler class, three advanced in years, and one still 
 youn- were kneeling in the dust, with their 'faces toward the 
 wai; and were muttering piously the htanies of the Virgin. Here 
 human respect is no restraint, and Christian souls are"" httle dis- 
 turbed by the reflection of what men will think of them.* 
 
 A httle farther on I found the middle of the street inundate«J. 
 Two laborers were working a pump to draw the water from a 
 ave. Inundations are as common in Rome as fires are rare. 
 The houses are seldom burne.i down, for the apartments are 
 large and sparingly furnished, and fire is rarely used ; perhaps 
 another reason is, that the ground-floor is constantlv kept damp 
 by the passers-by. The soil beneath the city is traversed in all 
 directions by thousands of aqueducts and water-pipes, that sup- 
 ply the private r^^idences and r^- r.,,?.-:^ fountains. The neigh- 
 
 • Some .crnplcs disturbed mr mind ju I reriewed this passage ; rtt strangeir 
 enoogb, another incident, anal^^^ous in character, oc^ura to me. 
 
 on^ beautifal crcnin? in the month of Mar, I met, at the hoar of the Ave 
 J^ona, a pro'-e«i..n " - .- r dA»e«, abo.t eighteen or twenty 
 
 in number. Th. v .: ... ^. _,,..,,,,. ,i, »n i.^^^^ ^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^ 
 
 blesaed Vtrjrin. 
 
 \VbUe I »aa inwardly admi.-ing this act of spontaneo i« d^Totion, I was inter- 
 rupted by an ir Hon near roe, who with Tenement gesture* shouted 
 X^ ~ ta < ror*^), "What an impudent rabble! 
 notcp. - ..? Har^ they not well e*nied the thirty 
 which the pari*h pays them for cd-'ri;:- s-j-an-ersl" 
 
 Wit^il 
 
64 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 TUE GHETTO. 
 
 65 
 
 boring mountains send their pure water to Rome by the shortest 
 course, and that from a remote antiquity; for the muddy liquid 
 of the Tiber has never been fit to drink. Water abounds on the 
 estates of private individuals, as well as in the pubHc squares. 
 It comes sometimes in such quantities that they mi<rht speak of 
 torrents discharged into lakes, as at the fountain of "Paolina and 
 that of Trevi. If Naples hangs over a volcano, Rome stands 
 over a thousand rivers. When I return to the Academy a little 
 late, I hear only the sound of water in the deep silence of the 
 night. But the aqueducts are hable to eruptions, and hence we 
 have pump-makers in the city. 
 
 I entered the Ghetto by the Place of the Synagogues. Of 
 these congregations, installed in two houses, there are" five for the 
 four Jewish rites in the city, namely, the Italian, the Portuguese, 
 the Spanish and the Sicilian. The synagogues are clean and 
 unpretending ; but their parishes are filthy enough to make one 
 shudder. 
 
 Certainly, the sewerage in the capital of the Christian wo?ld is 
 capable of much improvement. The streets are allowed to 
 become dirty, and too little attention is given to cleaning them. 
 The windows are too often opened to let fall unmendonablJ 
 tilings. The quantity of linen drying along the houses and the 
 palaces makes the stranger believe that he is entering into tlie 
 metropolis of the laundry business. Yet you see only hlies and 
 roses there after a visit to the Ghetto. In the Christian quarters 
 of the city, the rain washes the streets, the sun dries up the 
 impurities, the wind carries off the dust; but neither rain, nor 
 wind, nor sun can clean the Ghetto; that would require a flood, 
 or a conflagration. 
 
 You have, perhaps, heard how prolific the Romans are. You 
 do not meet a woman in the street without at least one child in 
 her arms. But at the Ghetto it is another thing. There the 
 children are born in clusters, and every family composes a tribe. 
 If we may believe the last census, there are four thousand one 
 hundred and ninety Jews in this valley of mud. They hve in 
 the streets, standing, sitting, lying in the midst of rags. One 
 must look well before him, or he will commit infanticide at every 
 step. TJieir appearance is ugly, their color livid, their physiog- 
 nomy degraded by want and misery. Still these wretches Je 
 
 i 
 
 ai 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 intelligent, apt at business, resigned, easily provided for and 
 irreproachable in their manners. ' 
 
 The existence of a colony of Jews within a few steps of the 
 
 Apostolic Sec is a curious anomaly It wonlH h7 
 ctin i„.i ♦! 1 i^yjujciiy. II would be more cunous 
 
 st.ll had he colony prospered. But it has not. The Ghetto , 
 poor and I ,vill tell you why it will be so always. A Jew can 
 neither be a landholder, a farmer, nor a m.nufactnrer Be cTn 
 sol new art,cles and old ones, can repair and renew thelatter 
 but wo„H volate the law were he to manufacture a chat ^ 
 wa,s,coat, or a pair of shoes. Restricted to trade the Jews 
 sometimes succeed in making a fortune, but they al' once en^ 
 
 tol.rant. They send their property to Le-hom, and in nrooor 
 
 preserved the Jews as a specimen of an accursed peonle doomed 
 to draw out a miserable existence until the consuniSon of"S 
 
 two ni'Z; 2Z::Tirl "^ ■" ^^^ -"^^ °f ^geria, 
 ]«« r , ^ ^ ^^ ^^ Lawrence, and more than a 
 
 ^Tot"it::Tr' ^°^"°" <"■ '"« •="^' ^tat :i x 
 
 TnT., T ' ""^ fourteenth century this rigor was relaxed 
 
 and the Jews were permitted to inhabit the Trastevere Be 
 t«-een loo.3 and looO they took a new step. PaTlV esteb" 
 t^ tTt It Zl^'T ''^ '"''' "' theifprison 'werJ c^J 
 
 m Uic winter. Il any one entered at a later hour it was onlv 
 
 by purchash" the fivnr nf *i,= o„i r ' ^ 
 
 i \ . , '"" 'nei-i^orol the soldiers on guard. The ownor. 
 
 1:1^"^: T 'T'' '^''^'^^ "' rehgioustruL" 
 Sv Th,?°h^ 't a work of piety to fleece the Jews without 
 P't}. This abuse e.xc.ted the compassion of Urban VIII He 
 
 otTer for fif • ' ''°"'" '^■'" '° ^' ^'' ^°^ f*" ^^«-™ an- 
 
 other for fifteen, on a perpetual lease, transferable to the most 
 
 remote posterity. L, consideration of ten crowns the oler 
 
 was obhg.d to make aU necessary repairs. Urban VIII. die^Two 
 
66 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GHETTO. 
 
 67 
 
 hundred and thirty-four years ago, and the imprudent measure 
 has still the force of law. The consequence is, that rents have 
 risen everywhere but in the Ghetto. There the Jewish tenants 
 live literally at the expense of their landlords. One was pointed 
 out to me, who is maintained by an Ursuline convent. He rents 
 for thirty crowns one of the largest and most eligible houses, 
 and sub-lets it for fifteen times as much, that is to say, for four 
 hundred and fifty crowns. 
 
 As the building is not new, the Ursulines have to pay a hun- 
 dred crowns annually for repairs. They are consequently under 
 the necessity of appealing to the courts to compel so burdensome 
 a tenant to keep the house in repair at his own expense, without 
 paying rent. Our Jew resists the demand like a good fellow. 
 His lease is the patrimony of his children — his daughter's 
 dowry I 
 
 Since 1847 the gates of the Ghetto have been demolished, 
 and no visible barrier separates the Jews from the Christians, 
 By law, if not by custom, they are permitted to reside in what- 
 ever part of the city they please. Some of them regret to sen 
 that the owners of houses in the better quarters of the city will 
 not, or dare not, take them for tenants ; they complain of being 
 forced to give up in secret the liberty which has been publicly 
 accorded them. They accuse the pontifical government of 
 regretting too actively the concessions of 1847. They demand 
 the restoration of the gates which rendered them interesting, 
 while assuring their tranquillity for the night. The wisest in 
 Israel philosophically take part in this, rejoice in the half gratui- 
 tous rents, the moderate taxes, and the benefits of a powerful 
 foreign protector, who introduces into all his financial treaties 
 som« secret article in their favor. They remember, too, that if 
 Purgatory is at Rome, Paradise is at Leghorn. 
 
 It is only during the reign of Pius IX. the Jews have ceased 
 to defray the expenses of the Carnival. In the middle ages 
 they paid it all. The municipality diverted the people with the 
 spectacle of Jew races. Benedict XIV. substituted horses with- 
 out riders, which ran better beyond question ; but it cost the 
 Jews eight hundred crowns a year. Tlicir chiefs used to carry 
 tliis sum with great parade to the Senator, who received them 
 witliout ceremony. 
 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 
 " Roman Jews." 
 
 " I know you not. Begone !" 
 
 To this affable remark, tlie chief magistrate of the city was 
 wont to add, ten years ago, a significant movement of his foot 
 The embassy, when thus dismissed, betook itself to one of the 
 city commissioners. 
 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 " Roman Jews." 
 
 " What do you want ?" 
 
 " We humbly implore from 3''0ur lordship the favor of living 
 here one year longer." 
 
 This permission was granted them duly, accompanied witli 
 certain insults ; and they expressed their gratitude by offering 
 the eight hundred crowns, which the official graciously deigned 
 to accept. The Sovereign has freed them of this expense and 
 humiliation. There is another, however, from which they are 
 not yet exempt. At the accession of each Pope the deputies 
 of the Jewish people place themselves in the path of the Holy 
 Father, near the arch of Titus, 
 
 The Pope asks them what they are doing there. They pre- 
 sent him a Bible, saying: 
 
 *' We beg permission to offer to your Holiness a copy of our 
 law 1" 
 
 The Pope accepts it, saying : 
 
 " Excellent law 1 detestable race 1" 
 
 You will observe at the entrance to the Ghetto at the end of 
 the Ponte Quottro Capi ; a small church, to which the Jews 
 were forced to repair every Saturday after dinner to the number 
 of one hundred and fifty. A preacher, paid at their expense, 
 regaled' them with an excellent diatribe against the obstinate 
 and perverse character of their race. The one hundred and fifty 
 hearers were very regular in their attendance, and for this reason ; 
 the community had to pay a crown a head for every absentee. 
 An old Jew of my acquaintance said to me yesterday, " In 
 twenty-five yeai-s, sir, I have not missed the sermon once." 
 
 But this people is stiff'-necked ; it will not be converted by 
 force. 
 
 Pius IX. dispensed the Jews from the homily, and the little 
 church is deserted. They tried the experiment of sending the 
 Abb^ Battisbonne to preach there, but nobody came to hear 
 
 .. -A 
 
68 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GnETTO. 
 
 69 
 
 him. Still there is one conversion made every year, on the Sat- 
 urday of the Passover. The baptistry of Constantino swings 
 open on that day to an old Jewess, who gains eighty crowns and 
 Paradise. The people of Rome do not beUeve much in the sin- 
 cerity of the chatechcumens. " Now," they say, " the Jews are 
 becoming Turks." The Jews at Rome are no longer shut un at 
 night, fleeced at the Carnival, nor chatechized against their will ; 
 and it is to Pius IX. that they owe this threefold boon. They 
 are watched over by the Rabbis, and tlie laws relating to them 
 administered by their principal men. If one of them violates 
 tlie law of the Sabbath, it is at the demand of the Rabbi that 
 the Cardinal- Vicar sends him to the galleys. During the inun- 
 dations of the Tiber, the Roman municipality sends" provisions 
 to their homes, and exhibits the delicate attention of furnishing 
 them with flesh of animals killed according to the Jewish rites 
 We must not forget that a large number of the Jews are pro- 
 vided for by their landlords. They are taxed, in the aggre- 
 gate, four hundred and fifty crowns, of about one dollar each, 
 which, divided among nearly four thousand five hundred per- 
 sons, amounts to a little more than ten cents each. The con- 
 tribution is not oppressive, still they have refused to furnish it 
 since 1848. 
 
 The origin of this tax ls worthy of being related. Two or 
 three hundred years ago, a Jew was converted, entered a con- 
 vent of neophytes, and in the silence of his ceU WTote a pam- 
 phlet against his co-religionists. He accused them, amon«- other 
 thmgs, of eating the flesh of infants. Such aboundin- ze"al was 
 recompensed. An order was sent, compelling the Tnlmbitants 
 of the Ghetto to pay four hundred and fifty crowns a year to 
 the wnter who had so well described then). The Ghetto paid 
 the amount, and the income of the neophyte naturally went into 
 ^e chest of the convent. But in the course of time the converted 
 Jew died, for he was not immortal. The convent, which had 
 enjoyed tlie benefits of the tax, and had found it agreeable 
 would not give it up. - Is it our fault," said the monks, - that 
 our brother is dead ? We have done our best to take care of 
 him This tax was his property, and we are his heirs. Besides, 
 the Jews have acquired the habit of paving four hundred and 
 fifty crowns a year, and Rr)inp is a city of habit." To-day the 
 JcAVB claim that, as they have not paid it sinc« 1848, thev have 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 completely lost the habit, and that nothing in the world would 
 induce them to resume it After long debates between them and 
 the convent, the Pope has agreed to release them, for the past 
 and the future, in consideration of one quarter of the sum de- 
 manded. But the Jews will not listen to it ; they much prefer 
 to pay nothing at all. 
 
 If Ihey accept the conditions thus oflered, they will be here- 
 after, like gentlemen, exempt from all taxes. 
 
 Will they, on that accouut, be better off? I do not know. I 
 have related faithfully all that the government of Pius IX. has 
 done in their favor, but it is impossible to conceal the fact that 
 the Jewish popi^lation is rapidly decreasing in the States of the 
 Church. In 1842, under the severe Gregory XVI., it consisted 
 of twelve thousand seven hundred persons. In 1853, eleven 
 years later, under the paternal reign of Pius IX., it had decreased 
 more than twenty-five per cent, and amounted to only nine 
 thousand two hundred and thirty-seven souls. 
 
 This frightful reduction in the numbers of a race naturally pro- 
 lific can be explained only by emigration. I am informed — 
 indeed, I know— that, in fact, the Jews desert the Papal States 
 as soon as they can obtain a passport and pay the expenses of 
 the joumt^y. 
 
 These unfortunates have not been willing, or rather have not 
 dared to say what drives them away. The boldest have adjured 
 me to write nothing in their favor, if I did not wish to aggra- 
 vate the evils which were overwhelming them. In fine, I have 
 come to know tliat the toleration of the existing government is 
 merely superficial. Here is a fact in support of my hypothesis : 
 
 A Roman Jew gained his livelihood as a farmer. "^To violate 
 the law in so flagrant a manner he had need of an accomphce, 
 and found a Christian who consented, for a pecuniary consider- 
 ation, to lend him his name. But the rabble of the neighborhood 
 were not long ignorant of the fact that the crops belonged to a 
 Jew, and they betook themselves at once to plunder. A holy 
 marauding expedition was organized against the wheat and the 
 corn of tlie poor Hebrew ; every one believed that his salvation 
 depended in part on his taking a hand. The plundered man 
 dared neither complain nor resist But it fortunately occurred 
 to hun that the French were in Rome, and exercised there a cer- 
 
10 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 tarn authority. He ventured to solicit Count de Govon for the 
 favor of swearing a guard, who should report when* necessary. 
 Count de Goyon, all politics apart, is an excellent man. Ho 
 pitied the Jew, and promised to obtain for him what he a.sked. 
 He did more ; he went in person to his Eminence, Cardinal An- 
 tonelli, and stated the facts. 
 
 The Cardinal did not conceal his opinion that it would be mon- 
 strous to administer an oath to a Christian in the interest of a 
 Jew. Still, as nothing could be relused to the most steadfast 
 ally of the Holy See, he promised not only that a guard should 
 be sworn, but that he would select the man himself 
 
 Ample time was taken for the choice ; somethini^ like three 
 months. The pillage meanwhile went on, the Jew dared say no 
 more, and the General, satisfied in his own mind that he had 
 performed a good act, remained at ease. One fine mornincr a 
 timid voice aroused him with the intimation that nothing had 
 been done. After a hasty reply, he proceeded to the Vatican, a 
 second time. The authorities, now driven to the wall, made no 
 further resistance. The guard, so long promised, was granted. 
 The nomination was signed on the spot. Count de Goyon 
 brought back the document himself, and put it triumphantly in 
 the hands of his protege. 
 
 The Jew was profuse in his expressions of grauiuae. He 
 almost bathed with his tears the blessed name of the guard that 
 had been so graciously assigned him. 
 
 It proved to be the name of a person who could not be found, 
 who disappeared six years before, and of whom nothing had 
 since been heard I 
 
 What was to be done? return to the General? make his com- 
 plaint a third time ? prove to a gallant soldier and an eminent 
 statesman that the authorities at Rome had made a fool of him ? 
 The Jew thought it all over. 
 
 But the police, who never sleep, ordered him to stay at home, 
 to be contented and enjoy himself, under pain of tlie severest 
 measures. 
 
 When the French officers accidentally met him some timo 
 afterward, they said to him, " Well, you have your rights ! Your 
 crops are safe ! You owe a tall candle to the French army." 
 
 He thanked them prudently, smiled as he was bid, and went 
 mto a corner to weep. 
 
 THE GHETTO. 
 
 71 
 
 I need not here /ecord the history of young Mortara. It 
 proves that the men who are most habituated to act before the 
 world the part of toleration, sometimes forget their part. 
 
 The affair of Padova, which is less known, merits equal cele- 
 bnty. I gave an account of it long since, but will not neglect 
 this opportunity of repeating it. 
 
 M. Padova, a Jewish merchant of Cento, in the province of 
 Ferrara, had a wife and two children. A CathoUc clerk seduced 
 Mme. Padova. Having been detected and driven away by the 
 husband, he fled to Bologna, whither he was followed by tlie 
 faithless wife, who took her children with her. 
 
 The injured husband went in hot haste to Bologna and 
 demanded that his children should be restored to him The 
 authorities replied that the children had been baptized, as also 
 their mother, and that there was an impassable gulf between him 
 and his family. However, they gave him the privilege of paying 
 at intervals a certain sum of money, on which the family sub- 
 sisted, including the lover of ^Ime. Padova. A few months after- 
 ward, he might have been present at the marriage of his legiti- 
 mate wife with her seducer. The officiating prelate was his 
 eminence Cardinal Oppizoni, Bishop of Bologna. 
 
 Tiiey have related to me the history of a Jew who derived from 
 his religion a most singular advantage. He had committed a 
 cnme almost unheard of among the Hebrews of our day. He 
 had committed murder, and the victim was his own brother-in- 
 law. The evidence was clear, and the fact proved beyond ques- 
 tion. The following is a sketch of the Hne of defense employed 
 by his advocate : 
 
 '• Gentlemen, whence comes it that the law severely punishes 
 murderers, and sometimes proceeds so far as to visit..them with 
 death? It is for the reason that in assassinating a Christian, a 
 body and a soul are killed at the same time. For in that cLe 
 a being is hurried before the sovereign Judge, unprepared, who 
 has not repented, who has not received absolution, and goes right 
 mto hell, or at least into purgatory. This, gentlemen, is the 
 reason why murder— I mean the murder of a Christian— can not 
 be too severely punished. But as for my client here— what has 
 he slam ? Nothing, gentlemen, but a miserable Jew, doomed in 
 advance to perdition. Had he been aUowed a hundred years for 
 his conversion— you know the obstinacy of his race— he would 
 
72 
 
 / 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GHETTO. 
 
 have died without confession, like a brute. Wo have, I admit, 
 forestalled by a few years the maturity dl' Celestial justice ; we 
 have hastened for him an eternity of suffering which he could 
 not escape, sooner or later. But be indulgent to a venial error, 
 and reserve your severity for those who aim at the life and the 
 salvation of a Christian." 
 
 Such pleading would be ridiculous at Paris ; it was logical at 
 Rome. The culprit escaped with a few months' imprisonment. 
 
 The Jews are tolerated in many cities of the Roman State, 
 and in some of the villages. They Hve in Rome, Ancona, Ferrara, 
 Pesaro, Seniglglia. In Rome, however, they are treated with 
 the most lenity. Lnst year the delegate of Ancona put in ope- 
 ration an old law which prohibits Christians from associating in 
 public with Jews. 
 
 The lower classes despise the Jews, but do not hate them. 
 I have seen a boy of fifteen yeai-s go up to an aged Jew and 
 crush his hat over his eyes ; but he would not have done him 
 any real harm. I have heard a peasant say to a Jew, " You are 
 very fortunate, you folks ; you do not fear dying by accident 
 (without confession), for you have no soul to save, as we have." 
 
 The monks, the priests, and generally all the inferior clergy, 
 visit the Ghetto without marked repugnance. The Pope, the 
 Cardinals, the Bishops, and the simple Monsignori are excluded 
 from this impure locality. They would lose caste were they to 
 set foot within its borders. 
 
 The Roman ecclesiastics make, however, a great distinction 
 between Jews and Protestant?. If they have a little contempt 
 for the one, they cherish an intense hatred to the other; for the 
 Jews are vanquished, while the Protestants are rebels. The 
 Church has not forgotten that great principle of Roman pohcy, 
 which Yirgil condensed in a single Une — 
 
 " Spare the vanquished, crush the prond." • 
 
 Allow me to cite a f;\ct in support of my position. A Jew of 
 Paris, who had come to spend the Holy Week, was lodging in a 
 private house. Some days after Easter, he was, by mistake, vis- 
 ited by one of the priests appointed to collect the tickets of con- 
 fession, and to indicate to the officers of justice whoever had 
 violated the commandment of the church. 
 
 V3 
 
 li 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," said the Jew, opening his door, " I am not 
 a Christian." 
 
 " Monsieur is a Lutheran ?" interrogated the priest, with more 
 pohteness than delicacy. 
 
 "No, sir; a Jew." 
 
 " Come, come, that is not so bad." 
 
 It is certain that the Jews, however elevated by fortune, pre- 
 serve a respectful attitude toward the Holy See. They do not 
 lend the Pope their money without asking pardon for the great 
 liberty, while the Protestants make a show of their rebellion. 
 There is always at Easter, in the Sistine Chapel, a six-foot Eng- 
 lishman, standing on his legs in the midst of the kneeling crowd. 
 It is of no use to root him out ; he springs up again the next 
 year. 
 
 But I return to the Ghetto. This little window on the third 
 story of a wretched house, in one of the vilest lanes of the 
 quarter, is celebrated in the amusing traditions of the Academy 
 of France. 
 
 It is customary for the new pensioners to pay their entrance 
 fee in a way filled with practical jokes and mystifications innu- 
 merable, and sometimes rather severe. A story is told of a 
 young Jewish composer, who was apprised on his arrival that he 
 would have to lodge in the Ghetto. 
 
 " You can eat here, because we are in an asylum of refuge, 
 but you will have to sleep among your own people ; the Roman 
 law is inflexible on that point." 
 
 He dined with his fellow-students, and after the dessert, was 
 conducted to the apartment that had been procured for him. 
 The appointments of the room were such as to excite an in- 
 voluntary shudder in a sensitive mind on entering it. The 
 bed had scarcely three feet to stand upon. The hostess was 
 distinguished by a filthy exterior of the most revolting kind. 
 She was profuse in her bewildering hospitalities. Unconscious 
 of the disgust she inspired, she promised her young tenant to 
 care for him as for a son, and to lavish a thousand attentions 
 upon him. With this bright prospect in the future, the student, 
 tired, jaded, and worn out, retired to rest, and the night was so 
 unpleasantly spent that the next morning he talked of returning 
 to France. The joke, however, was not carried so far. The 
 young artist returned to the Academy, took possession of his 
 
74 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 proper room, and did not lose liis time there. But who knows 
 whether subsequently, when the author of '' La Juive" wrote 
 that beautiful composition of world-wide celebrity and deseiTed 
 the reputation, the reminiscences of his first night in Ghetto 
 were not present to his mind. 
 
 The inhabitants of the Ghetto, as I have said, perfjrni all 
 their avocations, domestic and commercial, in the street. The 
 reason, perliaps, is, that their liouses are so badly kept as to be 
 scarcely tolerable. What I Jiave seen of their 'interior has in- 
 spired me with no desire to penetrate farther into their noisome 
 recesses. I content myself with traversing the quarter in all 
 directions, and informing myself as to the habits, and customs of 
 the people in various ways. During the week I watch them 
 buying and selling, toiling patiently with their hands, or eating 
 their scanty and coarse provisions. The vegetable diet to which 
 poverty restricts them, joined to the impurity of the air of their 
 vile, filthy homes, impoverishes their blood and undermines their 
 health. Although so near the Til>er, they are less subject to 
 fever than the inhabitants of districts more* elevated in situation, 
 for it is not the water of the river, but the miasmatic exhalations 
 of the marshy country borne by the wind, whi..'h poison the 
 Eomans. On Saturday my poor Jews make themselves as 
 handsome as they can in their best apparel, and repair to the 
 synagogues. Yesterday was Sunday, and I saw them transact 
 their business until three or four in the afternoon, when sud- 
 denly the shops, which were half open, were closed for the day, 
 and the people took their recreation. 
 
 I found at the corner of every street a table, surrounded by 
 ten or a dozen persons of both sexes, with a pack of cards in the 
 middle. I am not yet wise enough to penetrate the secret mys- 
 teriea of these bohemian cards, with which the lower classes of 
 Spain and Italy are accustomed to beguile their leisure hours. 
 What I remarked among my Hebrew acquaint-inces was, that 
 there was no money upon the tables, and that they quarreled at 
 almost every movement of the cards. 
 
 Once I thought that a general tumult was inevitable. The 
 quarrel arose about an ace of spades or a seven of clubs, I could 
 not well make out which. One of the players flung his'cards at 
 the head of his adversary. The other retaliated by throwing 
 the chalk used for marking the points. The women threw them- 
 
 THE GHETTO. 
 
 75 
 
 selves between the combatants, but not without applying their 
 hands vigorously to the hair of each other's heads. AU the street 
 soon mingled in the strife, each taking the side of his relatives, 
 and, in an instant, the neighboring inhabitants rushed in npon 
 the field of battle. They launched volumes of invective at 
 one another in a paioiji of which I understood nothing, and the 
 Italians, whom the noise ha<l drawn to the spot, evidently did 
 not undersUmd much. Howevor, all was quiet at the end of a 
 quarter of an hour, and I le;uned that the whole tumult had 
 arisen out of a dispute about the half of a cent. Do not laugh at 
 tlie smallness of the sum ; I know a professor of the mandoline, 
 who stabbed his best friend seventeen times in the course of a 
 discussion involving fifty centimes. 
 
 I retired with a broken head. In all my hfe I had never hoard 
 such a noise, except, perhaps, at leaving the theater at Pera, when 
 the population of the streets fell to biting each other, and, with 
 horrid yells, gave vent to their terrific rage. 
 
 But the nocturnal brawlers of Constantinople are not men I 
 My days' work was to be completed at the Trastevere, the 
 most Roman quarter of Rome. The inhabitants beyond the 
 Tiber are, without doubt, tlie most manly, the boldest, the most 
 sensitive to insult, and the worthiest of the city. They are also 
 the handsomest, and their general aspect is the most picturesque. 
 The praises they have received are not excessive. Intellectually, 
 periiaps, they have less of versatiUty and quickness of perception 
 than the inhabitants of the mountains, but the latter are endowed 
 with less loyalty and courage. 
 
 I lost my way, and instead of emerging at Ponte Rotto which 
 would have conducted me into the heart of the Trastevere, I 
 found myself in the midst of the temples and tlie storehouses 
 filled with hay which surround the Bocca della Verita. The 
 storehouses looked extremely well. 
 
 A long line of forty high-piled wagons, resembling square 
 mountains, came in single file. They were drawn by oxen. 
 The last team bore aloft the image of the good St. Anthony, 
 patron of animals. I never saw any thing more healthy, more 
 beautiful, and more fragrant than the liay from the Campagna 
 di Roma ; for there are few moods and phases of our Uves when • 
 it is no pleasure to meet in the heart of a busy city the costumes 
 and the perfume of the quiet, peaceful country. When Rome 
 
76 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 shall no longer be the first city in the world, she will still be the 
 most picturesque villan^e in the universe. 
 
 This Bocca della Veritu, which I have just mentioned, is a 
 curious relic of the IMiddle Ages. It .was regarded with super- 
 stitious awe, as an instrument for visiting on certain classes of 
 evil doers the just judgments of God. Figure to yourself a mill- 
 stone, resembling, not a human face, but the face of the moon. 
 As you look closely, the eyes are distinguishable, as arc also the 
 nose and the open mouth, into whica an accused person used 
 to place liis hand to take an oath. The mouth closed upon the 
 hand if the declaration was false ; at least so runs the legend. 
 Its powers, however, are no more, for I introduced my right 
 hand, saying that the Ghetto was a delightful j)lace. The mouth, 
 however, was immovable, and I escaped unhurt. 
 
 Near the Bocca della Verita, in front of the httle temple of 
 Yesta, and not far from the Fortuna Virile, th6 sentence of death 
 is executed by the Roman authorities upon one murderer in a 
 hundred. When I arrived at this retired spot, tliey were nut 
 executing anybody, but six cook-women, one of whom was as 
 divinely beautiful as Juno, were dancing the Tarantula to the 
 sound of a tamborine. Unfortunately, they discovered that I 
 was a stranger, and set themselves to polka, contrary to the music. 
 On this I fled with all speed, and soon found the bridge of which 
 I was in search. 
 
 
 V. 
 
 THE TRASTEVERE. 
 
 ri^IIE Ponte Rotto is an ancient work. The Tiber has carried 
 J- away two-thirds of it. Pius IX. has repaired it tempora- 
 rily. A wooden platform, suspended from iron wires, connects 
 it with the left bank. We can stop for a few minutes on this 
 trembling plank ; the view is at least as fine as from the bridge 
 of the Institute. Up the river the sun is setting behind the dome 
 St. Peter's. Its slanting rays glide over the gilded water of the 
 stream. The Sacred Island stands out like a ship between the 
 two bridges which unite it with the city. Formerly it had the 
 form and color of a marble galley, but its trappiugs have gone, I 
 know not whither. The high perched houses which skirt the 
 Tiber are clothed with fig-trees and ivy, or encased in terraces 
 of lemon-trees in bloom. In the other direction, looking down 
 the stream, you see the enormous opening of the Cloaca of Tar- 
 quin ; above, the pretty dome of Vesta ; and still higher up, the 
 convents, gardens, and vines, which crown tlie Aventine HilL 
 To the right is the Trastevere, of which you shall have a closer 
 view, if you do me the honor to come and dine with me there. 
 
 You need fear nothing ; the eating will not be so bad, and 
 nobody will eat us. More than one stroke of the knife will pass 
 in the course of the morning, seeing that to-day is Sunday, but 
 we shall enjoy the sight without incurring any danger. You are 
 going to see men who are as strong as bulls, and just as easily 
 provoked, who give a blow as easily as you would drink a glass 
 of water, and never give one but the hand holds a blade. The 
 police will not be about to protect us ; it is always absent. Be- 
 sides, if you offended one of those fellows, he would kill you in 
 the very arms of the gensd'armes. But you may come, and go 
 
78 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 among them, spend much, pay in gold, clink your purse, and go 
 out after midnight into the best extinguished street, and the idea 
 will not occur to any one to attack your money. Better ^till : 
 they will welcome us politely, and crowd together to make room 
 for us. They will not look at us like curious animals ; they will 
 even lend themselves obligingly to our curiosity, if it be not 
 impertinent. We need not fear that wine will excite them to 
 pick a quarrel with us, but if we have the misfortune to provoke 
 them, then look out ! Wine does not make them quarrelsome, 
 but it does make them easily offended. The self-love of the 
 tavern does not forgive even an unintentional offense, if it hap- 
 pen to expose them to the ridicule of their companions. When 
 you see a woman with her husband, or a girl with her father, 
 keep your eyes in check I It is often unhealthy to look the 
 women of the Trastevere in the face, and I could mention more 
 than one curious person who has died of it. Shall we go in ? 
 You hesitate ? In that case, good-by ; I shall go in all alone. 
 
 Still, not without first reading this httle notice nailed over the 
 door: 
 
 " Beloved brethren, keep from blasphemy, and reflect : 
 
 1. That God sees you ; 
 
 2. That God will judge you for all your trorda, and especially for your bias- 
 
 phemies ; 
 
 3. That God is ready to punish i^ith fire that tongue which was given yon to 
 
 bless, and not to insult Ilim." 
 
 The notice might add, without falsehood, that in this lower 
 world, blasphemy is sometimes more severely punished than 
 assassination. In a village in the neighborhood of Rome, two 
 peasants forgot themselves upon the same day. One hurled a 
 curse at the Madonna, the other poisoned his mother. The 
 tribunal sent them both to the galleys ; but the parricide has 
 finished his time, and the blasphemer has still some years to 
 serve. 
 
 I found the tavern quite full ; it is one of the best frequented 
 and most celebrated. People come here not to drink merely, as 
 in the smaller establishments of the kind. The master of the 
 house prides himself on his cooking, and would thrust his knife 
 mto the stomach of the man who accused him of burning his 
 omelettes. His customers are chiefly veturinos and artists: 
 shoe-making artLst.^, metal-founding artisL^ horse-shoeing artists, 
 
 THE TRASTEVERE. 
 
 19 
 
 wool-spinning artists. There are no workmen at Rome who do 
 not take the name of artist ; accordingly it is considered as an 
 insult by paint<?rs and sculptors. The meanest copier of pic- 
 tures, the shallowest practitioner, the most bunghng fiddler, 
 would go peifectly red with vexation if you told him he was a 
 great artist " Sir," he would say, seriously, ^' I am a profes- 
 
 Bor 1 
 
 One day recently I wanted a button sewed on a boot I sent 
 for the wife of one of the servants, and asked her if she was 
 
 equal to the task. 
 
 "I I" she replied, bridling up, ''I am a daughter of the art; 
 
 my futlier was a shoemaker!" 
 
 The artists who come hero on Sunday do not appear here dur- 
 incr the week. They hide in thuir squalid lodgings, where they 
 drink water and munch salad. But on Sunday, when they have 
 saved up a few cents, it is a point of honor to show themselves 
 at the tavern, and prove to the universe that they spend money. 
 They reason in nearly the same way as the small fry of our 
 Bour<=e who go and dine once a week at the dearest restaurant 
 on the 'boulevards, in order to be seen as they go m and out 
 
 I have taken a seat on the end of a bench, before one of the 
 large and massive tables that surround the great hall The tavern 
 is paved like the street, and almost as badly swept; the walls are 
 painted like canvas, without any decoraUon. The kitx^hen occu- 
 pieg one of the ends of tlie hall, and the scullion from time to 
 time carries a bundle of reeds to make the fire blaze under the 
 etove Two lamps, with a pair of burners eaen, modestly 
 illuminate the whole enclosure ; a third bm-ns in a comer before 
 
 tlie Madonna. r /in. ^ c^Vf^r 
 
 You hear but litde noise in this assemblage of fifty to sixty 
 pei^ous. My neiglibors on the right are five young men of t^ie 
 Lmc age, who look like comrades in the same workshop. The 
 color of their hands and sundry cuts on them, make me tlunk 
 that they work in iron. The one who made room for me to sit 
 down is cerUinly one of the handsomest men to be met with 
 here. Tall and weU made, the face long, the eye moist, the 
 mouth finely sliaped, Uie Ups red, the nose hooked, the beard 
 soft as the down of a black swan, he looks more like an opera 
 tenor than a locksmith's apprentice. His companions are not 
 all of the same stuff; and I see right in front of me a buU-dog 
 
80 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 THE TRASTEVERE. 
 
 81 
 
 face which does not much suit me ; but a frank and quiet cheer- 
 fulness presides over tlieir repast. My handsome neighbor 
 offered me his glass and invited me to drink ; I wet my lips (to 
 prove that I knew the customs of the Trastevere, and was a well- 
 bred man). 
 
 The neighboring table, on my left, is occupied by different 
 groups, which I can indiflerently distinguish, the light being" 
 doubtful, and near of kin to the night. I see plainly two play- 
 ers seated opposite each other ; thoy wear the dress of carters. 
 There is some money on the game, perhaps three crowns, in 
 small change. The elder of the adversaries can not be in the 
 vein, for he throws eveiy card upon the table with a smashing 
 blow. The other wins without laughing or speaking, aAd drinks 
 by little sips. A Httle further on a miller, from the Tiber, built 
 like the Farnese Hercules, is supping freely, with his wife and 
 daughter. The motlier is stout, and common-looking; the 
 daughter beautiful, and white as Venus. Her black hair, fas- 
 tened in large braids, is all she has on her head. The girls in 
 Rome wear neither cap nor bonnet ; nature lias given Uiem a 
 warm winter head-dress. My pretty miller's daugliter, however, 
 is a httle overburdened with jewels ; with her necklace and ear- 
 rings alone you could pay the taxes of the republic of San Mari- 
 no. A beautiful lace neckerchief is folded across her breast ; it 
 is the fashion in the Trastevere. But the skirt is rather more 
 voluminous than is reasonable. Crinohne is coming in three 
 boats to spoil our national costume. It is a pleasure to see how 
 mother and daughter empty a glass of wine which the father has 
 filled to the brim. The Romans, when they depart from their 
 sober habits, are the most formidable drinkers in all Europe, 
 and there are few Roman women who can not keep up with the 
 men. The most delicate Trasteverine girl would absorb the allow- 
 ance of twelve sailors, and would not reel on leaving the table. 
 It is true, they have feet I 
 
 You will forgive me, if, after this first glance on all sides of my 
 plate, my attention concentrated itself for a moment on the sup- 
 per which had been served. I had been running all day, had 
 eaten my breakfast off my thumb, and was bound, even in regard 
 to your interests, to recruit my strength. A famished stomach 
 knows neither eyes nor ears, and a fasting observer would teach 
 you but httle. 
 
 
 They served me •\vith salad first, which is the foundation of all 
 Roman suppers; then a morsel of stewed beef, which would 
 make your mouth water if I could throw into my prose a little 
 of its aroma and succulence. A leg of kid came next, in a dish 
 of green peix?. The entremets consisted of a small, round, white 
 cheese, fried on the stove, and for dessert I had a large plateful 
 of really exquisite strawberries from Albano. 
 
 That is how you sup at a tavern for forty cents. It is true, 
 that at the hotels and pastry-cooks' the cookery is equally dear 
 and detestable. The wine of Rome is nowhere good, but the 
 tavern is still the place where it can be drunk best. It is a kind 
 of claret, limpid, and of a golden color; they serve it in bottles 
 of white glas^, light as a breath, and frail as virtue. 
 
 My neighbors on my right finislied their supper long before I 
 did, but as they had not finished drinking, the handsome lock- 
 smith proposed a passaiella. It is a forbidden game, but in Rome 
 nothing is allowed, and everthing is done. Each of the guests 
 gave four cents, and the host served five flagons of wine in the 
 middle of the table. " Pay your own shot," is a Roman maxim 
 which has been translated into French. They drew lots to de- 
 cide who should own all the liquor paid for in common, and 
 which of the five companions should be " Master of the wine." 
 It was thus the ancient Romans played at dice for the kingship 
 of the repast. But in the modern joint-stock feasts kingship 
 often degenerates into tyranny, and provokes bloody revolutions. 
 The master, or patron of the wine, was my neighbor, the hand- 
 some locksmith. The privilege of his rank coiisisted, firstly, in 
 quenching his own thirst entirely before giving anything to the 
 others, and secondly in choosing a minister to fill now one glass, 
 now another, always at the pleasure of the king, and never with- 
 out his consent. 
 
 It seems our neighbor, the bull-dog, did not stand well at 
 court. Twice he held out his glass to ask for drink ; twice the 
 minister took up a bottle to pour out wine for him ; twice, also, 
 was Prince Charmaut pleased to say, " He shall not drink ; I will 
 drink. Minister, my friend, excellency of my heart, this is the 
 glass that must be filled." And such laughter ! The bull-dog 
 was the knight of the sorrowful countenance. He had paid ; 
 his throat was itching ; the wine passed under his nose, and his 
 friends made sport of him. 
 
 4* 
 
 lil 
 
82 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE TRASTEVEEE. 
 
 83 
 
 The wine Wcas soon exhausted, and the bull-do^, who had his 
 revenge to take, himself proposed a second passalella. " Just let 
 me be master of the wine!" he said to the handsome locksmith* 
 " yon shall see if I give you a drop of it." ' 
 
 " Wliat do I care ?" replied the other, with peals of lau-hter; 
 '' you see very well I am not thirsty." Thirst or no thirst, chance 
 favored him again, and the distribution of tlie wine fell to his lot 
 a second time. The bull-dog, half in jest, half in earnest, said to 
 him, " The joke has gone far enough ! Ilere have I paid eight 
 cents out of my own pocket, and I hope you \xi\\ allow me°to 
 drink." " We must be satisfied with httle," said my handsome 
 friend, "and sometimes with nothing. Are you a Christian, 
 or are you not? Then exercise yourself in tlu; virtue of pa- 
 tience !" 
 
 As these gentlemen talked very loudly, and their neighbors 
 shouted with laughter, the attention of the tavern insensibly 
 turned toward them. ' The pretty miller's daughter cast more 
 than one glance at our table, without asking leave of her parents. 
 Our eyes met two or three times ; I even luncy she smiled frankly 
 at me, with the freedom of manner of Italian girls, which it would 
 be a great mistake to interpret into harm. 
 
 The only man who had no eye for the passateUa was the old 
 player at the next table. The run of the cards was apparently 
 obstinate against him, for, after five or six times impi-udently 
 playing double or quits, he had staked his silver watch, to lose 
 every thing or win all back. Before cutting the cards, he went 
 and knelt down before the Madonna of the tavern, and entreated 
 her to return him what he had lost, with a little over ; promising 
 to share the surplus with her, and to offer a large taper at the 
 church of St. Augustine. Meanv/hile his adversary crossed himself 
 discreetly, and nmttered, without rising from his seat, a counter- 
 prayer to the same Madonna. The game was closely contested, 
 and 1 followed it attentively. The old carter lost it, like all the 
 rest. He rose from the tiible, thrust his hat on his head, and 
 took his stand before the image which he had just adored. I 
 thought he was going to insult the Madotma, but something 
 restrained liim, and he let the whole of his anger fall upon the 
 divine child which she carried in her arms. " Miserable Bam- 
 bino !" he cried, " Judas did right to sell you." Thus comforted, 
 he \\ent out. His opponent gathered up the money and the 
 
 wat^h ; called for another flagon of wine, which he slowly drank ; 
 examined the point of his knife, stopped at the door of the 
 tavern, to see that no one was in wait for him outside, and 
 
 departed. 
 
 A third passafdla had begun on my right, and obstinate fate 
 ha<l still favored my handsome neighbor. The bull-dog, drunk 
 with thirst and spite, said coarse things ta him, of which he made 
 nothing but laughter. He answered with jokes the curses of his 
 cnemy"^ which, I will venture to say, were weighty. Here is a 
 specimen of the litany : 
 
 '* Dog-face !" 
 
 " The guillotine take your dead !" As much as to say, may 
 ycnr ancestors have perished by the hand of the executioner! 
 
 ''May you die of a cold accident!" Accident simple is apo- 
 plexy ; the cold accident is the stroke of a knife. 
 
 " And you," retorted my neighbor, " you'll die of a dry acci- 
 
 ^\ dent !" « 
 
 (m This joke excited universal merriment, and the bull-dog grew 
 
 doublv enraged. 
 
 I had exchanged, by this time, so many looks with the pretty 
 miller's daughter, that we had become, in spite of the distance 
 between us, a pair of friends. She made me a more direct advance 
 by sending her mother to ask me for a glass of water— there was 
 none except at my table. I hastened to offer the decanter, and 
 received two thanks at once. The young girl smiled upon me 
 more tenderly than ever, and the father looked at me with enor- 
 mous eyes. 
 
 Nearer to me, the bull-dog, tired of affording food for laughter, 
 had retired grumbling. My other neighbors soon followed him, 
 and I said good-by to them; not, however, without offenng 
 them four cigars of Roman make, a trifle insipid to the taste, but 
 well made and smoking freely. The handsome locksmith oflered 
 me his hand, and I shook it heartily, without knowing that he 
 had not two minutes longer to live. 
 
 The vacant places beside me were immediately occupied by 
 three French troopers, slightly fuddled. They were making a 
 triumphal round of the taverns of the Trastevere, after win- 
 ning a brilliant victory over fourteen soldiers of the Pope. These 
 conquerors emptied a flagon, sang a snatch of a song, and carried 
 tlicir glory and their gayety to anoUier theater. They were sooa 
 

 84 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE TRASTtVEEE. 
 
 85 
 
 replaced by three pontifical soldiers, who boasted of having 
 routed fourteen French soldiers. 
 
 I now observed a new-comer, who had taken his seat at the 
 adjoining table, lie was an old man, full sixty years of age, but 
 hale and vigorous. He looked at the company without speakinir, 
 and emptied his glass to the bottom, a' handkerchief knotted 
 round his leg, and a spot of blood which came through it, led me 
 to suppose that he was wounded. But, as his physiognomy did 
 not betoken that he was in a confidential humor, I departed 
 without having asked liim his secret. The head waiter of the 
 tavern, who was called the chief, told me of a neighboring tavern, 
 where poetry and music were occasionally given. " I go there " 
 he told me, "every evening; 3^ou will find nothing better." 
 
 I was soon joined by the miller and his wife, who had taken • 
 their daughter home. The miller sat in front of me a few tables 
 off, and looked at me steadily with the air of saying, " You shall 
 not be my son-in-laW|(" As it was the most trifling of my anx- 
 ieties, I quietly emptied the glass of coffee which had been 
 brought me. 
 
 The hail was neatly paved, and hung with white chintz, with 
 red borders at every comer. The furniture consisted of straw- 
 bottomed chairs and marble tables ; the small silver spoons were 
 of antique form, and of notable weight. A score of working- 
 men and women composed the entire audience : all very well- 
 bred people, who took their coffee and rosolio in quiet. 
 
 My arrival had not interrupted a contest of virtuosi. Every 
 Sunday, or nearly so, a few amateurs of poetry met there to 
 improvise verse. They are matched in pairs, and dispute in turn 
 on a given subject, like Virgil's shepherds. The usual text for 
 their improvisations is ancient history or mythology. I do not 
 know where they get their learning; but they gallop without 
 stumbling over the fields of fable and history, from chaos to the 
 death of Xero. If you examined their verses too scmpulously, 
 you would perhaps detect some anachronisms in details, but 
 poetry covers all with its mantle of purple and gold. Italian 
 prosody does not impose very severe laws : and rhymes are easy 
 to find in a language in which one half of ihe words ends in o, 
 and the other half in a. But what most of all astonished me in 
 these trials of skill, was the almost invariably happy choice of 
 brilUant expressions. The poetical vocabulary, very different 
 
 from the language of every-day hfe, has been preserved, I know 
 not how, in these half-cultivated minds. A shoemaker, who 
 could hardly read, gave us the " Siege of Troy" in the most 
 pompous and florid style. A mandoline, discreetly scratched, 
 accompanied the voice of the poet ; for the verses are sung, and 
 not spoken. It is a kind of rhythmical recitative, a monotonous 
 and snoring lyrical declamation. The Romans have loud voices, 
 ringing, and almost always emphatic. Not a syllable of their 
 show-speeches but is accented by the national pride. It is a 
 pleasure to hear a little boy singing in the street — 
 
 or. 
 
 "Augustus, Roman Emperor;" 
 "We're colng to the Capitol!'" 
 
 The tournament lasted nn hour and a half, and I regretted 
 having neither pen nor })cucil to take down a few verses for you 
 in short-hand. The applause of the audience was the reward of 
 the conquerors ; hisses and hooting punished the defeated one, 
 as soon as his tongue began to be embarrassed. The shoemaker 
 of the Trojan War kept the advantage a good while, but he was 
 utterly beaten by a tanner of the quarter of the Eegola. 
 
 All seemed over, and the tanner was already putting on his 
 waistcoat to go home and sleep on his laurels, when a woman 
 rose from an adjoining table and placed herself before him, with 
 her fists on her hips. She was, without exaggeration, a magnif- 
 icent creature, large, tall, and handsome ; pretty nearly such as 
 the she-wolves of the time of the kings are represented. I 
 learned that she was a washerwoman, and her husband a glass- 
 blower. 
 
 "You don't understand it at all," she said; "I will beat the 
 whole of you. You take your mandoline." She started with 
 the origin'of the world, and advanced with steady step through 
 the history of the gods. The woman knew her mythology like 
 Ilesiod himself. Presently she entered boldly on the Trojan 
 War ; saved ^Eneas from the flames ; brought him to the coun- 
 try of the Latins ; thrashed Turnus and the rest ; jumped with 
 one bound to the birth of Romulus; expelled tlie kings with 
 Lucretia ; led the armies of the Republic to the conquest of the 
 world; unraveled the chaos of the Civil Wars; applauded 
 Cicero; killed Caesar at the foot of Pompey's statue; placed 
 Augustus on the tlu-one ; upset the emperors one after the other 
 
 
86 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY 
 
 like a house of cards ; and finished with a direct invocation of 
 the Madonna, who was smiling upon her behind a lamp, with a 
 child in her arms. 
 
 She went straight on, occasionally correcting herself; never 
 stopping; replacing one word by another; repeating any por- 
 tion that Avas applauded; and correcting it without thinkin^r of 
 It. Her eyes shone like those of a pythoness; her voice trem- 
 bled with pleasure; her simple and somewhat too regular action 
 scanned the verse, and dwelt on the end of the sentence. She 
 was applauded as they know how to applaud here. Neither the 
 shoemaker nor the tanner undertook to reply to her and she 
 returned all blushing to her husband, who l.-id in the meantime 
 held the child. 
 
 I gave myself up to the pleasure of clapi)ing my hands, as at 
 a first representation, when I noticed that the miller bore me 
 mahce. For what ? I do not know, for I had done nothing to 
 ofiend Inm. Perhaps his neighbors at the tavern had joked him 
 about tlie borrowing of my decanter; but, in any case, il^ there 
 bad been any miprudence committed, it was none of my doinrr 
 However, he grumbled between his teetli all kinds of liarsit 
 sounding reflections about people wlio ought to stay at liome 
 and mmd their own business. The less attention I seemed to 
 pay to his talk, the more he raised his voice ; he was capable of 
 treating me still worse, if I had looked likely to turn my back to 
 him. I resolved, therefore, to attack him in front; and it needed 
 no great courage to do so. It is known, in all countries of the 
 world, that a dog which barks does not bite. I rose abruptly 
 just at the moment when he had uttered the word "French- 
 man, and placed myself before his table. 
 
 " Is it with me you are angry ?" said I. 
 
 He remained a moment disconcerted before answering' me 
 
 II No ; I am angry with nobody. You are mistaken." 
 Then at whom are you grumbling?" 
 
 "At my wife. She's a good-for-"iiothing, intriguing go-be- 
 tween ; and I '11 beat her well when I get home " 
 
 To this I had nothing to say. If a "coal-heaver is master in 
 his own house, a miller may beat his wife and his ass when the 
 fancy takes him. 
 
 About half past ten, the chief, who had waited on me at dirf- 
 ner, came and took a seat beside me, dressed Hke a gentleman. 
 
 THE TRASTEVERE. 
 
 87 
 
 " Well," said I ; "so the day is over ?" 
 
 He answered me in a half whisper : 
 
 *' Yes, cavalier ; and badly enough for me ; I am much afraid." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " I ought not, perhaps, to tell you the story, but you are a 
 witness that I took no part in the quarrel ; and, as you are a 
 Frenchman, you may be able to get me out of the affair." 
 
 " What the deuce has happened to you ?" 
 
 " Did you notice that old man wlio had a handkerchief tied 
 round his lee:?" 
 
 " Yes ; a wounded man." 
 
 *' He was not wounded ; that was the blood of the young 
 man. lie had carried him home in his arms, and returned to 
 watch for the other." 
 
 "What other?" 
 
 " The murderer, to be sure ; the man who had killed his 
 son I" 
 
 " What son ?" 
 
 " The one that dined next to you ; the man of the passa- 
 
 iciia r 
 
 " The handsome locksmith ?" 
 
 " He was not so handsome. Besides, he was wrong. Why 
 refuse to let a friend drink when he has paid for it ?" 
 
 " But it is impossible ! He has not been killed !" 
 
 " Right in front of our door, your excellency, the moment he 
 went out." 
 
 " But his friends were with him ; they must have prevented 
 the crime." 
 
 " Every one for himself in this lower world." 
 
 " How is it we heard nothing ?" 
 
 " There is never any more noise than that. The young man 
 died ; they went and told his father ; he carried the body to his 
 house, and then came back and sat down where you saw him, in 
 hopes the other would return to our place ; but not so stupid I 
 What vexes me is, the other fellow took my knife to give bis 
 BtAb." 
 
 " Why, this is fiightful I Is this the way you cut each other's 
 throats in your quarter ?" 
 
 " What would you have ? When a friend puts an affront upon 
 you, you are not going to amuse yourself by prosecuting him. 
 
88 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 A stroke of the knife in the stomach, and everything is said If 
 
 only he had taken some other knite than mine I" 
 
 " So you pass your life in assiissinating your friends ?" 
 
 " We have nothing to do with those whom we don't know. 
 
 But you may reckon that out of four men at our place, there 
 
 is certainly one who has played with the knife once in his 
 
 youth." 
 
 " And how about yourself — come ?" 
 
 " Oh I I had good reason. He allowed himself to shout aloud 
 that our wine was drugged, and that we were poisoning people. 
 What would you have done in my j^ace ?" 
 
 I returned to the road of the Academy, and at the turn of the 
 street came upon a group of children, kneeling before a holy 
 image. They were singing in unison, with clear, and tolerably 
 true voices — 
 
 " Long live Mary, 
 And He who created her !" 
 
 'm?mZ'' 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE GAME OF KNIVES.* 
 
 IF the Roman knives had never' left Rome, I should have said 
 enough already about this local curiosity. But in the existing 
 stAte of society, when Italian refugees abound in several coun- 
 tries, and their knives stiiin with blood the inns of London as 
 well as the taverns of Constantinople, I conceive I am acting as 
 a good citizen of Europe in treating seriously a question of Eu- 
 ropean security. 
 
 Before saying any thing else, even though people in France 
 should be astonished at it, I will begin by paying a compliment 
 to the assassins of this country : they are not thieves. In almost 
 all the great cities of my acquaintance, out of ten assassinations 
 committed, six have theft for their object. A man is killed for 
 his money as a fox is killed for his skin. The Romans hold theft 
 in sovereign contempt. Their somewhat blunted delicacy does 
 not cry shame on a clever swindle or a public peculation ; but 
 theft, properly so-called, disgusts them. Try calling '• stop thief!" 
 in the streets of the city. If an inhabitant of the quarter of the 
 Hills (there are plenty of them not good for much) amuses him- 
 self by stealing a tenpenny handkerchief, the crowd will run him 
 down with incredible indignation. But how if he had killed his 
 man before committing the theft 1 They would knock him down 
 on the spot ; do not doubt it for a second. 
 
 I have before me a list of two hundred and forty-eight assas- 
 sinations committed in the city from 1850 to 1852. Of this mul- 
 titude of crimes, there are just two which are explained by theft. 
 
 • This chapt. r, entirely innpplicaiae now, was written a few months after the 
 attsiUcU of the 14th of January, 1S5S. I preserve It here for the curious and au- 
 thentic details which are related in it. But every one knows that all ItAlians 
 worthy of the name quitted the knife a year ago for the sword. 
 
90 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GAME OF KNIVES. 
 
 91 
 
 The rest resulted from discussions of vanity or interest, rivalries 
 in love, quarrels over play, insnltin.? language exchanged after 
 drinking. Wildness of the blood, of wine, and of spring, caused 
 nine-tenths of the mischief 
 
 In the majority of cases which occasioned these blows with a 
 knife, a Frenchman would have given a blow with the fist, a 
 challenge, or a summons to appear in a law court. Neither blows 
 with the fist, nor duels, nor lawsuits please the people of Rome. 
 Elows with the fist do not mark with sufficient distinctness the 
 superiority of the conqueror; a duel is risky for the man who is 
 in the right; and the length of the proceedin.g^, and the venality 
 of almost all the judges, inspire the citizens with a horror of law- 
 suits. Every thing is settled by the knife, even family affairs. 
 I find, on the same page, a brother stabbed by his brother, a 
 brother-in-law by liis brother-in-law, two sons-in-law by their 
 fathers-in-law, and a nephew by his uncle. An uncle of the 
 Oymnase would have been satisfied with saying, " My rascally 
 nephew!" 
 
 In 1853 the tribunals of the Roman States punished six hun- 
 dred and nine crimes against property, and one thousand three 
 hundred and forty-four against the person. In the same year, 
 the assizes in France adjudicated upon three thousand seven hun- 
 dred and nineteen men accused of theft, and one thousand nine 
 hundred and twenty-one charged with crimes against the per- 
 son. It might be concluded from these statistics that the Romans 
 are more violent and more honest than we are. 
 
 Do you want fresh fruit ? Here is the work of six days, 
 towards the end of the month of April, 1858. You will see that 
 the spring makes itself felt in Italy. 
 
 " At tlie Serristori barracks, ^laurigi, a voltigeur, killed, with 
 the stab of a knife, Caponia, a grenadier. Gaming quarrel. 
 
 " Some persons performed an absurd serenade under the win- 
 dows of an old man named Ferri, who was just married for the 
 third time. With a stone he knocked down one of tlie per- 
 formers named Eeruardini. 
 
 "Bravetti, # vine-dresser, was killed by a blow with a pick-ax. 
 by a green grocer, whom he accused of stealing asparagus from' 
 liis vinevard. 
 
 " Some young men, who had passed the day at a tavern, cross 
 the street of the Mascaron. A discussion arises, and one of these 
 
 gentlemen goes into a baker's shop, seizes a knife, and stabs, with 
 thrje mortal blows, Vaccari, a man of twenty-one years of age. 
 He then goes to the house of Vaccari's father, and kills him, as 
 a precautionary measure ! 
 
 " Carolina Paniccia, and Giovanni, her husband, were going 
 out of a tavern after supper, when they were attacked with the 
 knife by one Pierazzi. The woman was wounded, the husband 
 died. Pierazzi was in love with the woman, and jealous of her 
 husband. 
 
 " The young Alphonso Ambrogioni, aged thirteen, killed his 
 sister-in-law by cutting the carotid artery. The Ambrogioni 
 family bore a grudge against this young woman, because one of 
 them, Pietro Ambrogioni, had been compelled to marry her after 
 seducing her." 
 
 It may be said, without paradox, that out of ten assassins at 
 Rome, there is at least one who would not have committed mur- 
 der, if he had any other way of getting justice done him. But 
 money, credit, and patronage are things so difficult to surmount, 
 that a poor man, insulted in his honor, or injured in his rights, 
 addresses himself to nothing but the knife. 
 
 I am not afraid to affirm, while I am on the subject, that seven 
 or eight murderers out of ten would be careful not to draw their 
 knives, if they knew beforehand that an executioner would cut 
 off their heads. But they are almost as certain of immunity as 
 they would be of punishment in France or England. 
 
 Almost all the police reports which I have just quoted, end 
 miiformly with the stereotypcfl phrase, " The culprit escaped by 
 fiiirht." The people, instead of pursuing them, lend them its 
 aid. In its eyes the assassin is in the right, and the victim in 
 the wrong. Our plebeian Romans have no more contempt for 
 nn assassin than the Parisians have for a man who has fairly 
 killed his adversary in a duel. And, in fact, assassination as 
 practiced here is a real duel. When, in the heat of discussion, 
 men have come to use certain word.^, they know that blood must 
 flow between them ; war is implicitly declared ; the whole city is 
 the field of battle selected; the mob is the second accepted on 
 both sides, and the two combatants know that they must be on 
 their guard at all hours of the day and night. The common 
 people therefore believe, and it is not a prejudice that is easy to 
 uproot, that the mui^erer is a just person. 
 
92 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GAME OF KNIVES. 
 
 93 
 
 They prefect his flight. Wiere does he go for refuge ? Not 
 very far. The city is full of asylums. The embassies, tiie 
 Academy of France, the churches, the convents, the Tiber, are 
 so many sanctuaries into which the law does not penetrate. If 
 a man, when pursued, threatens to commit suicide, the police 
 are bound to let him escape ; that is why the Tiber is an invio- 
 lable asylum. They are afraid lest the accused should throw 
 himself into the water, and die unconfessed. He who contrives 
 to clutch the gown of a monk is in safety, as if he embraced the 
 horns of the altar. The gensd'armes follow the monk, and cry in 
 tones of entreaty, "Dear little brother! (fratnceUo / ) loose him, 
 he is an assassin!" "I can not," answers the monk, '-he will 
 not go away 1" And thus the stabber reaches the door of the 
 convent. 
 
 Some troopers of the division of occupation meet on the Ponte 
 Molle road a malefactor tracked by the police ; thoy go in pur- 
 suit of him at full speed ; the man runs to the Tiber, and, by 
 way of playing a trick on the French army, drowns' himself. 
 That made a great disturbance, and I believe diplomacy was 
 somewhat concerned in it. Our soldiers ought not to have put a 
 man in a position to die unconfessed. 
 
 The possessor of a place of asylum is free to receive or to reject 
 the guilty. I know that at the Academy of France, fur instance, 
 U. Schnetz makes careful iuvastigation about the guests who 
 thrust themselves upon him. Let there come a poor f«.«llow, 
 threatened with the galleys for bringing a girl into trouble, and 
 the door will open wide for him. But I have seen them ciosed 
 in the face of a rascal who gayly accused himself of a peccadillo 
 (una cosetta) against nature. 
 
 Between Velletri and the sea are ten leagues of country, which 
 are a sort of asylum. This vast district, which is called the Dead 
 Plain, is well known for its unhealthiness. It is known that the 
 murderers will not live there long; it is known, moreover, that 
 the innocent would not consent to render such a country whole- 
 some by their presence. The guilty remain there unpunished, 
 anil occupied on public works, until fever does for them the 
 work of the executioner. 
 
 Frequently the assassin is snatched from the law by the crime 
 of another assassin. A girl falls under the knife at four in the 
 aaornoon ; the body or her murderer is pickc^l up before night. 
 
 »f 
 
 ■I 
 
 The crime was already expiated when justice became aware of 
 it. Accordingly it sometimes happens that the guilty man gives 
 liimself up in order to escape pri\ate vengeance, and prefers a 
 prL<«on to all other places of asylum. 
 
 AMien justice does get hold of him another series of difficulties 
 at once^ begins. No witnesses can be found to testify against 
 him. You might raise the murdered man himself from the dead, 
 and he would not tell the name of his murderer. A man is 
 picked up in the street, disemboweled, but still breathing. 
 " Who put you into that condition ?" 
 
 '•No one; go and look for a priest, and never mind the rest." 
 He has settled his accounts with his friend, and now thinks 
 only of settling them with God. 
 
 One man poniards another ; the one starts for the hulks, the 
 other for the hospital. When the one is liberated and the other 
 cured, they will shake hands without malice. But if the wounded 
 man had owned before a judge that he had received a wound, 
 neither the assassin nor his friends would allow him to enjoy his 
 convalescence. 
 
 The refusal to testify in a court of law is so incurable an evil 
 that you can find no witnesses, even against thieves. Yet I 
 have told you how they are detested ! ^ Just so we detested 
 them at college, and just so we made it a point of honor not to 
 denounce them. We put them in quarantine, we made them 
 run the gauntlet amid hard blows with an India-rubber ball ; 
 but we should have considered ourselves dishonored if we had 
 given them up to the Schoolmaster. The Romans are children 
 at all ages, as we are at fifteen. 
 
 Their aversion to thieves was manifested two or three years 
 ago, when one was beaten in the Piazza del Popolo. His name 
 was Pietro Bandi, if I remember rightly. He Ud thrown a 
 public festival into confusion, in order to fish in troubled waters 
 fur a few purses and handkerchiefs. His speculation cost two or 
 three persons their lives, and several their health. The judges 
 condemned him to receive five-and-twenty blows with a raw- 
 hi<le, not upon the soles or the feet The crow<i ran to his 
 punLshment as if to a diversion, and cried at every blow, " Bravo ! 
 Strike hard I" Mastro Titta, carried away by the entliusiasm of 
 the people, added a twenty-sixth blow for the good hand, the 
 Italian name fi^r drink-mon**y. 
 
94 
 
 ROME OF TO-DxVY. 
 
 In the same country, among the same people, a peasant dis- 
 covers that his pig has been stolen. He divines the guilty man, 
 runs to his house, and finds the animal tied before the door. 
 
 " Witnesses !" he exclaims ; " Holy Madonna, send me wit- 
 nesses !" 
 
 By-and-by a man passes ; he flies at his throat. 
 
 " You see this pig ?" 
 
 '' What pig ?" says the other, who at once detected an odor of 
 
 testimony. 
 
 " By all the saints, you 're not blind ! there is a pig I" 
 
 ''■ No, there 's no pig." 
 
 " You don't see a pig there before that door?" 
 
 " I see no pig. Good-by ; I am off to my business." 
 
 The plundered man stopped ten witnesses one after the other ; 
 not one would see the pig. 
 
 '' Since you see nothing," he said to the last, " I am going to 
 unfasten this cord, and take it home, with the animal hanging at 
 tlie end of it." 
 
 That is how he should have begun. 
 
 The Romans themselves own that the penal laws have only 
 been applied among them under the French rule. During that 
 time power was strong enough to compel witnesses to state what 
 they had seen, and to reassure them as to the consequences of 
 their depositions. 
 
 It is not that the means of repressing crime are wanting to 
 the Pontifical Government. There are well-kept prisons, and 
 hulks in good condition. The celkilar system of prison existed 
 at the hospice of St. Michael a hundred years before it was 
 invented by the Americans. The guillotine is an Italian machine, 
 dating from the thirteenth or fourteenth century. But almost 
 all the Popes have handed down to their successors, from age to 
 age, principles of gentleness and senile indulgence, which some- 
 what disarm the law. Capital punishments have always been 
 exceedingly rare in these States, in which are committed, accord- 
 ing to the statistics of 1853, more than four nuirders a day. It 
 is difficult for a sovereign, grown ol*l in the practice of a min- 
 istry of peace, to enter some fine morning on a vigorous war 
 against the violence of his subject?. The education of the Roman 
 commonalty needs remodeling. Force must be used to soften 
 .those brutal natures, which the slightest contradiction drives to 
 
 THE GAME OF KNIVES. 
 
 95 
 
 the most furious excesses. They nmst be taught to respect 
 human life as a sacred thing; they must, for their own soke and 
 that of all Europe, violently modify their ideas of assassination. 
 So long as there shall be in the civilized world a kingdom in 
 which they think no more of killing a man than of drinking a 
 glass of wine, civilization will be a provisional condition, subject 
 to every kind of accident. 
 
 It would not be necessary to shed rivers of blood to stop defi- 
 nitely this game of knives. Leo XII. did not decimate his 
 people to cure the plague of brigandage ; we did not need to 
 depopulate Corsica in order to suppress its banditti. Similarly, a 
 few blows Avell struck would suffice here, especially if struck at 
 the right time. Even the noblest animals only profit by correc- 
 tion when it immediately follows the fault ; and our terrible 
 Roman plebeians are somewhat in the condition of blood horses 
 and pointers. If a criminal suit could be disposed of out of 
 hand if the expiation followed the crime at the distance of only 
 a few days, the peopl<3 to whom everything is a drama, would 
 not be present at a bad example without at once receiving a 
 good lesson ; but when a guilty man is executed ten years after 
 his crime, as is sometimes the case, those who witness tlie exe- 
 cution have nothing but pity for the head that falls. They fancy 
 that the murderer has a right to claim prescriptive custom, and 
 the only word you will hear circulating among the crowd is 
 povereito ! poor fellow I 
 
 In the month of July, 1858, General Count de Noiie, a gal- 
 lant man if ever there was one, and a devoted partisan of the 
 Pope's authority, stayed for a few weeks at Yiterbo. In one of 
 his walks he heard several male voices singing psalms in the 
 town-prison. These choristers were twenty-two men condemned 
 to death, who had been waiting several years for the hour of 
 
 execution. 
 
 The government itself makes a sort of conscientious scruple 
 about putting to death a man who has repented and, perhaps, 
 reformed. I have told you that it was of a fatherly kindness 
 and gentleness ; I shall have occasion more than once to repeat 
 the same eulogium. A Pope can not forget that he represents 
 here below the God of mercy. The holy father, whoever he 
 may be, has always a horror of blood. But it seems to me just 
 that mercy should be shown first to those who are a^<?assinat^d ; 
 
96 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GAME OF KXIVES. 
 
 97 
 
 and the first duty of those who have a horror of blood is to ter- 
 rify those who shed it. 
 
 Forty years ago, the murderer of a priest was dismembered, 
 hke a roasted chicken, on the Piazza del Popolo * I do not ask 
 for a return to those ferocities of the middle ages. The legal 
 suppression of a man is in itself a fact sufficiently tern bio, with- 
 out being attended witli such monstrous surroundings. But I 
 can not have it removed from my mind that examples are needed 
 at Rome to suppress that school of the knife which is establishing 
 branches everywhere. 
 
 Meanwhile, and until they can decide upon punishing assas- 
 sins, they are in the habit of sending them to the galleys. I do 
 not count this journey among the number of punishments,* for 
 the convicts are not to be pitied. Better lodged, better clothed, 
 and better fed than the majority of the common people, they 
 work just as much as they please, and their work is remunerated. 
 Finally, to crown all, they enjoy universal consideration. I do 
 not exaggerate in the least; the convicts are well thought of. 
 Not only are they pitied, though they are not to be pitied — not 
 only do people stop in the streets of Rome to give them money, 
 but the hand which gives them alms does not disdain to press 
 their hand. Why not ? The penalty can not be more shameful 
 than the crime, and the people have no reason for despising, after 
 
 * " Ludovico ascended the ladder of the scaffold. Mastro Titta takes from 
 beneath his red coat a large, pointed stick, and examines it carcfuUv. He then 
 plays with his club like a drum-major with his long silver-headed cane. Finally, 
 he grasps it firmly, swings it twice round his head, and strikes the condemned 
 man on the loft temple. 
 
 " A cry of horror rises from the crowd. The victim falls like an ox, and his 
 body begins to writhe in agony. 
 
 "Mastro Titta casts his club far from him into the midst of the crowd. He 
 falls npon his victim agsvin, draws a long butcher's knifo, and cuts his throat. 
 Then, with the same knifo, he makes a deep incision all round the neck, as if to 
 mark out the line, and cuts off the head, which he shows to the people. The 
 blood from this head reddens the executioner, while two jets spring from the 
 severed neck and delu;;e the robe of the priest. You think it i«* finished ? 
 No. Mastro Titta cuts off both arms at the shoulder, both legs at the knee of 
 the corpse, and picking up feet and hands, arms, legs, head, trunk, he throws the 
 whole into a chest below the scaffold. 
 
 '• A year afterward there died at the hospital of Santo Spirito a young man 
 of good family ; he confessed that it was he who had killed Mgr. Trnietto, to 
 avenge an insxiltr —Petrucelli dclla Gattina, " Prclinu de la quest. Rom. ch. v. 
 pp. 44 and ib. 
 
 the sentence, those whom they almost admired after the assassin- 
 ation. 
 
 If, in spite of the advantages secured to them by law and cus- 
 tom, they come to be weary of their condition, they have only 
 to say so. Liberty will be given to them one day or another. 
 The penalty of hard labor for life is pretty easily commuted. 
 Twenty years of the galleys are soon ended. To begin with, 
 the year is but eight months at the hulks ; and then reductions 
 coming one after the other, however little favoritism may have to 
 do with it, the assassin one day sees the doors open to him, and 
 he returns, half glad, half sorry, to the practice of an honest trade 
 of which he has lost the habits. 
 
 Do not fear that the stain of his past life will mark him out for 
 the contempt of the world. It would be too curious if a liber- 
 ated con\-ict were less esteemed than a convict in active service. 
 He is considered a little less interesting, Uiat is all. He speaks 
 of his labors like a soldier of his campaigns. He says, with a 
 / small feehng of pride, '' When I was yonder!" 
 
 I met, recently, at Frascati, an excellent specimen of a peas- 
 ant. The good man was traveling gently, gently, on his asS, 
 along a pretty steep road. His wife followed him at some dis- 
 tance, seeing that she carried a chest of drawers on her head. 
 I entered into conversation with this model husband, and his 
 turn of mind pleased me. 
 
 The conversation turned — I do not know how — upon blows 
 of the knife ; for several days they had been running in my 
 head. 
 
 " Sir," he said to me, " for six years now our village festi- 
 vals have lost half their pleasure. During the days when there 
 was no disease of the grape-vines, and you could drink as much 
 wine as you wanted, there was not a fair held at which there 
 were not four or five men killed. I killed many a one when I 
 was a young man, but now old age has come and my chance is 
 over. No one can have Uved very far back in the past and be 
 much in the present." 
 
 " And you were never punished for it ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly ! I passed two years at Civita Vecchia. 
 You recall to me the happiest days of my life. Oh, the galleys ! 
 But you were never sentenced then in your own country, your 
 excellency ?" 
 
THE LOTTERY. 
 
 99 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE LOTTERY. 
 
 THE lottery is the shortest road from wretchedness to wealth. 
 It is also one of the most certain, and there is no other so 
 direct. It is for this reason that the Romans avoid all the other 
 ways, and crowd into this. I often asked myself what I would 
 do to benefit myself, if I were one of these plebeians who live 
 day after day in the streets of this great city. Here, at the out- 
 set, is a career open to all, without distinction of birth or for- 
 tune — the Church. Nothing is more democratic at the base than 
 this absolutist government. Every intelligent man has his foot 
 in the stirrup from the moment he has crossed the threshold of 
 the seminary ; he is in a situation to gain everything. I say 
 even more than that ; this profession is the only one where vir- 
 tue can take the place of science ; and where capacity is advan- 
 tageously replaced by humility. A man from the lowest ranks 
 of the people, and moderately educated only, can become a 
 monk, priest, general, cardinal, or pope ; walk as the equals of 
 the greatest sovereign?, and give precedence to its envoys over 
 the ambassadors of all the other powers. But one must have 
 talent; we have none; so let us look round for something else. 
 The civil service? Its places are still sought after by some 
 poor devils, and each one believes that he has talent enough to 
 fillthem, if he can only obtain credit enough to get into them. 
 But these are only subordinate offices for those of sm.all means — 
 like me. I can become the head of some bureau by means of 
 patronage : but if I wish to ascend, it is absolutely necessary to 
 change my cloth. Do we pretend to the dignity of re.jimentals ? 
 All tlie rabble of Rome would shout with laughter, if they heard 
 us make such a proposition. We are going to have a %\hole 
 
 4 
 
 I 
 
 chapter about this further on. What shall we do then ? En- 
 gage in some literary pursuit? Idiot! The legal profession? 
 medicine? Plenty of hard work and no pay. Teach? Look 
 at your clothing my poor fellow ! your coat is too short, at least 
 a loot and a half. G-o into business? You can get a living 
 tliere, at any rate. Farm ? You can make a fortune at that, if 
 you have one to start with. But the immonse majority of the 
 citizens of Rome have the capital of the Wandering Jew — five 
 cents— in tluMr pocket^. All things being taken into considera- 
 tion, they act as the old woman did, of whom I spoke to you 
 the other day ; they go without their dinners and buy a lottery- 
 ticket. Do you blame them for it ? I have not the heart to do it. 
 Some surly travelers have inveighed against the people who 
 play, and especially against the government that gives them the 
 means of gambling. It is considered wrong that any power 
 esteemed in the world should speculate upon the vices of its sub- 
 jects. Let me refute this clamor. It is not at Rome alone, but 
 at Xaples, Florence, and Venice, throughout the whole breadth 
 of this oppressed land, that the Italians gamble at lotteries. If 
 there were no offices at Rome, the Romans would gamble at 
 other places, and the diligences from Vienna, Pisa, Florence, and 
 Naples, would come frieghted with nothing but tickets. But as 
 it is a recognized fact, that at this unequal game the banker 
 always wins, the suppression of the pontifical lotteries would 
 send abroad seven or eight miUions .1 year. Such is very nearly 
 the gross amount of benefit accruing to the State; but the 
 expenses of collection support so many small officials, that the 
 net profit never exceeds fifteen hundred thousand francs. The 
 lotteries are therefore very poor resources to the government, 
 and a very great comfort to the people. It was perfectly proper 
 for us to abolish them at Paris, because in every well-ordered 
 State, where all depends on labor, the government is bound to 
 instruct its citizens to depend on nothing but their work. It 
 would be wrong to suppress it at Rome, because this people, so 
 lazy and demoralized, sustained in its misery by the trust in luck, 
 lives upon hope and its imagination. To take away lotteries, 
 would be to remove the little that is left to it. 
 
 It is more than one hundred and twenty years since Clement 
 XII. introduced tliis habit among the people of his States, and 
 the love of play is now so deeply ingrafted in the minds of the 
 
100 
 
 KOiTE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 people, not only of the lower classes, but of those of rank, eren 
 of those in high position in the Church, that they buv a ticket a3 
 we buy a cup ot' coffee. In this point you will remark the <; :- 
 ference in the education of the Italians and the French. I wa3 
 a very small child when the progress of public opinion ab< I 
 
 the royal lotteries ; but I remember that it was spoken of as a 
 game for servants, and persons of the better class <*^l 
 
 themselves in order to get their tickets. Here the first : 
 of the country think it nothing stranir^ to tempt fortune, and 
 elbow dirty masons in the ticket Ganiin<> in this wav 
 
 was a vice with us — here ft is not spoken of as a bad habit, and 
 the approval of the Romans is just as much based on reason as 
 our blame was formerly. 
 
 Perhaps some of you would like to have me run over, in a few 
 words, the theory of this game, which the archec'^-' - alone 
 knows any thing about in France. At middav on Su,t-ruuv, be- 
 lore the Minister of Finance, under the eyes of the asse^ ' ' ' 
 people, a o^mmission presided over by the r — ntative oi ilo 
 pontifical Minister of the Treasury, draws ou; i;ve numbers from 
 a wheel which contains ninety. Some one amon^" the inter- 
 ested players who assist at the drawing, has plaved a - 
 number : that is, he has bet with the goverr that a cxrr- 
 
 tain number will come out among the five, h uls number is 
 drawn, he wins thirteen or fourteen times his st. ' ' - 
 
 one has playe^i a doubie ; he has chosen two n >. and t . ^ 
 
 that both will come out of the wheel A : ua^ bet on trip- 
 
 kis, by c' ■ ■' "ee nr. ^ ; he can win more than f.vr> 
 
 thousand times iiis St.. .your 
 
 other combinations, such as and i. 
 
 termined : It is sir .: to teii you, t. who can 
 
 foretell three of the five numbers which w:ll come out next Sat- 
 urday, can buy one hundred ■ ni fran-.^ for a louL-. Thi-. 
 I believe, is the largest prze to be r ... 
 hea^ and 
 having b^en < -n. uli tli'» 
 minds to .r>.v5s what ■ 
 ofT 
 
 ask 
 
 .>r 
 
 rr?^ 
 
 ;,"LV -• 
 
 io not exist. 
 
 Th^ 
 
 drawin * 
 
 le out. 
 
 r 
 
 n to 
 
 
 
 exhaust 
 
 
 ■ "^^ 
 
 
 la'v- 
 
 e of all 
 
 th* 
 
 .4 
 
 
 
 ;►» ♦^X 
 
 
 - ^ 
 
 . 
 
 
 - . 
 
 
 - n 
 
 "* TQ 
 
 the 
 
 TUE LOTTERY. 
 
 101 
 
 ? f 
 
 I • 
 
 habit of coming together; it is more than six months since 
 that has occurred, and so they are bound to come together this 
 time. Others seek for inspiration along the walls of the city, 
 and at every step are finding triplets ready made to their hands 
 — . ;.alked there by some amateur. More than one makes a 
 nenvaine in order to decide the luck-y numbers. He who has 
 been so . as to dream of a dog or cat. hastens to consult 
 
 tTiC dream-bo^jk. where all the things seen in dreams correspond 
 to numbers. The great, the one inseparable idea of all Romans, 
 of both sexes, is the search for numbers. Not only dreams are 
 translated into numbers, but all happy or unlucky events lose 
 their real signifit:}ance to pass into the state of prophecy. Such 
 a one is drowneti. Goo<i! Eighty-eight! My daughter has 
 irnt a fever. Bravo ! eighteen, twentv-eight, fortv-eight ! A 
 husband has come back to his house at an unwelcome time. lie 
 hears the S4>und of a man's voice in his wife's chamber. Go*! be 
 praised I Ninety ! lie jaraps down the staircase four steps at a 
 time, and hurries to buy Ids ticket. The s«jn of a coal-man at 
 Rome fell from the top story of a house, and injured himself se- 
 verely. His father, before calhng a surgeon, made up a triplet 
 bv the acre of his son. the hour of the accident, and the number 
 fiity-six, wh.ich corresponded to the height of the fall from the 
 window. He won — his 5«:n diet], and more than one father 
 felt jealous. A young man and young woman asphyxiate*! 
 themselves together in a house on the Corso. and the people 
 stole to the otT.ce of the lottery to play on the event The au- 
 th'- - - ■ - are c ' ' ^ ' to ghui up, or interdict certain numbers upon 
 wL.c:* aii the vvor^-i wi.^h to bet at the same time : for instance, 
 the ages of the two lovers, the number of the house, and the 
 .'h. At Venice, an Austrian soldier threw him- 
 ".-tower. The rabble threw themselves upon 
 ix:m as s<>»jn as tie t 1 the eround. stole the number of his 
 
 re 
 in 
 w 
 
 of his ; n, and ; 
 
 to find the n . 
 not look upon t 
 1. At I. 
 
 was . two ex 
 
 woman . wed m t. wd. F.'^o.ti 
 
 ;• to him, and when preventeti from 
 to him from a distance with s . . . . . 
 
 edv hands 
 
 • on hLS shirt. There 
 
 Iv as a blc-sc- 
 
 a condemned criminal 
 
 .ers. An old 
 
 time to time she 
 
 .- near by, called 
 
 Was it his 
 
102 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 n-other? Not at all. It was a player in want of numbers. At 
 Sonmno, where ,t was once the custom to exl.ibit the heads 
 of those decapuated, m iron cages, around the gate of the vil 
 lage, the old female gamblers used to come at miduLd t ,^d 
 pray before these hideous relic. They prayed, but with to a 
 on the wateh, and the attention given to ever; noise-tho crow 
 of a cock, the mewmg of a cat, the barking of a do., the sound 
 of a carnage m the distance, were hoted by these ha^ as "o 
 n^any warnmgs from heaven. It was thus tlit the soothsaye;^ 
 of old mtenrogated the will of the gods in that observatory in the 
 
 at hearmg of praymg and gambling jumbled to-ether Reli 
 g.on .s m,xed up with all the acts of oir life. Thf oman^i n 
 this fam,harsort of intercourse with the Deity, con^ it „ 
 very natural and sin.ple thing to try to intercH Ilim in their 
 bttle pr.vate afiairs. An exceedinglv upright eccIcTiaL in- 
 formed me that his parishioners had offered him large urns of 
 money to place three numbers under the sacred py.x dnrin" ,ho 
 performance of mass. Xo reasoning would convufce them'lhrt 
 
 n the world could remove from their minds the behef that the 
 numbers tlu.s dedicated to God would be the first to come lul 
 a the next drawu.g. I oIK.. amuse myself by lookin. over tlL 
 at rae .ve mscnptions wlu-ch cover the walls o.'the lottLr^'m 
 One « II assure you that the drawing will be a perfectly fair one' 
 
 wllt':",'t"™^"- ^^-''--"-nouucrthatlwnne; 
 w 1 be Paul wuhout any delay ; another that he can a.sk for any 
 kind of money he wishes. Here is a distich considered lucky 
 wh.h^o.up,es a prominent poshion in the midst of al, t^ 
 
 "A little c-ipital will win a large fortune; play, and see if the 
 Madonna wdl not assist you." m ito ii me 
 
 No one places much reliance upon the Madonna in this affair • 
 but then It should not be for-otten thit tl„> \r, k! ""» /""'^ 
 r,f(i.nTfr • 1 f""*^" '"''t the Aladonna.m the eves 
 
 of the Itahans, is the most potent of the po«-ers in heaven It 
 .3 very seldom that they speak of God, but they e^ upo" tl e 
 Madonna meessantly. If a beggar solicits ahns, and tl^ey "end 
 
 to™ ;!:.' H °"''r= •'' "f' '' '^ "'"^ " ^''^ '"^ -^^•^^°- P- 
 
 lecu }ou! He replies wit 1 a '' Thinl' T-.^n " t i , , 
 
 r^ii ^ "iLJi a ixianiv you. 1 overheanl tho 
 
 foUowmg conversation in a low restaurant of the Trastc^"re : 
 
 THE LOTTERY. 
 
 103 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 
 9 I 
 
 ¥ 
 
 " Papa, where do those stranp^ers come from ?" 
 
 " They come from the land of strangers." 
 
 " What sort of a country is it ?" 
 ^ '*A very cold one, with wooden houses, where the people aro 
 Ignorant, but have lots of money." 
 
 *' Do they believe in God?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, at least they beheve in the Madonna?" 
 "No." 
 
 "What! not in the Madonna!" 
 
 This was the conversation of a village hotel-keeper, who 
 wanted to convert a young Englishman : 
 
 "' But what an ass you are ; don't you see that the heavens 
 the earth, you yourself, your clothes, the bread that you eat all 
 come from the Madonna? It is she who has made the world 
 and one must be more ignorant than the beasts not to know that 
 fact. 
 
 If skepticism ever reigns in that land, it will deny God per- 
 haps, but It will continue to burn tapers to the Madonna. 
 \\ henever a man is about to die, they say, "In a short time he 
 ^ylU go see the .Madonna." All the sick people who die are vie- 
 tims to this bugaboo : all those who recover arc only indebted 
 to the Madonna. They may beat down the price of the medical 
 attendance, but they will never bargain on the cost of the wax 
 for tlie Madonna of St. Augustine. She is the most worshiped 
 of all those that are prayed to in the whole city. All the pillars 
 of her chapel are hung over with ex voto ofTerings of gold or sil- 
 ver. Her statue is borne down under the weight of the load of 
 jewels; she has caskets of gems that a princess might envy. 
 They ttll a story of a great lady who offered all her diamonds 
 without informing her husband, who went and complained to 
 the Pope. There was no less amount in question than a lar-e 
 lortune. Tlie Pope gave the claimant the right to take back his 
 property on the sole condition that he should go and get it him- 
 self, on some Sunday, at the close of the mass. The diamonds 
 remain there to this day. The Madonna of St. Augustine has a 
 bronze foot which is almost literally worn out by the kisses of 
 her devotees, so that it is obliged to be renewed from time to 
 time. Thousands of little pictures, suspended round her, testify 
 to the miracles which she has effected. I saw there, not lon<> 
 
 ^'^^;^' 
 
104 
 
 kom:e op to-day. 
 
 THE LOTTERY. 
 
 105 
 
 ago, in a very simple frame, Madame Ristori almost demolished 
 by the fall of a slide of a side-scene, preserved by the Madonna 
 of St. Augustine. I don't know where this picture has gone to, 
 but it is not there now. If the Madonna protected Madame 
 Ristori on some evening when she was playing comedy, she 
 ought certainly to be willing occasionally to enrich some poor 
 lottery-player. 
 
 I advise all strangere who have the time, to be present at 
 one of the drawings in Rome. You will see plenty of good 
 faces, and hear some curious remarks. The player who has lost, 
 blames the numbers which have ruined him. 
 
 " Do you know, ^ir, whether they have drawn number thirty- 
 seven ?" 
 
 " Number thirty-seven is very much wanted, indeed I Upon 
 my word, thirty-seven is not a bad number I Don't you think 
 that it would be a hundred times more just, kind, and Christian- 
 like to draw forty-two? ^fy fortune will be made, I know." 
 
 A moment before tlie drawing takes place, all the crowd is 
 satisfied. 
 
 "Crony," says one, "it's a lucky day." 
 
 " You are going to see sometliing new at my house," replies 
 the other. 
 
 And forthwith both fall to tearing up tlanr tickets, and cursing 
 their luck. They charge each other not to play again, and im- 
 mediately go together to the nearest office to get some fresh 
 numbers. 
 
 I met the servant of one of my friends there once. Ilis face 
 showed me at once that he had not won. 
 
 "Sir," he said to mo, "my triplet isn't out yet; but they are 
 good numbers." 
 
 " Let me see them." 
 
 "Here they are, sir: seventeen, fifly-six, eighty-two I Isn't 
 that a good combination ?" 
 
 I didn't understiind in what any one set could be better than 
 another, and the servant was astonished at my want of intelli- 
 gence. " "What !" he said, " you who have studied so much, 
 can't appreciate that seventeen, fifty-six, and eighty-two make a 
 good combination !" I seriouj^ly believe that by dint of studying 
 the numbers, they end by seeing, like Pythagoras, all sorts of 
 things which are not there. A man from the Trasteverc said 
 
 I I 
 
 ¥ 
 
 to my interrogator : " I have never played but douhJeU, for I 
 know perfectly well that a triplet woul.i never take the trouble 
 to come out for such a poor devil as I am. I only ask to win 
 eight crowns, in order to get married, and the Madonna has 
 always refused me. We shall see what next Saturday will brino- 
 forth." 
 
 There were a good many Jews round us, and their faces looked 
 long. " Do you know why ?" said one of my neighbors ; " it's 
 because only high numbers have come out, and the Jews play 
 only low ones." Whenever five numbers are drawn below 
 thirty there is a ^C^ic at the Ghetto. Periiaps the Jews think 
 that small numbers are favorable to small people. 
 
 The Romans play very small stakes, for which reason the lot- 
 tery has never ruined any one. The heavy players are the office 
 keepers, who speculate on the tickets. They gain, from the 
 fact that the office closes Thursday night, and sometimes twenty- 
 four hours eariier than that, whenever Thursday happens upon a 
 fete day. As the public can not patiently wait until Saturday, 
 without trying some other combination, the keeper takes some 
 hundreds of tickets on his own account, and then endeavors to sell 
 them at a profit. Under the stimulus of his private interest he 
 uses all his ingenuity to deck out the office, dnd attract the 
 passers-by. The whole front of Ins house is decorated with 
 numbers sure to win. Here is the lucky triplet ; here a doublet, 
 dreamed of by a sick man ; there is a combination, from the fig- 
 ures seen in the clouds some evening. Often the single number, 
 the doublet, and the triplet remain on his hands ; oflen he has 
 occasion to feel thankful that he could not sell them, for some of 
 them happen to win. If he happens to lose two or three times 
 nnming, and bad luck attends him, he just clears out, after hav- 
 ing honestly put the key under the door. The strangers who 
 visit Rome commence by severely condemning the lottery. After 
 a short time, however, the spirit of tolerance which seems to fill 
 the air gradually enters tlieir brains ; they excuse this game as 
 being philanthropic, and furnishing the poor people with six days 
 of hope for only five cents. Shortly after, in order to try the 
 system, they go themselves to the lottery office, being careful, 
 however, not to let themselves be seen. Three months after- 
 ward they will openly try for some lucky combination ; ^hey 
 have some mathematical theory to which they will willinHy 
 
 5* 
 
106 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE LOTTERY. 
 
 107 
 
 subscribe their names ; they give lessons to some new comer?, 
 praise the raorahty of the game, and swear that it is unpardon- 
 able in a man not to leave one door open to fortune. 
 
 Every summer, without interfering with the regular lottery, 
 there are a certain number of other lotteries held, called tom- 
 bolas. The tombola is a S()rt of a loto, played in the open air 
 by the entire population. Every one is furnished with a card, 
 upon which he inscribes such numbers as he considers to be 
 lucky. Priests and laymen, rich and poor, crowd round the 
 office. The drawing takes place in that beautiful villa which the 
 Prince Borgheso lends so graciously to the Roman people, in 
 which they can walk and ride. It consists of an immense gar- 
 den, thickly filled with monuments oC all kinds, and inhabited 
 by numbers of cattle, who browse about the lawns. What do 
 you think of a private garden where there are fifty thousand 
 bundles of hay made every year ? where there is a stone hippo- 
 drome twice as large as the wooden one in Paris — for such is 
 the place for holding the tombola. All the inhabitants of the 
 city come here in a body ; the lame and the paralytic alone are 
 left to guard the houses. 
 
 This fete, in honor of sacred gold, is as solemnly observed and 
 is much more popular than many others. You will see as many 
 Capuchins there as at any of the most attractive processions. 
 The sun, the music, the toilets, the intense excitement of those 
 interested in the results, all are there. But suddenly there is a 
 lull. Hark ! the first number is about to be drawn ; there is a 
 perfect silence. Here it is ! Some one in a voice of thunder 
 proclaims it aloud, and it is passed from mouth to mouth to the 
 very end of the amphitheater, while great signs are held up, 
 upon which tlie number is painted so as to be seen by all present. 
 Everyone takes his card in his hand, and pricks upon it the num- 
 bers as they come out. The winners of the first triplet, the first 
 quartette, and the quintette in a short tiino come forward and 
 mount the stage to get their money, saluted by a tremendous 
 braying of trumpets, 
 
 Ksome one, confused by the excitement, is deceived and claims 
 the prize which he has not won, he is driven back in confusion 
 to his seat by a storm of hisses. The first card filled out wins 
 the tombola and a thousand crowns. 
 
 The gain is not so large in the village tombolas, which are 
 
 / • 
 
 employed more to adorn the common country fetes than for 
 gambling, the prizes being only for a hundred, or perhaps fifty 
 crowns, but then the winner manifests just as much joy and the 
 loser just as much envy. Misfortune to him who ventures to 
 win without being a member of the parish ! For he stands a 
 good chance of being stoned back to his own home, and of find- 
 ing that his money has cost him dear. It is not long since such 
 a bit of luck happened, in a village of the Sabine, to a country- 
 man from a village three U'agucs Anther on. The winner was a 
 middle-aged man, gentle, patient, quiet, and phlegmatic, like a 
 Normand from the country de Caux. He pocketed the money 
 without saying a word, and started to carry it home. But all 
 the youths of the village placed themselves in his way, as it hap- 
 pened, so much the worse for them. They commenced with 
 jokes, but blows ^'oou followed. The poor fellow was buffeted 
 about like an India rubber ball. He was satisfied to get off with 
 a few cuffs, because at each shock he heard the crowns rattle in 
 his pockets. The crowd rendered bold by his unresisting man- 
 ner, grew bolder and bolder, until at last the unlucky winner of 
 the hundred crowns was obliged to take refuge in a tavern. 
 Even here the people followed him, shouting, and not intermit- 
 ting the blows from their fists, which still rattled about his ears. 
 But happening to come across a pointed knife on his way, the 
 countryman, but a moment before so quiet and inoffensive, 
 seized it, and two minutes afterward there were three dead 
 bodies and fourteen wounded people in the parish. The winner 
 escaped and left those parts, a little richer, but much less inno- 
 cent, than when he entered it. The following night he didn't 
 sleep in his own home, but directed his steps towards Velletri, 
 and wasted all his hard-earned money among the gamblers of 
 the Plaine morte. 
 
THE MIDDLE CLASS. 
 
 109 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE MIDDLE CLASS. 
 
 THOSE who are called the bourgeois, the third estate, the 
 middling class, are the real foundation for all the modern 
 nations. The conmion people, or those who live from day to 
 day by manual labor, are in every country but a blind, unreason- 
 ing power. Their ignorance and their poverty expose them to 
 be led astray by falsehoods and influenced by envy. Every- 
 where they have to be taken into consideration, and yet I do 
 not know a country where they can be depended upoTi. It is 
 the duty, as also for the interest of a good government, to en- 
 lighten them by a preliminary course of instruction and interest 
 tliem in the public welfare by encouraging them to lay up a 
 httle money. On one hand there should be schools, on the other 
 institutions to encourage economy and providence, wdiich will 
 assist the common people in acquiring a position and entering 
 upon the rank of the middle class. A time will come, I feel 
 sure, when there will be no more plebeians, for every man will 
 have a good education to help him on, and a little fortune for 
 himself in the future. Those nations are the most advanced 
 where the plebeian is the most rapidly absorbed into the mid- 
 dle class, which ought to include them all. It is alreaily draw- 
 ing into its hands the aristocracy, a work which will be finished 
 before tlie end of our century. Feudalism has been of great 
 service to Europe, but its days are over. After the destruction 
 of the Pwoman empire and the wild irruption of tlie barbarians, 
 it created a false and brutal class, but one presenting distinguish- 
 ing characteristics. The absolute monarchy, which was a little 
 better, struck a severe blow at its integrity ; it not only subdued 
 but transformed it. Dating from the sixteenth century, feud- 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 alisra changed its name, and was called nobility. Tlie gentleman 
 is still above the retainer, but he is a hundred leagues below the 
 kin^. He obeys more than he commands, and purchases at the 
 pric°e of the basest humiliations the right to degrade the people. 
 In 1793 the people, that is to say, the middle class, cut off the 
 hea<ls of the monarchy and the nobility, and proclanned the 
 I)rinciple of equality of all men, one which will henceforth be 
 discussed, controverted, evaded, but never abolished. It is suf- 
 ficient to-<lay to cast your eyes over the aristocracy of France, to 
 see how, little by little, it is being amalgamated with the middle 
 
 olass. 
 
 The nol.le families who surviveil the " Reign of Tenor" were 
 robbed of tlieir patrimony. Tlie restitution made by Napoleon 
 I and the thousand million of emigrants, only raised them for a 
 time. The code of civil laws which does not recognize the right 
 of primogeniture, prevents the ama.ssing of very large fortunes, 
 by dividing tliem. The mouopolifs, from which some money 
 mi-ht be gained are abolished, public offices are no longer given 
 toV'-sons of good birth .alone, but to those of merit, or who 
 have intrigued for them. If a gentleman in 1860 should pride 
 himself upon living wiU.out work, like his fathers, he would con- 
 demn his posterity to die of hunger. Nevertheless our wants 
 nmlliplv ; luxury increases rapidly. That which was called a for- 
 tune a "hundred years ago, would to-day hardly be considered a 
 respectable living. What is left for the aristocracy of our time ? 
 It is distinguishe.1 still Irom the common crowd by the purity 
 of certain characteristics, the elevation of certain traits^ the obsti- 
 nacy of some prejudices; but it ought, in spite of itself, to forget 
 its hercditory contempt for labor, commerce, and busmess, and 
 attend to tlie occupations of the middle class. 
 
 This gradual annexation of a whole people by the most intel- 
 U^ent .-md industrious class, is one of the causes of our greatness, 
 Wast recognized. This class of hourgcoi^, whose eccentricities 
 and follies we properly ridicule, whose egotism and delusiveness 
 we condemn, is neverUieless the most acUve power m the French 
 nation. The nobili.y was decapitated in 1793 with no grea harm 
 to the country. If the revolution of 1848, as for a time was feare^ 
 
 had cut off tiie head of the middle class, tl'^V'"", . k'^. ^em^ 
 end of us. The Roman Empire, so solidly founded by the demo- 
 
110 
 
 EOilE OP TO-DAY. 
 
 THE MIDDLE CXASS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 cratic despotism of the Ctesars, could not survive the destruction 
 of the middle class; it perished for want of the bourgeois. 
 
 Look around us; Switzerland and Belgium, made free at 
 entirely different periods, by the courage of a few of the bour- 
 geois, now form two small but energetic States, because tlie mid- 
 dle class prospers and increases. A rich and powerful middle 
 class is the great strength of England, and moves that enormous 
 maohme whose arms reach around the world. The States of 
 Xorth America— a country preeminently of the middle class- 
 will gradually encroach upon South America, which is peopled 
 only by masters and slaves. Spain, reduced to the lowest degree 
 of degradation by her kings and priests, has recovered with mar- 
 velous rapidity since she has had a middle class. Turkey is per- 
 ishmg for want of a middle class. Russia, with her immense 
 territory, population, and resources of aU kinds, concentrated in a 
 single hand, seems to threaten Europe, and keeps certain poUti- 
 cians m a state of chronic disquiet ; but there is notliing to fear 
 from her for fifty years ; for at least half a century will be 
 required to create a class between the serfs and the nobles. la 
 Italy It IS the middle class which has prepare<l the healthy revo- 
 lution in which we are now assisting. The leaders of the move- 
 ment, both in peace and war, are two men of genius, botli 
 sprung Irom the middle class— Count Cavour and Garibaldi. That 
 which has made me so hopeful from the first day, that in the end 
 Italy will recover her independence, has been the development 
 and growth of the middle class, and the pro.gress it has made, in 
 spite of all the turmoils of despotism. If King Victor Emanuel 
 IS the destined sovereign of t^ie new Italy, it is not simpiv be- 
 cause he is the most hberal prince, as also the boldest in the 
 whole country, but especially for the reason that the middle class 
 IS more elevated and more powerful in Piedmont than anvwhere 
 else. There exists in Lombardy, in Tuscany, in tlie States of 
 Farma and Modena, in the Romagna, and even in the Kin-dom 
 of Naples, a brilliant coUection of lawver^, physicians, en-ineery 
 professors, manufacturers, and merchants, who for a lon<r time 
 have been dreaming of this change, and who have labored for, 
 and deserved, the liberty of their country. 
 
 Rome wiU not be freed until after Venice and all the other 
 ItaUan cities. Religion and diplomacy are not the only c;iu3e3 
 tor this delay ; it is also to be explained by the inferior 'posit ion 
 
 U> 
 
 \ 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 ^vl.ich the masters of Uie city have compelled the bourgeois to 
 occupy This misused class is composed of hymen holdmg ol- 
 fices of various kinds-officers of different ranks, lawyers, store- 
 keepers, phvsicians, artists hoard ing-housc keepers, and country 
 merchants ' The men of this category Uve by themselves m a 
 .tate of the most perfect equality-the colonel, the clergyman, 
 ihe shop-keeper, and the lawyer, all have the same position in 
 society They are generally poor, and almost always dependent ; 
 their intelligence is limited ; their education has been designedly 
 neglected The majority are hangers-on to Uie cardinals and 
 prmces and in their turn extend a sort of patronage to the com- 
 mon people. Prodigal in compliments and acts of politeness, 
 which are the common currency in Rome, they yet evince vul- 
 garisms in their conversation and habits that would be intolerable 
 with us. They meet together at picnics and festivals, and before 
 seating themselves at table, Uke off their cravats and coats, as if 
 it were in no wise improper. While young, they are good-look- 
 in- and dress with some degree of style, spending for that pur- 
 po'^'e the last crown. At the age of forty they neglect their ap- 
 pearance, use tobacco, wear cravats with ready-made knots, leave 
 off eloves-but still think they must have a carriage. Tlieir tables 
 are easily supplied, bread and pies being the principal part of 
 their food, with a variety of salads and pot-herbs. They go to 
 market themselves, and rarely give their wives the opportunity 
 of spendinj a cent Their apartments are scantily furnished and 
 nclected.' They do not Uck intelligence or shrewdness ; but 
 possess a fund of good spirits, and invent tlie most ingenious 
 plans for making great fortunes without work. They marry at 
 an early aje, and Pro^■idelloe blesses Uiem with a multitude of 
 children which they do not know what to do with. They all 
 have reliL'ion, but not all honesty. They complain bitterly of the 
 .^overnmoDt when there is no danger of being overheard ; they 
 flatter the prelates, and seek every occasion to supplant them. 
 Sueh are all, or nearly all of them ; for let it be understood tU«re 
 are some most honorable eicepuous— perhaps one in ten. 
 
 The young women have fine teeth, owing to the punty ot 
 the watir and the equaUty of temperature-large eyes, magnifi- 
 cent heads of hair, fine shoulders, and admirably formed necks. 
 Their features are regular, without much deUcacy ; the nose is 
 well-formed, and the Up a UtUe haughty. They have a tempt- 
 
112 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 THE ITTDDLE CXASS. 
 
 113 
 
 iDg complexion, superb anns, plump hands, the waL^ often too 
 thick, the legs too heavy, and the feet too large. It is more 
 agreeable to see them than to hear them talk ; for their voices are 
 often masculine, and even hoarse. Their education, becnm in a 
 convent and finbhed at home, is still more neirlecrc^l than Umt 
 of the men ; they are almost entirely ignorant of all ther ou^ht 
 to know, but, on the oilier hand, know a creat manv ' ' "^ 
 which they should be ignorant. Disinherited bv law in laror of 
 their brothers, they are obliged to got husbands' bv other aUure- 
 ments than money. They often have rrcour^ to a frank, plain 
 
 whX f r 'T''^' "^'''^ '' ^ °"^^^ ^^^^SuL^d. and i.; 
 whoUy free from German sentimentality. Thev make no attempt 
 to repress their appetites or their ei. int : thev never L 
 
 dreaming by moonlight; they say out plamlv. that if the nic^ht- 
 mgale is pleasant to hear in the woods, it is not unpleasant in a 
 stew with rice. The romantic pleases them, where all is honor- 
 able They ogle without hesitation any youn? man who passes 
 and lean from their balconies to exchange letter, tied to a cord^- 
 but this confidence and liberty prove somethinir in their favor' 
 Ibey do not suppose that any one will atiem^pt to win their 
 hearts without aspiring to then- band. These httle lore-passaires 
 are, m theu- eyes, only cross-roads upon the highway to matri- 
 mony. Just as they are excitable, so are thev stron- in their 
 resistance. The most adored lover L. nothing 'in their eves as 
 soon as he loses his aureola of the ftitnre. Thev ciy tbem'selves 
 almost to death, and six months afterward set ibout lovin- an- 
 other. Don Juan and Lord Lovelace would waste their tin^ be- 
 foiv such httle fortresses, so easy to invest and impossible to tak. 
 \> hen at last they marry, they bring to their husbands a ci^arac- 
 ter ot innocence not to be easily duped, and of frankn.-s show- 
 mg k-nowledge. They have retained all the ^ , of a 
 
 young girl, except simplicity. They want notlui.^^ uui..^ ^^>- 
 taps^ the aown ot an unpicked peach. Thev are hke the l.-u^rs 
 in the markets at Pans, which have passe.] throu^rh seven or 
 eight hands before we have a chance to put our teeth into ti 
 Alter mamage, if report be true, thev enjov some hbenv S. - - 
 dal says that easy husbands abound in the middle class,* and r at 
 very many of the women, themselves, pay the expense of their 
 toilettes, I think this statement, ii^ not whoUv untrue at h 
 much exagger:ited. Children come one after 'another 'the fct 
 
 y 
 
 wrinkles appear on the forehead, age creeps on, the woman ab- 
 dicates and tlie mother succeeds, coquetry is dropped, the toi- 
 lette loses its attractions, and nothing remains but a kind of 
 govcrne>s in a woolen gown, who wallLS behind her daughters 
 on tlie promenade of the Pincian. 
 
 The Roman i class so little resembles ours, tliat you are 
 
 doubtless curious to examine it more nearly. Let us go into the 
 ranks, and begin with the hberal professions. M. Marchetti, 
 ^L de Itossi. ^I. Lunati. are men of eminence, who would do 
 honor to any courts of law in Europe, but the majority of 
 a<ivocates are very humble, very timi<l, and thrown into the 
 shade. The judicial debates are not public ; and the lawyer 
 takes but little pains to be eloquent when he has to plead in 
 a desert. Very often the advocate writes his speech instead 
 of dehvering it. His notes for such and such a cUent are gen- 
 erally printed. If he had the talent of Cicero, he could hardly 
 gain much glory by such a proceeding. His fortune is made 
 very slowly from the small retaining fl-es and tlie fixed salary 
 from three or four rich families, taking a lawyer for tlieir exclu- 
 sive use. Several princes of the bar act as secretaries and as 
 counselors to the auditors of the Boia ; they take up the ques- 
 tions and study out the decisions of the Supreme Court, But if 
 the auditor of the Rota be raised to the rank of a cardinal, his 
 secretary, no matter how learned he may be, his cabinet coun- 
 cilor, is at once thrown upon his own resources. The advocate 
 Vannutelli left a large fortune, but only because he was the 
 business manager for the Bonaparte family. How far removed 
 we are from tlie power of the ancient tribune or even from the 
 noble and brilliant ii nee of the French bar! Wliat 
 
 a;' es me is that there should be so many men of leamiuf 
 
 and mteirrity in a j -on so humble and restricted. 
 
 The I ians are also dependent to the last decree. In a 
 
 city where tlie price lor visits is from twenty to thirty cents, a 
 poor devil of a doctor would die of . . y if he'were not 
 
 employed by a few rich lamilies. Here he gets a crown a 
 month, there two, at another place five or six. In the course of 
 bu he resorts every evening, at the hour of the Ave Maria, to 
 
 the shop of some apothecary. Whoever wants a doctor apphes 
 to the a; ary. as very often the residence of the former is 
 
 unknown. When you walk by an apothecary's shop toward 
 
 ■ saffife*^ 
 
 iA*JSj<ii:i.. 
 
114 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 six o'clock, on a winter evening, you will see half a dozen gcntle- 
 ' men, with their hats on, conversing around the store. These are 
 doctors waiting for a call. In summer they hang around the 
 door steps, like the porters in Paris. ^Many of them deserve to 
 live better, and I could mention a number of surgeons at Rome 
 who, like the celebrated Baroni, have been an honor to Ital}", 
 and instructed Europe. But the means of instruction are so 
 incomplete, so trammeled by ridiculous prejudices, that the great 
 proportion of the Roman physicians are behind the age. For 
 every ten who follow, step by step, the progress of modern 
 science, there are thirty who still hold to M. Purgon's theory of 
 therapeutics. Nearly all the invalids exposed to their care break- 
 fast upon a purgative and dine on a bleeding. The inhabitants 
 of Rome are the best purged and best bled of all Christians. 
 They bleed the unfortunate victim of intermittent fever until 
 worn out, at the same time, by the disease and the remedy, he 
 descends to the tomb. Some of the country physci.ins still have 
 the brazen effrontery of charlatans. They explain to the invalid 
 in loud and boastful tones the cause of his sufferings. 
 
 " Poor, perishable creature ! it is a worm that torments you ; 
 you are liteially a victim to the acrastia vermi. By good luck 
 you have called me in time ; the worm has not yet reached the 
 grand reservoir of your life. I am about to check his progress 
 by a good bleeding, lest he take advantage of the circulation of 
 the blood and advance still further ; then, by taking him un- 
 awares, we will expel him in the rush of a profuse purgation." 
 
 After a treatment of eight days the sick man, empty as a dead 
 chicken, succeeds in passing a little shred, and the doctor cries 
 out, " Be thankful that you have met a worthy pupil of Hippo- 
 crates. Science has accomplished one more miracle; the worm 
 is subdued, and you are cured !" 
 
 However, I once met in the suburbs of Rome a doctor who 
 was nmcli more unpretending than this. He was a young man, 
 whom die apothecary had sent to a house where I happened 
 to be. 
 
 The sick person said to him : 
 
 " I do not feel well ; ray head is heavy ; I am fat ; I have a 
 tolerably short neck. I don't care about dying of apoplexy — so 
 bleed me.'' 
 
 "Willingly!" replied the young man, taking oQ' his coat. 
 
 I 
 
 THE MIDDLE CLASS. 
 
 115 
 
 t 
 
 " Bleeding is a pretty operation ; very useful, and easily done ; 
 yes, easily, although all men are not equally adroit. You are 
 not afraid ? No ! nor I either I What does a bleeding amount 
 to ? simply a prick on the arm. The tiling is not to tremble." 
 
 He was trembling a little. Nevertheless he recovered himself 
 in the presence of danger, drew out liis lancet and pricked the 
 vein. A fair-sized stream of blood spirted out into the bowl, and 
 the young doctor fell upon his knees, crying out: 
 
 "Thanks to the Madonna! this time I have succeeded." 
 When he had recovered from his emotion I said to him: 
 " Parbleu ! doctor, you have a skillful hand, and I would like to 
 put myself under your charge. This accursed sirocco tliat has 
 been blowing for two days causes me a feeling of ill health which 
 I can not explain, and I am hardly able to work." 
 " Would you hke to be purged ?" 
 " Thank you, no." 
 
 " Would you like to have me bleed you?" 
 '' Oh, no ! I am obliged. Do not let us abuse the blessings of 
 the Madonna." 
 
 After a little hesitation, he replied, " What do you intend to 
 do yourself iC" 
 
 " I tliink I shall take a foot-bath, with the water quite hot." 
 " You are right. Yes, take a foot-bath; I recommend you to 
 take one. After that, if you will take my advice, you will go to 
 bed, and pray to St. Andre d'Avellino, for liis intervention is very 
 powerful in such cases." 
 
 The distance between this doctor out of a dozen and the shop- 
 keeper is so short, that I do not hesitate to pass directly from one 
 to the other. The shopmen and the artisans have changed in 
 physiognomy very little during the past hundred years. For- 
 merly, the stores on the Corso resembled stalls ; they now resem- 
 ble the stores in our provincial cities. The seller used to reply 
 in the most nonchalant style : " I have what you want, but come 
 again to-morrow ; it is out of my reach to-day." Now tliey show 
 a little more interest, but the goods are no better. Rome is by 
 no means a center of inland trade. Most of the cities in tlie 
 States obtain their supplies directly from France or Germany. 
 The capital supports itself by a limited amount of manufacture, 
 and light importations. Strangers of passage find there almost 
 everything, or at least tlie labels of nearly all the products of the 
 
 ■■ sm;^''*^-l7K€^"^-i^^X;;J;5$?=^^':-'< 
 
116 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE MIDDLE CLASS. 
 
 117 
 
 globe, placed upon falsified or adulterated goods. The price of 
 all objects of luxury is exorbitant, and their quahty detestable. 
 The reason is, that the merchant pays heavy duties, sells very 
 little, and divides his profits among several persons. The agents, 
 the guides, the officials of all kinds, deduct each a small portion. 
 You wish to buy a piece of furniture ; your Italian domestic is 
 acquainted with a man who happens to know where it is sold. 
 They draw you, like a threa«l through the eye of a needle, to 
 some shop without a sign, on the second floor of a house tliat 
 you can never find again if you try. After you have left, the 
 merchant shares the profit with your guide, who, in turn, gives 
 something to your domestic. The pastry-cooks who supply 
 your dinner are almost all surrounded by the same air of mys- 
 tery. At first sight you tliink they sell playthings of gilt paper; 
 at tlie second, you begin to suspect that they secretly transact 
 tlie business of a confectioner. Certain terms must be employed 
 to get shown a beefsteak, which turns out to be bad. The bro- 
 kerage eats up so much of the profits in business that the same 
 quantity of the same kind of oil sells at six cents by wholesale, and 
 fifteen at retail Judge for yourself tlie share of the go-betweens. 
 
 Roman mechanics are generally skillful. They work slowly, 
 but they do certain things in perfection. There are nowhere in 
 the world more solidly built houses than in Rome. The fragiUty 
 of the scaflblding is wonderful. They never think of repairing a 
 house only on the last extremity, and on the eve of its tumbUng 
 in ruins. They take out one brick and put in another ; stick a 
 stone into a crevice, and, at the end a few months, the house is 
 found to be entirely rebuilt. 
 
 Have you ever heard the story of that shoemaker in 2^[ilan 
 who was summoned to the house of a French general ? It oc- 
 curretl in the time of the First Empire. 
 
 *• My man," said the general, " I want a fine pair of new 
 boots, but I can not get such as I want nearer than Paris." 
 
 The shoemaker bowed, took the measure, and lefL Eight days 
 afterward he furnished the general with an admirable boot, as 
 soft and well-fittAig as a glove. 
 
 " Peste !" murmured the conqueror, '^ you are a skillful fellow. 
 That boot fits well enough; now let me try the other !'' 
 
 " The other ?' answered the workman ; " you will have to get 
 that made in Paris." 
 
 If the Roman artisans work more slowly than ours, it is prin- 
 cipally because tliey have no money. I once ordered a traveling 
 coat of a tailor who did a small business, but whose shop showed 
 that he was in prosperous circumstances. He made me wait 
 more than a montli, and the pretexts he invented for the delay 
 would furnish an admirable act for a comedy. At last it occurred 
 to me to advance him a few crowns. The garment was furnished 
 at once. Nearly all the master masons, glaziers, slaters, etc., 
 who are employed at the Academy of France, work upon the 
 advances made them. 
 
 It is for want of capital that trade and manufactures thrive so 
 little in Rome. It is for want of capital that in Rome one looks 
 in vain for that independent and intelligent middle class which is 
 the back-bone of all great nations. It is to be hoped that the 
 completion of the railroads, by drawing to Rome all the resources 
 of tlie country, will create tliere a middle class worthy of the 
 name. I might mention several very wealthy pork butchers, but 
 the only enterprise in which a princely fortune can be made is 
 the baking business. I have akeady said that the Romans are 
 the most enormous consumers of bread in the civilized world. 
 
 The shopkeepers and artisans, poor as tliey are, never sin 
 through lack of modesty. Their vanity and their impro\idence 
 equal, at times, the same traits in the plebeians. They spend all 
 their earnings twice every year ; first at tlie Carnival, and again 
 at the vintage, during the month of August. They love to make 
 a show ; wear any number of gold ornament^, in the shape of 
 chains, finger-rings, and ear-rings. Our carpenter, who reminded 
 me in every Uneament of Caliban, wore a turquoise in each ear, 
 just as the buffaloes have an iron ring in their nose. 
 
 Last evening, as I was going up the Via Frattina, I overheard 
 the end of a conversation between a druggist and a book-binder, 
 as they were closing their shops. '• For all that," said the binder, 
 **we are Romans, and the first people of the world." 
 
 The letting out of furnished apartments has been for a long 
 time the princijial means of support for the middle class. When 
 it took a montli or two of traveUng to reach Rome, strangers 
 did not stop only eight days. They generally passed the winter 
 there, but not at a hotel for the hotel is a modem invention. 
 In tliose times a Roman family, with a few crowns laid up, hired 
 through third and fourth liands a whole story opening on the 
 
 JUn'U:'-^ A aM»Jr>gJi 
 
 -?Sl' 
 
"iVj- 
 
 118 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Corso, hired furniture for it, and then oflered it to the noble 
 strangers who came in post-chaises. You could liire for a thou- 
 sand crowns an apartment which would not net fifty to the pro- 
 prietor of the house. The surplus was divided between the 
 principal tenant, the subtenant, the furniture dealer, the agent for 
 furnished houses, and the guide who conducted 3'ou to the door. 
 This custom is not yet wholly done away with. Very many 
 families, occupying a good position, have' no other resources. 
 They occupy some little corner of the lodgings near you ; they 
 open the door, receive your calls, and kindly place themselves at 
 your disposition. This half menial position has nothing in it de- 
 grading to them. Besides, there are few Romans of the middle 
 class who are not more or less servants. One is a lawyer and 
 steward ; another a physician in the ser\'ice of some prince ; this 
 one is a grocer and valet ; that one a tobacconist and Swiss for 
 a Cardinal ; still another, cook for a marquis, keeper of a restaur- 
 ant. Who has never heard of the Restaurant I,epri ? It is the 
 most celebrated eating-house in Rome ; the one where you can 
 dine the worst for the least money. This is the way in which it 
 was established. The Marquis Lepri was nearly ruined. His 
 cook offered to provide for him and all his family at the rate of 
 five cents per head. lie asked for nothing in return but permis- 
 sion to open a little restaurant in connection with his kitchen in 
 the lower story of the palace. The bargain concluded, his trade 
 increased so fast that he was obliged to move his restaurant, car- 
 rying the name of Lepri with him, which remains there still. 
 But just notice how all things in this lower world change! To- 
 day it is called Restaurant dclla Lepre— the Restaurant of the 
 Hare. 
 
 The only middle class really worthy of the name, because they 
 attain to a fortune and an independence, is the class of wholesale 
 dealers in the country. Their business consists in leasing some 
 large domain, which they cultivate, with a great deal of hard 
 work, by means of immense numbers of men and cattle and a 
 large expenditure of capital. If manufactures and commerce are 
 remarkable for nothing at Rome except their absence, agriculture 
 is not in the same category. The city lies like a gigantic farm- 
 house in the middle of the most fertile plain in the world. The 
 soil is so extravagantly rich that, in spite of the insalubrity of the 
 air, in spite of the rudeness of the farming, in spite of the periods 
 
 THE MIDDLE CLASS. 
 
 119 
 
 • \ 
 
 
 of idleness, in spite of the little protection afforded by the civil 
 courts, in spite of the indolence of the proprietors, and the de- 
 plorable way in which the estates axe divided, in spite of tlie 
 wretch»»d condition of the roads, the capital for Catholicism is 
 to-day the capital employed in raising grain. Some few intelli- 
 gent men, sprung from the lowest ranks of the country rabble, 
 have saved up a few crowns ; their sons have increased the 
 number by some rural speculations; their grandchildren have 
 bought cattle, taken a farm ; pay a hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs a year to Prince Borghese, or some one else, and at the 
 same time lay up equally as much. In the succeeding generation 
 they will be counts, marquises, dukes, princes I They will buy 
 the patrimony, the name, and the ancestors of some poverty- 
 stricken noble family, if ever tbey take it into their heads to 
 d^cend to posterity as the heroes of Titus Livius, and not as the 
 slaves of Cato. While waiting for this metamorphosis, the coun- 
 try merchant dwells at Rome, or Trascati, in some grand house 
 modestly and sparingly furnished. He has chambers painted in 
 distemper, where he entertains with a cordial hospitality. He 
 offers his friends an excellent bottle of v/ine, and fourteen plates 
 of juicy meats ; eat of them all, I beg of you, unless you wish 
 to disoblige him. His conversation is sensible, and full of infor- 
 mation, especially if you question him on any points connected 
 with farming. Nor does he live always within the horizon of 
 the Roman campagna — from time to time he will travel. He 
 has visited London ; has stopped a httle while at Paris ; he de- 
 signs visiting his brother who hves at Vienna ; perhaps even he 
 may extend his travels as far as Constantinople. By bo means 
 must he be confounded with the Romans who have a profession ; 
 who have never seen salt water ; who speak of Albano only from 
 liearsay. The country merchant is in all countries of sterling 
 value — like the grain — Uke silver. His only defect is that he 
 repeats a little too often, " Excuse us, for we are only country- 
 people." Withojt this exaggerated modesty, there would be no 
 draw-back to the pleasure in talking with him. But excuse him 
 for an instant, it is absolutely necessary that he leave you. He 
 has this morning put sixteen hundred reapers to work in a field 
 of grain. Allow him to mount his horse and see if tlie hail-storm 
 of yesterday has caused him a loss of a hundred thousand francs. 
 I will show him to you in the full performance of his duties, if 
 
120 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAT. 
 
 THE MIDDLE CLASS. 
 
 121 
 
 you will do me the honor to follow me some day into the coun- 
 try. But, for the moment take off your hats — here come Mes- 
 sieurs, the laborers. What a crowd. Great God ! Who was it 
 told us that the laymen could find no employment in the States 
 of the Pope ? Don't take the trouble to count them, they num- 
 ber eight thousand^ five hundred according to the last official 
 census. It is an old established custom, tliat every important 
 person, whether cardinal, prelate, or prince, should try to procure 
 for his dependents and friends some place under government. 
 
 Two evils arise from this — the multiplicity of employments, and 
 the moderate scale of pay. They try to satisfy ail the world 
 without emptying the treasury. All these gentlemen so well 
 dressed receive very moderate salaries, with the exception of 
 five or six. The great majority are contented with from twenty- 
 five to a hundred francs a month ; tliose who get as mu(5h as 
 fifty crowns are persons to be looked up to. Here are govern- 
 ors and sub-governors of cities who rule and administer justice, 
 who have the power to send a man to the galleys for five years, 
 and who receive from the appropriation one hundred and twenty- 
 five, one hundred, and even sixty francs a month ! Here are 
 judges of the civil courts at two hundred fi^ncs, counselors of 
 the court of appeals at tliree hundred and fifty. They receive 
 less pay than the keepers of the lotteries. If you are curious to 
 know bow they hve. I will tell you, for it is a secret I can tell 
 without hesitation. The chief of the division of the ministry of 
 finance is at the same time book-keeper for a country merchant. 
 It is not two hours since a servant of the latter came to his 
 ofllce to drive him up about certain papers which were behind- 
 hand. The officer of the senate comes down from the Capitol 
 once every day to square up some accounts at the Ghetto, in the 
 back shop of an Israelite. Tuese secretly add to their income 
 by holding out their hands at the right time for t bribe : those 
 are too proud to hold out their hands, so they ?^n-retly put them 
 into the cash-box. 
 
 There is a group of honest men who serve the state with zeal 
 as assiduous as it is disinterested, I will say almost heroic. It may 
 happen that one of them will, by accident, reach some elevated 
 ix>st. But the common people, who esteem nothing so much 
 as ecclesiastical or hereditary display, will hardly beheve it. 
 They will neither pardon ' — ' "^ ' -v origin, nor the modest 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 functions which he performs. The aristocracy will keep him 
 rigidly at a distance, and shut its doors against him. The clergy 
 will see in him an adventitious upstart, who means to gain his 
 end by his own exertions. At the first chance he will experience 
 the luck of poor Campana. I must avow, however, that these 
 political chances are very rare. Xot only are the most honest 
 and capable citizens shut out from good places, but they them- 
 selves turn away, and take another road. The army belongs to 
 the common people who furnish the soldiers— to the middle class 
 as regards the officers. It has not its proper rank among the 
 bodies of the state ; it does not form, as in France and all other 
 military countries, a distinct and distinguished class. Their minds 
 are not yet formed to see in the soldier something more than a 
 mere man of the people ; and the epaulet of the officer is not yet 
 a sign of chivalry, but simply the sign of an employment, like 
 anv other. This question deserves a chapter by itself I will 
 therefore postpone its consideration until I can discuss it more 
 thoroughlv. But I will not leave the subject of the middle class 
 without drawing your attention to that little group of shop- 
 keepers in uniform. They march to the Viitican at that step, to 
 occupy the second antecliamber, between the Swiss and the 
 noble guard. They borrow tl;. ir guns for the day, and re- 
 turn them when they go out. This national guard is called the 
 ScfUa, to show that it is selected from volunteers. It pays for 
 its own equipments, but I imagine that each one of the sekct^d 
 earns nine crowns a year, and a dowry of three hundred francs 
 whenever he has a daughter married. 
 
 6 
 
 mm 
 
IX. 
 
 THE ARTISTS. 
 
 THERE are still to be found in Rome a certain number of emi- 
 nent artists. I do not pretend to teach any thing to Eu- 
 rope in mentioning the names of MM. Tenerani, Podcsti, Cala- 
 matta, Mercuri. But I am amazed that these talents sliould have 
 ripened in a city where art is reckoned as a branch of ordinary 
 bourgeois industry, and c:iltivated as such by the citizens. 
 
 Artists in all countries belong to the middle class, but it is in 
 Italy alone that they form an integral part of the commonalty. 
 The studio of the painter an<l sculptor is of the family of the 
 manu (Victory and the warehouse. The theaters are shops where 
 they sell cheap indigenous commodities of but mediocre quality, 
 and foreign merchandise adulterated by tlie dealer. 
 
 Our Paris citizens have all, on the contrary, following their 
 age and their education, a prejudice favorable toward artists. A 
 shop-clerk thinks himself honored in drinking his glass of brandy 
 with a hanger-on from Hie Palais Royal — the master of the same 
 shop is, on the contrary, of the opinion that his clerk is com- 
 promised by such bad company. The youthful cit, meeting a 
 canvas-dauber in the street of the Martyrs, looks upon him as a 
 being superior to humanity ; but men of a certain age and a cer- 
 tain fortune are not far from seeing in him a creature degraded 
 by the abuse of strong colors. On the other hand, our artists 
 almost always nourish a profound contempt for that caste which 
 has the habit of seizing a great deal of rent, and buying but few 
 pictures. Even the actors, mainly dependent upon tlie bour- 
 geois, are very indifferent as to the opinion of the bourgeois. 
 They value only the applause of some thirty jhtsous who did 
 not pay for their seats. Our authors also write for the admira- 
 tion of a very few individuals who do not buy many books. It 
 
 THE ARTISTS. 
 
 123 
 
 is a stinging reproach to accuse them of working for the bour- 
 geois. With us, writers, painters, sculptors, composers, singers, 
 and actors, live as they can, better or worpc, but very decidedly 
 in a dilTorent wav from the stockins: dealer. 
 
 In France^it is the common notion that the merits and defects 
 of our artists are reproduced among the Italians, with that dose 
 of exaggeration which comports with the climate. Just as the 
 inodorous shrubs of the temperate regions acquire an exaggerated 
 perfume in the approach to the equator ; as the inofll^nsive ser- 
 pents of the North inflict a mortal wound in the South, we 
 please ourselves in supposing that the talent and character of the 
 artist will become warmed, \ind, as it were, clqctrified, under the 
 rays of a more ardent sun. 
 
 The theater and the French novel look to Italy for nervous com- 
 posers, poets burning with a feverish frenzy, painters intoxicated 
 with glory, and singers of noble caprice, who shall scale more 
 Inddei-s in their song tlian were ever seen by a Roman hod-car- 
 rier. Good, simple race that we are! 
 
 Let us begin at the theater, and you will see how little they 
 resemble the portraits that have been painted for us. The direc- 
 tor is a man who has a little money that he is willing to risk. 
 He asks permission to play comedies for three months in one of 
 the halls of the city. Some patron endorses his morality — the 
 police gives consent. Behold him a director ! Last year lie was 
 a farmer ; next year he will speculate in the army supplies : at 
 this very moment, if his receipts are small, he can retrieve him- 
 self by the anchovy fisheries, of which he has the monopoly. 
 
 The hall where his nets are to be spread for the public, is a 
 sort of well, set round with boxes, the parquette, and the bot- 
 tom. You may count six ranges of boxes, all alike, and disposed 
 in the order of the windows of a house. The parquette and 
 the orchestra are in one ; the benches are commodious, and there 
 is easy circulation. The boxes are let for the season, or the even- 
 ing, at extremely moderate rates. 1'hoy are furnished with 
 straw-bottomed chairs, the lessee being at liberty to substitute 
 easy chairs. The lighting is not costly, for the hall is but a few 
 degrees less black than an oven. The repairs consist of a fresh 
 coat in water colors, which is not often renewed. 
 
 The administration is composed of two employes, one of whom 
 sells the tickets in a neighboring shop, and the other receives 
 
124 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 them at the entrance of the parquette ; no comptroller, no box- 
 opeuer. Each person arrives with his ticket, or his key, accord- 
 injr as he belonjjs below or above. The vestibule serves for the 
 green room ; there is also the street, in which one may spend 
 the entr'actes. 
 
 If the contractor thinks proper to offer tliis respectable public 
 an opera season, he begins by placarding a proclamation to his 
 ;j»IacaBnases. He trumpets, with loud praises, the names of the 
 authors, the composers, and the artists whom he has enrolled- 
 The first performers are reasonably well paid ; they get much 
 less than at Paris, but enough to live upon in the Italian style. 
 The chorus singers and instrumentalists may be caught with a 
 sinsrle throw of the- net; the wares are common, ami nothing 
 abounds here more than mediocrity. 
 
 The prima donna assoluta is a good family mother. Her six 
 Utile creatures have had the delicate consideration not to spoil the 
 voice of their mamma. Iler husband is a baritone, sometimes a 
 ruined gentleman, whom she supports. Have no fears that she 
 may deceive him ; she has too much to do. The performance, 
 the rehearsals, the children, and the soup-pot absorb her whole 
 soul. Still it is not impossible that her marriage contract may 
 receive a scratch or two, for is she not a woman ? But she will 
 never abandon her husband, that she may sing more at her ease. 
 There is much simplicity, genuineness, and real goodness of heart 
 in this prima donna, provided that the luxury of Paris or St. 
 Petersburgh have not turned her head. Her husband is her 
 most necessary article of furniture. He goes with her to the 
 theater and takes her home, signs the agree ment^?, leads the 
 chiMren to school, and buys the dinner at the market. 
 
 The lady soprano and gentleman tenor are neither more nor 
 less considered than the common citizen. They have relations, 
 honest shop-keepers, who willingly acknowledge them. They 
 are a little envied while they are making much money and pitied 
 when they are down at the heel. They learned nmsic, as they 
 would have studied law, plain sewing, or medicine. Applause 
 pleases tliem, but they do not commit suicide when they may 
 chance to be hissed. For that matter, they receive a great deal 
 of ap})lau?e whenever they merit a Utile. 
 
 Italy is more enthusiastic than France. We are jealous of our 
 artists as of our great men, and reproach them with the admira- 
 
 TIIE AKTISTS. 
 
 125 
 
 lion which they force from us. Italy spoils hers. The habit of 
 ! recalling them after each aria is so strong, that it has been found 
 
 V convenient to leave an opening in the middle of the curtain. If 
 
 they have the most moderate success, they do nothing but come 
 in and go out till it has struck midnight. Their sleep is never 
 brokenly criticisms ; if a man of taste should feel impelled to 
 offer them some good advice, he must write it upon the walls, 
 for the very simple reason that there are no newspapers. 
 
 Each one, towards the end of the season, gives a representa- 
 tion for his benefit. He goes in person, and with flexible back 
 offers his box-tickets to the grand seigneurs. They give him 
 more th!m tlie ordinary price. He thanks them very humbly. 
 When the doors open he seats himself under the vestibule of the 
 theater, behind a silver plate, into which every one throws some 
 offering, and he bows in token of his thanks for a twenty cent 
 
 piece. 
 
 The poor devils of the orchestra and the choirs all follow some 
 other trade for a living. Plurality is the fashion and necessity 
 of this country. Yesterday I hired a caleche from a grain-dealer 
 who lets carriages, and the coachman, it seemed, was a singer 
 of Argentina. 
 
 The theater opens with an opera in three acts, by a divine 
 maestro, whose name will never reach Paris. He is chapel-mas- 
 ter of a microscopic grand-duke, or patronized by some Roman 
 prince. The curtain rises, the tenor sings an aria, the public 
 applauds. At this signal they rush into the side-scenes after a 
 httle man in a butternut-colored overcoat, and an extraordinary 
 neck-tie. An actor leads him before the curtain, and he bows 
 profoundly. It is the author. They recall him— he returns. 
 At the close of each aria the applause brings him out, once, 
 twice, thrice; his poor spine can do no more. The game appeara 
 to please him, for, instead of withdrawing from the disgrace of 
 such glory, he posts himself in the wings, like a lackey in an 
 antechamber, waiting the good pleasure of the public. In truth, 
 he must have hungry ears, for here he is now coming of himself, 
 at the first sound of applause, without a semblance of violence to 
 excuse the tasteless triumph. At his fourteenth genuflexion, 
 dL.gust seizes me, and I go out. The first act was nearly 
 
 finished. 
 
 What may appear unnatural, is the entliusiasm of the audience, 
 
 
126 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 who are paying for a work both mediocre in itself, and feeble in 
 execution. Claqiiers do not exist here ; it is the real public wliich 
 screams itself hoarse with bravo?, and claps its hands without fear 
 of sprains. I observed none of the fashionable world taking its 
 ice or talking of its own concerns during the recitative. It lis- 
 tened with all its ears, and applauded with its whole heart. The 
 Romans in Rome do gratis and vigorously what the Parisian 
 Romans do %vith languor and for value received. At the end of 
 a season of three months, the contractor, who has produced three 
 operas, one of which was new, retires gloriously. He has lost a 
 little monov, but is consoled by engraving on a block of marble, 
 at the door of the theater, the success which he has bbtained, 
 and the gratitude of the people. Sometimes he seeks fortune 
 elsewhere; sometimes, also, to set himself straight, he tries a 
 season of the drama and comedy. 
 
 He has taken care to secure the aid of three or four lawyers ; 
 it is the lawyer who writes the comedies. The poets of the 
 troupe are announced in the prospectus after the actors. Usually 
 these gentlemen content themselves with translating the dramas 
 and vaudevilles of Paris. It was thus that Terence and Plautus 
 were inspired by the Greek comedy. But Terence and Plautus 
 did not write their translations with a running pen. The Roman 
 author rarely refuses himself the pleasure of signing the work 
 which he has translated ; it is the old habit of a nation of con- 
 querors. S<-)metime3 they scratch the author's name, and the 
 public is allowed to suppose that the piece made itself. The 
 Seigneur Engenio Scribe has alone tlie privilege of being always 
 named. 
 
 The Roman public likes nothing but French pieces. It claps 
 them, and laughs and weeps over them. But from time to time 
 its self-love revolts against its taste. What! cries the parquette; 
 we are Romans, and we applaud French authors ! Thereupon 
 they hiss, on principle, the work with which they are most de- 
 lighted. Last year, at about this time, the public amused itself 
 by hissing its favorite actor. Tiie fellow instantly understood 
 what it meant. He quietly folded his arms and replied: 
 
 " Gentlemen, I admit tliat we are very much in the wroni: to 
 offer you, day after day, a foreign article. We now engage to 
 give you exclusively national pieces, so soon as your authors will 
 tiike the trouble to write them." 
 
 THE ARTISTS. 
 
 127 
 
 The authors try it from time to time ; and then one sees a 
 specimen of the moral and heavy fable in the style of Berqum. 
 Egotism and Generosity, The Orphan Rv:enged, TJie Tardy Re- 
 pentance, The Trials of a Fiery Temper. The pubhc yawns a 
 little at these rhapsodies, but it also sometimes weeps. 1 he easy 
 sensibUity overflows in water, if only a father blesses his children, 
 or a sinner asks pardon for his crimes. The actors most highly 
 appreciated are those who throw out their voices as if to shake 
 down the hall, or who roll the whites of their eyes out of then' 
 
 sockets. ,. 
 
 Amon- the few writers who work for the stage are some dis- 
 tincruished pupils of Goldoni. Moderate in comedy and m paUios, 
 they fail, nevertheless, neither in invention nor elegance But 
 the satisfaction of the parquette and the bravos of a public, ex- 
 acting too little, easily cont^'Ut them. A somewhat slack canvas 
 is embroidered with a gentle dialogue ; here and there are tacked 
 on some moral or sentimental tirades, and the piece is finished. 
 \n En.rlish author is not content tUl he has twisted two or three 
 ;iots in"to his drama. The Italian dramatist takes the matter 
 quietly, and does not hesitate to expand a simple anecdote mto 
 five acts. The restless, violent, excessive temper of England 
 and the easy and flowing genius of Italy betray themselves in 
 tliis as in everything else. 
 
 The censorship is an absurdity in Rome, as in all countries 
 afllicted with a censorship. Nothing could be more irreproach- 
 able than the dramatic moralities, which are invented in Italy, 
 and Bossuct liimself would absolve the theater, if he could once 
 but see the Tardy Repentance. * 
 
 But the man who has received a pair of scissors to cut the 
 wings of thought, must, in conscience, be careful to earn his 
 wa^es He cavils over the most innocent details; he is gUteU 
 wiUi a peculiar scent for the discovery of danger where thcTC is 
 none The translator was forced to change the title of he 
 Brewer of Preston because birrajo (brewer) sounded somewhat 
 Uke sbirrajo (constable). In the interest of the public peace it 
 was necessary to write the Liquorkt of Preston. 
 
 In the translation of Drane de Lys, they cut out the words 
 ordinate i cavalli (order the horses). " Horses are not ordamed 
 said the censor; '' only priests are ordained." To make amends 
 
128 
 
 KOilE OF TO-DAT. 
 
 TUB AKTISTS. 
 
 129 
 
 for this he passes over crudities, which would not be endured bv 
 the pit at the Funambules. ' 
 
 The actors in tU>s counfy are aU of a passable mediocrity 
 hke the otl^er arfsts. They are not wanting i„ conscience Ir 
 mtelhgence, and m seemg the evening performance, you would 
 not .mapne that they rehearsed this morning for the first time 
 You will sometimes find them excellent in the bouryeoi, comedies 
 of Goldom, the luUian Scribe. Day before yesterday thej" r„ck 
 me as being quite passable in Fiammino or An Ecpialion \n an- 
 onymous production Daniel Lambert and his wife had merely 
 tl e fault of roUmg their eyes out of their orbits whenever their 
 situation became shghtly pathetic. The single reproach to be 
 addressed to S, vam Duchdteau is that he presents himself on all 
 occasions with his hat planted down to his ears. Xotwitlistand- 
 mg some mistakes in the mise en sce„e, in spite of the Greek cap 
 of the pamter and the red silk handkerchief with which he mops 
 his forehead, the piece produced a profound impression. The 
 pohce corps wept hot tears. For my part, I could not suppress 
 a laugh at the denouement added by Uie translator. Daniel 
 Lambert forgives h.s wife, opens his arms to her, and says to the 
 young Henry, 'There Vill be two of us to love thee " SHvain 
 Duchateau immediately adds, "And my sister and I wiU make 
 lour. 1 he curtain falls upon this foolery— let it fall 
 
 However unpreten.ling may bo the dramatic literature, it is 
 till the most brilliant thing to be found in the countrv-. From 
 time to time there is printed a Dissertation on the AVound of 
 ^.b.J.C.. an Oaering to the Heart of Maryr, „„ Example for the 
 Chnstian Deacon a life of Saint Gertrude da Frosinone, or of 
 the most happy .Nicholas da VeUetri; some expurgated edition 
 of a Latin cla.^s,c, some elementary treaUse of astronomy or ar- 
 .S°="> J^''.^"ff rn-ess is reduced to two small ^litical 
 sheets of he size of the Charivari Thev describe tliVcere- 
 mon.es celebrated in Rome and the important events occu rin. 
 abroad One is entitled n. Roman DaiUj^ the other 71. PeoplJl 
 True Fr,en<l Both reach some hundreds of copies. I miht 
 cite some other ephemeral publications, which try to live by The 
 :rZr '''""' ^''"°"^'=^ '•'"^' -metimes Lio^ me wi^' 
 I have said enough on this subjVct, for it is neither the theater 
 nor literature which attracts travelers to Rome. They know 
 
 4 
 
 that the drama is barely tolerated there, and that for the past 
 two centuries nothing has been done to encourage authorship. 
 But is my duty to expose a ridiculous prejudice, of which the 
 Americans, the EngHsh, and the French themselves are the 
 dupes. It is still believed in New York, in London, and in 
 Paris that the Roman painters and sculptors arc the first in the 
 world, as in the time of Raphael. 
 
 Rome possesses a very small number of true artists, and 
 pleiades of manufacturers, who live on the reputation of their 
 ancestors. There is not a rich traveler who does not hold him- 
 self bound to bring away from Rome a statue, some pictures, 
 and a portrait. The wardens of our southern parishes, if they 
 have an order to give for a statue, prefer to addres.s themselves 
 to a Roman sculptor. The Americans, grown rich by commerce 
 or by bankruptcy, build tlicmsclves a Grecian temple on the edge 
 of a virgin forest, and that the interior of the house may be in 
 harmony with the exterior, they come to Rome with all sails set ; 
 they make an onset, purse in hand, upon all the ateliers, and bear 
 off with them an assortment of the objects of art. 
 
 I had the pleasure to accompany a gentleman from Cincinnati 
 in one of these surprising expeditions. lie had come to Rome 
 toward tlie end of the month of April, and could remain but 
 three days. It was not much ; nevertheless, he found time to 
 see the city in detail, to buy some hundred pictures, and a half 
 dozen statues, to sit for his bust, and a full length portrait. 
 
 " It is a favorable season," said he to me, as we left the hotel 
 *' From the inquiries I have made, I gather that but little has 
 been ordered by foreigners this winter ; the stores of the artists 
 are overloaded ; painting has fallen twenty-Qve per cent, since 
 last year. Marbles are firmer, it is said, but still the first figures 
 have given way from ten to fifteen since the first of March. 
 Come on!" he called to the guide who was to accompany us; 
 *' take me to the best sculptor in Rome." 
 
 The rogue did not wait to be twice told ; he was used to that 
 sort of thing, and he k-new the way to the five or six studios 
 wlierc they give the largest gratuities. The carriage drew up 
 before the sign of a celebrated dealer in marbles. The master 
 was carelessly scratching at a little earthen figure, while waiting 
 for a customer. He ruslied to meet us with as much easrerness 
 as the best knight of the yard-stick in a shop in Paris ; and not 
 
 .'iJS^-^lSi aSs-i-- 
 
 ';si«**f».A 
 
130 
 
 KOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 without an intelligent glance exchanged with the faithful fellow 
 who delivered us into his hands. 
 
 Once he had taken possession of our persons, he walked U9 
 throuj^h one, two, three, four, five successive apartments. lie 
 explained to us the subject of each of his compositions, stopped 
 us before every statue that he had ever cut in his life, and cited 
 the names of all who had ever ordered a copy. Such a figure 
 had been sold to twelve strangers in succession, and the model 
 was always there ready for service. They had just finished a 
 copy, another was marked out, another was under way. I in- 
 ternally admired the simplicity of our French arti^t^, who sell tho 
 right in the work with the marble. The Italians are more know- 
 ing. When they give you a Psyche or an Adonis for fifteen 
 thousand francs, they reserve the right to copy it in large or in 
 httle, so long as there shall be any one who will please to in.ke it. 
 I would have taken nothing from these elegant ateliers, even 
 if it had been offered me for nothing. The bad taste of the com- 
 position vied with the triviality of the expression and weakness 
 of design. Under the hands of forty skillful workmen, the mar- 
 ble had changed into butter. My American, on the contrary, 
 was in ecstasies. What most charmed him was the purity of tho 
 Carrara marble — as white as the best refined sugar ; the faultless 
 polish ^viiich a workman, armed with the pierre du Berrin, gives 
 to the precious material ; it was the perfection with which the 
 practitioner had chiseled the accessories ; the emblems, easy 
 chairs, laces, feathers, books, shoe-buckles, coat-buttons. The 
 Italian marble-cutters have a decided superiority over all others 
 in whatever does not belong to art. 
 
 They showed us antiques and modems, mythological figures, 
 a tomb designed for a church in Rome, a monument ordered 
 by the republic of Guatemala, a collection of bust**, always me- 
 diocre, sometimes ridiculous, where the people of every nation 
 of Etirope displayed its toupets, its plaits, its whiskers, its dia- 
 mond necklaces, winding around scraggy throats, ita cravats 
 mathematically knotted beneath a false collar. Some of them 
 were a good deal like the master-pieces of antiquity ; they were 
 even rather too much like them. Here I paid my respects to the 
 arms of the Venus of the Capitol, there to the torso of the Venus 
 of Milo, farther on, to the legs of the Venus de Medici. The 
 American bought four figures of women, to be dehvered by the 
 
 THE AETISTS. 
 
 131 
 
 end of July. It was not done without a little bargaining, tliough 
 he was pressed for time. He wished to have his bust tlirown in, 
 but the seller did not see it in the same light. 
 
 " I have asked you not a crown too much, as truly as I am a 
 great artist. What I gain from you is a very small matter ; my 
 profits are limited by competition. I do but turn my money. 
 The working of a new vein in the quarry costs me the eyes out 
 of my head, for I tike out my marble myself, so as to get it 
 without fiaw. The boat which transports it to Rome is my own. 
 I have to keep the hands the year round. My workmen— I 
 employ forty of them— devour me aUve ; my rooms represent a 
 capital of two hundred Uiousand francs, the interest of which 
 adds to the general expense of the estabhshment. And if you 
 wish for your bust, which will certainly be a chef (Tosuvre, you 
 must add three thousand francs to the total of the order." 
 
 The American suffered himself to be convinced. The patron 
 made a signal, and immediately one of his pupils began the work. 
 He selected, among five or six busts, roughly blocked out before- 
 hand, the one which most nearly resembled my companion. He 
 took 'some measurements with the compass, cut away the fore- 
 head, diminished the nose, added the moustache, brought out the 
 whiskers. After a sitting of two hours, the outhnes of the work 
 
 were complete. 
 
 " Return to-morrow," said the master ; " I will myselt finish 
 the portrait by adding the resemblance. We shall mold to- 
 morrow evening, the next day finish up the CJist, and the marble 
 will be sent on board the ship with your goods the 31st July." 
 
 We left immediately, the American clasping the hand of the 
 artist with sincere admiration. Wliat flattered him more than 
 all was to have business with a man who managed a large 
 
 capital. , , , , , . 
 
 " Would to heaven," I added, timidly, " that he could mold Uie 
 
 clay as well." . . , , ,v 
 
 I attempted to demonstrate, by an eloquent criticism, that ttia 
 most unpretending pupil of our school of the Fine Arts was a 
 Michael Angelo in comparison with these laborers. I explained 
 to him the reason why they sent nothing to the Universal Ex- 
 po^iion ; because the productions raked out of their manufacto- 
 ries could have served only for rows of posts on the outside of 
 
132 
 
 KOiTE OP TO-DAY. 
 
 the building. Ho obstinately closed his cars, and sung on in his 
 most Saxon tones, 
 
 " Rome, mother of the arts." 
 
 The servant received a second gratuity to conduct us to a 
 painter of reputation. I have discovered since that he did not 
 select the worst in the city, though I had some doubt of it while 
 in his studio. The Roman marble-cutters, unskillful as they are, 
 bear off the palm from these manufacturers of pictures. What 
 baldness of composition 1 This poverty of ideas, this common- 
 place design, tliis want of coloring, make up only a total of insi- 
 pidity. For once, my American agreed with me. However, he 
 gave the artist a two hours' sitting, fur the reason that he was 
 very complaisant, addressed him as "Your excellency," and 
 promised to paint him as a Neapolitan fisherman, in a cotton- 
 field, with his fishing-rod over his shoulder, and his factory in 
 the background. 
 
 But, as a portrait, however interesting it may be, is not sufli- 
 cient to decorate a palace, we drove to the rooms of another 
 artist whose business was to copy the paintings of the old 
 masters. 
 
 " Decidedly," said the American, " I would rather have a hun- 
 dred good copies, than one ordinary original. These reproduc- 
 tions, when hung up in the walls of my villa, will recall to my 
 mind the chefs d'ceuvres of the Italian school which I have seen a 
 little too hastily in the museums and galleries." 
 
 The great trade of copying which supplies all unintelligent 
 Europe, gives employment to at least fifty persons. Fifty young 
 artists, under the orders of one dealer, are at work from morning 
 till night upon copies made from other copies. A dozen pic- 
 tures, not tlie best, have the privilege of being reproduced eter- 
 nally, to the exclusion of all others. The Cenci of Guide, the 
 Viohn Player of Raphael, two Cupids, taken from a picture of 
 Coreggio, a Ilerodias from Guide, a Christ f;'om Guerchino, a 
 Virgin of Carlo Dolchi, a Judith of Gherardo delle Notti, and 
 the Aurora of Guide, already mc^ntioned, form tlie principal con- 
 tents of the grand reservoir .which overflows, by certain sluices, 
 into all the shops of the city. ^ly American nibbled at this 
 collection ; lie made a small venture of thirty copies framed, as 
 much fur hi=« neighbors as for h^^^:elf The highest priced were 
 
 THE ARTISTS. 
 
 133 
 
 fifty francs including the frames. He communicated to mo his 
 reflections as we lell the manufactory. 
 
 " IIow can you deny to me that the Romans are the first art- 
 ists of the world ? You agree that thefee copies are not badly 
 done ; you recognize in tliose who make them considerable skill, 
 yet 1 saw quite young persons among them. Do you think tliat 
 your pupils in the school of the Fine Arts at Paris, could deliver 
 such saleable works at so low a price ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Our young Americans, who are not stupid, will labor for 
 ten years before they can produce works of equal merit^ and 
 their prices wiU never bear the competition. From which I 
 conclude that the Romans have more talent for painting than 
 
 " You are perfectly right, and I have never denied it. If 
 painting be a trade, the best painters in the world are born 
 in Rome, as the best smokers are born in Piedmont. The 
 young Romans who have a brush thrust into their hands, 
 learnln no time the habit of painting. An apprenticeship of 
 three or four years teaches them enough to earn their living; 
 the misfortune is, that they never go beyond that. Is it their 
 fault? No! I blame only the community into which their 
 birth has thrown them. If they lived in Paris they might pro- 
 duce chefs (Tmwres. Give them masters, competition, exhibi- 
 tions, the support of government, the encouragement of tlie 
 public, the advice of intelligent criticism. AU these favorable 
 circumstances, which aboun<l with us, are absolutely wanting to 
 them ; they know them only by hearsay. Their sole encourage- 
 ment,' their only resource, is the hunger which urges them on, 
 and the stranger who passes by. They work with the greatest 
 celerity ; they dash off a copy in a week, and when it is sold 
 begin another. If some one more ambitious than the rest under- 
 takes an original work, of whom shall he ask whether it is good 
 or bad? The common people know nothing about it, and the 
 princes know but little more. The possessor of the finest gal- 
 lery in Rome— Prince Borgliose— said the other day, m the 
 saloon of an ambassador, " For myself, I admire only my cAic." 
 The Prince de Piombino gave M. Gagliardi an order to paint a 
 ceUing, and insisted upon paying for it by the day. The gov- 
 ernment has many cares besides the encouragement of the arts. 
 
 ^t&feaiaL^S: 
 
134 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Some of the small circulating journals amuse themselves with 
 citing the names of their friends, merely to flatter them with 
 silly praises. Strangers who go and come are sometimes men 
 of taste, but they do not make a public. In Paris, in Munich, 
 in Dusseldorf, in London, the public is a veritable individual, a 
 man with a thousand heads. When a young artist of talent has 
 attracted his attention, he follo\vs him with his eyes, encourages 
 him, finds fault with him, pushes him forward, holds him back ; 
 for tliis one he conceives a glowing attachment, toward another 
 he indulges in as ardent an enmity. He sometimes deceives 
 himself; he has ridiculous infatuations and unjust neglects ; but 
 he lives and makes others live— one can work for the love of his 
 beautiful eyes. If Rome has some men of talent in the second- 
 ary arts, it is to the public of Paris that she is indebted for them. 
 MM. Mercuri and Calamatta are pupils of the school of Saint 
 Michael, in Rome ; but you would have seen them engraving 
 images for exportation, if Paris had not adopted them. 
 
 "Now," said the American, " I should like to buy some little 
 souvenirs in marble, to put upon the etageres with the shells and 
 stuffed birds." 
 
 The faithful servant, who followed us like our shadow, con- 
 ducted us to the mosaic-workers, the marble-cutters, the cameo- 
 engravers, the turners of hard stones. My companion reaped 
 an ample harvest of antique monuments reduced to citizen pro- 
 portions. He bought two Coliseums, one arch of Titus, one 
 Trajan column, four obelisks, and one tomb of the Scipios. " The 
 Roman architects are very fortunate," he said to me, " in having 
 such beautiful models always before their eyes." 
 
 " True," I replied, ^ but they do not profit by it Architec- 
 ture is an art lost tliese hundred years. The constructions of the 
 last two centuries, in that rococco style which bears the name 
 of the Jesuits, are not always in perfect taste ; but they are 
 wanting neither in grandeur, riclmess. nor splendor. You will 
 see at Saint Peter's, at the Church of Jesus, and of Saint Igna- 
 tius, and at the Victorine, chapels a little too much loaded with 
 ornaments, but which compel us to admiration, for they astonish 
 our eyes. Never perhaps was tlie use of brilliant colora and 
 bold forms better understood. The sculpture of Bemin lives, 
 breathes, and throbs in tlie midst of tliis orgie of bronze and 
 porphyrj'. But the new edifices are not worthy to sustain the 
 
 THE ARTISTS. 
 
 135 
 
 sculptured moldings, copies of which you carry away. The 
 stately church of Saint Paul is very ugly externally, and very 
 much tarnished within. The Torlonia Chapel, at Saint John 
 Lateran's, is decorated like a cafe. The column which has just 
 been erected upon the Piazza d'Espagna resembles a church 
 chandelier, or the stoverpipe in a dining-room. If any one can 
 still recall the old Roman architecture, it is the engineer who 
 has just thrown a bridge over the valley of the Ariccia; but you 
 have not time to go so far." 
 
 The American did not hsten to me — he bought his mosaics. 
 I undertook to demonstrate to him that if the mosaic work is 
 admirable when it decorates the liemicycle of the grand old 
 churches, or when it copies the pictures of the masters, in enlarg- 
 ing them for the chapels of Saint Peter, it is purely ridiculous in 
 cravat-pins and vest-buttons. lie filled his pockets with little 
 spotted plates upon which one might recognize, with some diffi- 
 culty, bouquets of flowers, figures of animals and antique monu- 
 ments. He afterward secured a supply of cameos, of engraved 
 seals, of carved corals, and of malachites turned in the sliape of 
 balls. So docs every stranger who knows his duty. 
 When his collection was completed, I said to him : 
 " Have you still a thousand crowns to throw away ?" 
 He replied by the radiant smile of the millionaire. 
 '' Then follow me to the house of the greatest artist that I have 
 yet found." 
 
 I took him near the French station, to the house of the man 
 who has revived the old Roman bijouterie. The staircase, hung 
 with inscriptions and antique bas-relievos, made him suppose we 
 were entering a museum. He was not very far wrong. A 
 young merchant, as learned as an archeologist, showed him a 
 collection of ancient jewels of all epochs, from the originals of 
 Etruria down to the age of Constantine. This is the source from 
 which Caatellani is drawing the elements of a new art that, be- 
 fore ten years are past, will dethrone the small wares of the 
 Palace Royal. Our little jewels of fine gold thread appear 
 shamefully stingy beside these simple ornaments, large, genuine, 
 and always stamped with the irreproachable taste of antiquity. 
 My American, greedy of large articles, selected a small chest 
 containing the toilet of a Pwoman lady, a collar of golden balls, a 
 bracelet of beetles, pins togjrick to tlie heart of the slaves, combs 
 
136 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 of ivory crowned with gold, clasps marked with an inscription 
 of good augury, rings assorted for each day of the week, a thou- 
 sand coquetish articles, a thousand valuables, the details of which 
 "would fill a chapter should I allow myself to describe them. Ho 
 threw upon the table the ransom of ten slaves, and took to 
 flight, Hke tlie robber of Plautus, with his treasure under hi? 
 arm. 
 
 "Excellency," said the servant to him, "since you are not 
 frightened by large expenses, perhaps you will buy the cup pf 
 Apelles. The price is fifty miUions." 
 
 I did not beheve that the Greeks had ever painted upon 
 china; but the figure of fifty millions piqued my curiosity. Our 
 man conducted us to a small shop of bric-d-bi-aCj or ratlier to a 
 stall. The master of this hut was accoutred in such style, that 
 one would have offered him alms in the street. He examined 
 us witli an air which said :• You will not get my goods unless 
 you have the Golden Fleece in your pocket. However, he con- 
 descended to open a box made of preciou3 wood, and I saw be- 
 tween two cushions of white satin a cup of Fajnza, painted by 
 Raphael, which was worth in Paris perhaps four thousand francdw 
 " Here it is," he said. ** The price is fifty miUions, I need not 
 tell you that it is the sole chef d'ocuvre of Apelles." 
 
 " My brave man," I said to him, " do you know exactly how 
 much is fifty millions ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is a little less than ten million Roman crown- 
 pieces ; you gain there. Ten million Roman crowns are equal 
 to firty-tbree million four hundred thousand francs of legal value." 
 
 " Has no one ever told you that your cup, which is very fine, 
 may be only the work of Raphael ?" 
 
 " Of Raphael ! Look here ! these are Raphael's cups ;" and 
 he showed us a dozen pastorals of the last century. " Raj^hael 
 was not unskillful, and there is much to be said in his praise ; but 
 Apelles alone, among all men, could make a chef iT ceuvre^ like 
 this." 
 
 " Supposing that it was painted by Apelles, I should not be 
 fully convinced that it is worth fifty millions." 
 
 " Still, sir, I will never part with it for less." 
 
 " Come, now, be reasonable. Monsieur is one of the richest 
 men of America, but I do not think he will spend more than 
 thirty millions tor an article of fancy.*i| 
 
 N.W.. 
 
 THE ARTISTS. 
 
 137 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. 
 
 " I have fixed my price," said he, " and shall die before I lower 
 it a crown." 
 
 In fact he will die rich and poor, happy and miserable, utterly 
 lost, hke a fakir, in the hope of the uncertain. 
 
THE ROMAN NOBIJ^ITY. 
 
 139 
 
 X. 
 
 THE ROMAN NOBILITY. 
 
 "TN the micldle of the seventeenth century," said Ranke 
 -L " there were fifty Roman families which had existed for three 
 hundred years. Those which had sprung up subsequently were 
 not recognized ; and a low extraction was attributed to them." 
 Total a hundred patrician families. 
 
 To-day the Roman directory counts a hundred and eleven patri- 
 cian families, among which twenty are princely and eleven ducal. 
 The effective force of the nobility has not, tlien, sensibly changed 
 for two centuries. 
 
 The Roman nobility may be divided into three categories, re- 
 garding only their origin. 
 
 The first is of feudal, the second of nepotic, and the third of 
 financial origin. 
 
 To all lords all honor. We will commence, if you please, with 
 the feudal nobility. 
 
 The fifst successors of St. Peter, who did not exert any tem- 
 poral power, had neither nobles nor menials in their diocese. 
 
 It was in the middle ages that the Bishop of Rome procured 
 for himself tlie sovereignty of a small empire. lie must have 
 conformed to the usuages of the times, and recognized some 
 political facts which conformed neither to the letter nor the spirit 
 of the holy books. 
 
 Logically, it was proper that all the subjects of the Pope should 
 be equal before tlie sovereign, as are all men before God. Bla- 
 zonry was not an evangelical science, and if the apostles converted 
 a part of the ancient world, it was not by preaching the principle 
 of the inequality of castes. 
 
 But the temporal power, from its origin, had to reckon with 
 the feudal element. They had their lords at Rome as in all 
 Europe ; some favored the monarchical pretensions of the Holy 
 See ; others resisted by every means, and, as the Colonna, even 
 by arms. It was after interminable contests that the popes 
 overcame the indigenous nobility, and imposed their sovereignty 
 
 upon it. 
 
 Not only was peace made, but the local aristocracy finished 
 by rendering the papacy conjointly responsible for its pretensions 
 and its privileges. 
 
 The successive accession of almost all the great families to the 
 sovereign pontificate put aristocratic ideas upon the throne and 
 formed close bonds between the nobility and the papacy. The 
 Savelli, the Conti, the Orsini, the Colonna, and the Ceetani wore 
 the tiara, and reigned over the Romans before the close of the 
 middle ages. The Piccolomini, the Borgia, the Medicis, the La 
 Ronere, the Farnese, the Boncompagni, the Aldervendini inau- 
 gurated modern history. 
 
 Among the old feudal families, who have given more to the 
 papacy than they have received from it, some boast that they go 
 back to the earliest times of Roman history. The Muti descend 
 from Mucins Scaevola, the Santa Croce from Valerius Publicola, 
 the Massimo from Fabius Maximus ; at least that is what they 
 say. In any case their nobility is very ancient 
 
 Napoleon asked a certain Massimo with tliat brusqueness which 
 intimidated so many people : 
 
 "Is it true, indeed, that you are descended from Fabius 
 
 Maximus ?" 
 
 " I can not prove it," replied the noble Roman ; " but that 
 has been the story in our family for more than a thousand 
 
 years I 
 
 The arms of the Massimo represent the traces of steps crossed 
 in every direction. It is an allusion to the marches and counter- 
 marches of the temporizer. The motto of the house is Cunctando 
 
 llestituit. 
 
 The Ciutani, less ancient, are descended from a Roman tribune 
 named Anato'le, who was created Count of Gaeta in 730 by 
 
 Pope Gregory II. 
 
 One Pierre Collouna is spoken of, who was despoiled of all his 
 property in 1100 by Pope Pascal II. The family must neces- 
 
 
140 
 
 ROifE OP TO-DAY. 
 
 sarily have been somewhat ancient, for great fortunes are not 
 created in a day. 
 
 The Orsini family, of which the branch Orsini Gravina alone 
 remains, descend from a senator of the year 1200. 
 
 The Corsini family, originating in Florence, existed before the 
 year 1300 ; but the fortune, tlie eclat, and the title of Prince came 
 from Clement XII. ' 
 
 The Roman Doria are a detached branch of the great Genoese 
 family. The Lante of La Kovere were consuls at Pisa in 1190 
 An Alfieri was niajor-domo of Otho II. near the end of the 
 tenth century. 
 
 We read in the inimitable Voyage du Comeiller de Brasses : 
 " There are four great houses in Rome : Orsini, Colonna Conti 
 Savelli. But the Crescenzi, Altieri, Giustiniana, and others, who 
 do not thmk themselves inferior to these four, would not admit 
 this distinction." 
 
 I have had the curiosity to investigate what remained of the«:e 
 great houses, a century after this journey of our charming tourist. 
 There are no longer either Conti or SaveUi. The Orsini' have an 
 income of one hundred thousand livres; the Colonna, two huu- 
 dred thousand ; tlie Altieri, thirty thousand. The Crescenzi and 
 the Giustmiani are exUnct, like the Savelli and the Conti who 
 have given so many popes to the Church. There have been at 
 least ten of the name of Conti. 
 
 In the seventeenth century the Savelli still exerted a feudal 
 jurisdiction. Their tribunal, as regularly constituted as any other 
 was called Corte Savella. They had the right to snatch from 
 death one criminal every year, a pardoning power belonging to 
 the crown and recognized by the absolute monarchy of the popes. 
 The ladies of this illustrious family never lell their palace, except 
 m a carefully closed carriage. 
 
 " The Orsini and tlie Colonna boasted that, for centuries no 
 treaty of peace had been concluded between the Christian princes 
 m which they had not been included by name."-/2anA-., History 
 of the Papary, disfigured hy the Ultramontane Saint Cheron 
 
 But already Rome saw a new nobility prosper and increase, 
 tne issue of nepotism. 
 
 AU the popes, from however low a station they were taken 
 considered it their duty to found a famUy. Not content with 
 creaung one nephew a cardinal, who employed, for his o^vn 
 
 TIIK ROMAN NOBILITY. 
 
 141 
 
 profit, all the prerogatives of the Holy See, they bestowed on an- 
 other nephew the title of prince, endowed him riclily at the 
 expense of Italy and the Catholic universe, married him to some 
 lieiress of feudal stock, and constructed for him one of those pal- 
 aces whose insolent splendor we now admire. 
 
 This usage became so well estal^lished, that the casuist Oliva, 
 a Jesuit, declared that Alexander VII. committed a sin in leaving 
 liis nephews at Sienna, instead of calling them to the Court. It 
 is well known with what docility the honest Chigi submitted to 
 the obligation of advancing his family. 
 
 This squandering of th« public money for the profit of par- 
 ticular individuals was upheld not only by the counsel of a few 
 courtiers, but by the example of the most illustrious personages. 
 Without speaking of Alexander VI., who neglected nothing to 
 enrich and aggrandize his family, we have seen the ancient father 
 Sextus Quintus give to one of his nephews an ecclesiastical reve- 
 nue of five hundred thousand francs, to another a principality, 
 and found upon a solid basis the house of Peretti. Clement 
 VIII. did no less for his. Jean Fran9ois Aldobrandini enriched 
 himself so Rapidly as to give tw^o millions in dowry to his daugh- 
 ter. The fortune of the Borghese increased still more rapidly 
 under tlie reign of Paul V. They received five millions of francs, 
 acquired the finest properties in the Roman States, and obtained 
 signorial privileges of incalculable value. Gregory XV. had per- 
 mitted his nephew Ludovici to receive a million a year in nothing 
 but ecclesiastical revenue. This pope, who reigned two years 
 and five montlis, gave to his family lour millions of francs in 
 luoghi de mordi, which was wortli so much ready money. Urban 
 VIII. did better still for the Barberini. His tliree brothers ac- 
 quired so many benefices and esUtes, that tlieir annual reve- 
 nue was valued at two and a half million francs. If it bo 
 impossible to suppose that the Barberini amassed five hundred 
 and twenty-five millions under tlie pontificate of their uncle, it 
 was something, at least, that the writers of the time should 
 have advanced so monstrous a figure. 
 
 It was fUler such examples that the brother of Donna Olympia, 
 Inuoctint X., was, so to say, constrained to found the house of 
 Pampliilli. The casuists and the jurists removed liis scrupks, 
 for there were some. They proved to him that the pope had 
 the right to economize the revenues of the Holy See to assure 
 
 *■ ■**»; , 'HMjaUv^i, 
 
142 
 
 KOME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 the fortune of his famUy. They fixed, ,vith a moderation which 
 makes our hair stand on end, the figure of tl,« liberahties per- 
 mitted to each pope. According to them, the sovereign pontiff 
 could without abuse, establish a m.-.jorat worth four hundred thou- 
 sand francs net income, found a second geniture in favor of some 
 relauve m less advantageous circumstances, and give a dowry of 
 nine hundred thousand francs to each of his neices. The d.ief 
 of the Jesuits, R. P. Vitelleschi, approved of this decision. 
 
 Thereupon Innocent X. set to work to foun.l the house of 
 Pamphilh, to construct the palace Pamphilli, and to create the 
 Tilla Pamphilh, and to pamphillize, as well as he could, the 
 finances of the Church and State. 
 
 Clement IX., who distributed three millions in the first months 
 of his reign, was accused of neglecting his family ; still he founded 
 the fortunes of the Eospigliosi. 
 
 Clement X was not useless to the grandeur of the Altieri. 
 The austere Innocent XI. did not prevent the progress of the 
 Odelcalchi. Clement XII. aided the Corsini to make the future 
 which IS to-day one of the most imposing in llome, and nepot- 
 ism did not disappear from the pontifical habits until after the 
 reign of Pius VI. and the Braschi 
 
 The popes of the nepotic period neglected nothing to ally their 
 nephews to the most ancient families. This is why we see a 
 house Doria-PamphiUi, a house Borghese-Aldobran.lini, a house 
 Barberim-Colonna, a house PaUavicini-Rospigliosi, a house Bon- 
 compagni-Ludovici, and a houso Boncompagni-Ludovici-Otto- 
 
 The founder of a new family took care to institute a majorat • 
 that IS to say, an inahenable capital, transmissiUJe from male to 
 male, and destined to perpetuate, indefinitely, the splendor of his 
 name. 
 
 It is for this reason that we see sucli a house, rich in land, 
 palaces, viilas, and galleries, but indebted beyond measure bear' 
 mg heavily a great name without fortune, and an enormous cap- 
 ital without revenue. In order to liquidate, and satisfy its cred- 
 itors by the sale of some pictures or real estate, it is necessary to 
 tiave a special act of the pope, who can do everything 
 
 It has also been tlie good pleasure of the sovereign pontiffs to 
 introduce some rich parvenus into the Koman aristocracy 
 
 A baker by Uie name of GrazioU made a great fortune, and 
 
 THE ROMAN NOBILITY. 
 
 143 
 
 
 the pope ordered that lie should be inscribed upon the hst of the 
 Eomarpatricians. He bought a barony, and the pope made 
 him a baron ; he bought him a duchy, and behold him Duke 
 Grazioli ; his son married a Lantc do la Rovere. 
 
 An ancient domestic became a speculator and a banker, bought 
 a niarquisate, then a principality. He created a majorat for h.3 
 oldest son, and a second geniture in favor of tlie other. One 
 married a Sforza Cesarini, and married his two sons to a Chigi 
 and a Eu.polL The other got for a wife a Colouna Dona. It 
 is tlius Uiat Uie family Torlonia, by the power of money and the 
 lavor of Uie pope, was suddenly elevated to the height of the 
 irreatest nepotic and feudal houses. 
 
 A tobacconist made a fortune, and became Marquis Ferraiuolu 
 A director of a mont-de-piete made his fortune, and became 
 Marquis Carapana. A country merchant acquired a fortune, 
 and became Marquis CalabrinL The Macchl di Viterbo were 
 millers before being genUemen. The father of all the Counts 
 AntoneUi was a peasant, steward, accountant, and forcstaUer be- 
 fore obtaining letters of nobiUty. , • , . 
 The near relaUons of a pope are aU nobles by natural right 
 The cardinals and simple prelates also endeavor to raise their 
 
 relatives to Uie nobility. 
 
 Benedict XIV. and Pius IX. have taken care to consohdate 
 tlie barriers which separate the noble caste from the mezzo ceto; 
 "considering," say they, "that tlie disUnction of classes .3 the 
 best ornament of states. ... mi 
 
 Sixty noble families are inscribed at tlie Capitol. To an her- 
 aldic convention, instituted by Pius IX., is committed the care of 
 verifyin- the titles. If Uie pontifical government was more firmly 
 esUblished in Italy I would give some good advice to all our 
 parvenus of commerce and the Bourse. 
 
 lu.iead of usurping Utles or parUcles which the French tribu- 
 nals Im-e sometimes tlie impudence to take from them, they nee(i 
 only transport tliemselves to the States of the pope. I here are 
 ia this country a good number of cliateaux to sell, without comiU 
 in. Uie more important domains. The purchase of a shed a 
 ruTns might raise a servant to the title of prince, if the holy 
 ikther does not say no. 
 
 We read in the Roman directory : 
 
 *' The lamily MonUiolon cfe S^monville iiJ one of the most illua- 
 
 itf'i.JS-S 
 

 144 
 
 ROiTE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE ROMAN NOBILITY. 
 
 145 
 
 trious of France. The Prince D. Louis-Desir<5, scion of tliia 
 house, has. by buying the chateau of Precetto in ITmhria, become 
 a Roman prince." 
 
 I hear it said around me, that to obtain the same honor it is 
 not necessary to be descended from one of the mo<t ilhistrious 
 families of France. It is sufficient to come to Rome with a few 
 millions. 
 
 The country nobility, after having been extraordinarily rich, 
 has fallen into a sort of grandiose mediocrity. They have im- 
 mense domains, a magnihcent palace at Rome, a splendid villa 
 in the suburbs, some chateaux in the provinces, one or two ^A- 
 leries which are the admiration of strangers ; but all this fortune 
 composes an inalienable majorat. They are forcefl to preserve and 
 even take care of it. The revenues which should suffice are 
 encumbered with a thousand and one mortgages : they owe not 
 only their creditors but even their ancestors. This one has founded 
 a chapter of priests ; that one has endowed a college, decorated a 
 chapel ; tlie chapel, the college, and the chapter are so many in- 
 creasing burdens, which weigh upon the poor heir. It followg 
 from this tliat the disposable revenues of the most illustrious fam- 
 ilies is not in proportion with the need of their rank. 
 
 The Corsini have 500.<X)0 francs, net revenue ; the Bo: 
 450.000; the Ludovici 350.000 ; the GrazioU 350.000 ; tlie Dona 
 325.000; the P Mosi 250,000; the Colonna 200,000; the 
 Odescalohi 200.1K.>U ; the ^lassino 2» Patrizi I50.'o00 ; 
 
 the Orsini 100,000 ; the Strozzi lOO.UuO. 
 
 There are but two famihes whose revenues are, so to speak 
 unlimited ; these are the f;imi!y Torlonio, and the family Ant^J 
 nelU. The Antonelli are the richer, if we may believe the 
 Prince Torionia, but they are not willing to acknowledge it. 
 They deny it as if it were a crime. I never knet^ why. 
 ^ Rich or poor, a Roman prince is forced to hold his rank. Ap- 
 pearance is the first of his duties. It is necessarv that the front 
 of his palace be kept in repair, that the tiT>nr - have a grand 
 
 air, that the gallery should not, by ^ , on, excite the com- 
 passion of strangers. It is necessixry that tlie lackeys should be 
 numerous, that the liveries be not wanting in br^^ . that the 
 carriages be freshly painted, the horses wellfed, should the mas- 
 ter be obliged to retrench a plate from his dinner. It is necessary 
 that the dependents of his house be assisted in case of need, and 
 
 1 
 
 iV> 
 
 that the beggars bless the generosities of the lord. It is requi- 
 site that the toUets of monsieur and madame be not only ele- 
 gant but rich ; for really the nobility ought not to be confounded 
 with Uie viezzo ceto. Every year a grftnd, stupid, and splendid 
 fete must be given, which will consume, in candles, a quarter of 
 the annual income. If any of these requisites are wanting 
 tliey will fall to the rank of fallen lords, caduti, who conceal 
 themselves and are forgotten. 
 
 By what miracles of secret economy can these poor rich be 
 enabled to balance their budget to a true equilibrium ? This is 
 a complicated and melancholy history. They are condemned 
 every year for seven or eight monUis to country hfe. They hvo 
 with an Italian sobriety even in Rome, in this great palace which 
 has its enormous kitchens. They do better still ; the ma.ster of 
 the house, the heir of a feudal baron, or a nephew of the pope, is 
 the chef de bureau in his own house. He locks himself up six 
 hours a day with clerks ; he overlooks, himself, the list of receipts 
 and expenses ; he carefully examines the leases , he re-reads 
 the tides ; he blackens his fingers m the dust of parchments. To 
 shun the inevitable leakage which wastes the largest fortune he 
 employs his Ule in making additions. Still every one plunders 
 him, and the clerks finish by enriching themselves at his expense, 
 for most frequenUy he is neither educated nor capable. 
 
 How has he learned to protect his property or to mcrease lU 
 ^Vhen a mere child, he was committed to tlie care of the R. F^ 
 P P Jesuits, if, however, they did not think it nobler to keep 
 him at home under the stick of the Abbe. His preceptor or his 
 pr,.fe..^rs taught him Latin, UUes-htires, sacred history, heraldry, 
 respect for the authorities, submission to the will of the Church, 
 Uie practice of the ClirL^tian virtues, hatred of revolutions, the 
 elory of his ancestors, and the privUeges which, by tlie grace ot 
 God, he inherits. He regards tlie hberties and the sciences of 
 our a-e as inventions of the enemy of mankind. At home he is 
 good, kind, simple-hearted, solter than wax, and whiter than 
 
 snow. , ^ 
 
 When he is grown up, they give him a horse, a Geneva 
 watch, ^Wth a chain of Mortimer or Casteliani, a new coat cut m 
 the last style of the ParL^ian .Ufred or London Poole He ac- 
 quires the habit of making caUs, promenading on the Co^^^ 
 ie Pincian at the hour when the htav^n^nd^ shows itself, and ot 
 
 ^M 
 
146 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 frequenting the theaters and fashionable churches. He affiliatef« 
 with two or three religious sets, whose reunions he follows up with 
 assiduity. He has not traveled, he has read nothing, he has 
 escaped the passions, doi/bts, and interior tumults of youth. Be- 
 tween his twenty-second and twenty-fifth year the respected 
 will of his father married him, without love, to a younir girl of 
 good family just from the convent, as simple and as ignorant as 
 himself. He has children— plenty of children. He brinies them 
 up as his parents reared him. He teaches the oldest that his 
 brothers owe him obedience ; he teaches the younger sons tliat 
 they are the very humble servants of their elder brother. He 
 puts his daughters into the same convent where their mother 
 learned ignorance. He tells his beads with tlie family every day 
 that God grauLs, and asks from heaven the continuation of an 
 order of thmgs so happy, so noble, and perfect. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the irregularities Uiat education has given 
 him, he IS wanting neither in goodness nor in elevation of souL 
 He gives away as much and even more tlian his resources per- 
 mit All miseries, real or false, move his heart and loosen the 
 strings of his purse. He does ^ot know the pictures of his gal- 
 lep', but he opens his gallery to the public. He knows not 
 what to do with his park or his villa, which ruin him, but his 
 park and lus viUa are open to Romans and strangers. ^Vhen he 
 IS called upon to be represented in a Congress or to fete the re*- 
 toration of legitimate authorities, he gives one hundred thousand 
 Irancs to his ambassador, hke the Prince Piombino, or he offers 
 to the people of Rome a banquet of one million two hundred 
 thousand, like the Prince Borghese. 
 
 I avow that the nobility is I slightly decaying element of the 
 Roman population. Their most remarkable qualities are negative 
 quahlies, such as submission and politeness. 1 do not think tliey 
 lack courage, but their courage has not had, for a long time an 
 opportunity to show iL^lf. However, tliey are neither contemn- 
 tible nor odious. The Italian Revolution was wrong in making 
 any dependence upon a worn-out and resourceless caste, but it 
 would be unpardonable to do or to wish it any evil. A 93 
 Roman, who would confiscate these open and h. ' ■ le palacea. 
 would deserve the blame of all the honest people ol Europe A 
 Marat who would deliver to the executioner those fine heads, 
 Bmilmg and empty, would be the most absurd of criminals 
 
 •mE EOMAN NOBILITY. 
 
 147 
 
 ' 
 
 And the women of the nobiUty ? There is hllle to be sa.d, 
 for or a^rainst their virtue. Cicisbcism has gone out of fashion 
 wuh nepotism. The shameful licentiousness which flourished in 
 the first years of tlie nineteenth century, has given place to 
 
 becoming manners. , ^u • u,,- 
 
 Here as everj-where, the women are better than their hus- 
 bands. ' It is not because they read more, nor that they have 
 been differently reared. All their superiority comes from nature, 
 which has better endowed the amiable than the strong sex 
 
 Almost every day I take a drive, which, beginning at the 
 Villa Bor-hese, continues to the Pincian, and ends on the Corso, 
 after sunset. My inseparable companion is a French engmeer, a 
 man of good sense and observation, who has been in Rome a 
 long time, and knows by sight almost all the nobihty. It has 
 not been necessary for him to point out to me that air of azy 
 and self-satisfied nullity which distinguishes at least one hall ol 
 the aristocracy. But when our attention is given to the women, 
 it is quite different. They are not only beautiful and elegant 
 but Uieir eyes, their atUtudes, their gestures, everytbng about 
 them, indicates an indescribable sometlung unsubdued, and a 
 Lcre revolt against nullity. Poor women 1 Brought up m the 
 Tde of a convent, married without love to --e- 'XT, 
 ducer who burdens them with family, they are, »<> heighten th^ 
 misery, condemned to a life of icy representation, full of ^ isits, rev 
 ™ and emptiness. Eveothing is duty for U.em, even to 
 Te^ d^ily promenade. The trade of women of the world, su 
 a^'s imposed upon them, leaves no place for love, nor even .or 
 
 '"rS'^here allude, in a few words, to the spirit of the three 
 cUus^cs that live in Rome under the domination of the clerf^. 
 
 This population is not worse bom, nor worse endowed nor 
 less worthy to recover its independence, '^^f .t'^^^'; ' ^/ *! 
 luUan natfon. But care has been t-.ken to bring j up other 
 wise, and to pluck from it, as from a well-weeded fi«>J. ^ ' ^l^^^J 
 idea.s all vigorous sentiments that might grow up in their souls 
 ThU bad «-eed has-thank God-aKvays sprung up again, but 
 lo^ flwand stunted than it should have been. The Roman 
 nobThty is more of a nullity, U.e Roman people poorer and more 
 r™t; even the middle class offers fewer resources for Rome, 
 
]MS^M$^xiM!h4^^ixi^00ibif':L:^i^ ^4%f 
 
 148 
 
 EOALE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 than in any other city of Italy. And still, tho middle class is 
 here the only element which may be counted upon. 
 
 Furthermore, it must be said, that the population of Rome in 
 the aggregate, is not positively opposed to the temporal power 
 ro-cay, as always, they have for the popes a friendship, unequal* 
 crochetty, divided by discontent and anger. The real advan- 
 tages drawn from the presence of the Holy Father, the expenses 
 of the court, and tlie wealth of strangers, often counterbalance 
 m their eyes the disagreeable part of servitude. It may be 
 that drawn into the ItaUan movement, they will begin a-ain 
 the nsks and perils of Uie revolution of 1849 : but I shall not bo 
 astonished if they regret their masters after havin- driven them 
 away ; for Rome is not only the victim, it is also associated with 
 tlie temporal power, very different in that respect from Ancona 
 iiologna, and so many other cities which pay the expense of 
 despotism without sharing in the profits. I think, then, that Uie 
 dehverance of Rome, although it may be desired by some of its 
 citizens, 13 more necessary lor the reorganization of Italy Uian 
 conformable to the prayera of the Romans. 
 
 Universal suflrago will decide this delicate question better 
 than myself. It is that I wish to consult 
 
 Wn 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE ARMY. 
 
 T DO not say that we arc all heroes in our dear France, but I 
 l think that wc all have a little of the soldier. 
 
 It is very well to reason and philosophize ; say that man is not 
 created to kill man; execrate the instruments of destruction in 
 proportion as they become more perfect, and applaud the excel- 
 lent ideas of Mr. Cobden : some fine morning we perceive that 
 we are bom with little red pantaloons, and that all the other 
 garments we have worn were only disguises. 
 
 In the month of July, in the year 1853, I thought myself per- 
 fectly imbued with the ideas which the peace congress preached. 
 I arrived in Rome ; a French battalion defiled, with music at the 
 head, upon the Quirinal. The uniform, the music, the fiag— all 
 this apparatus of war, which had never sensibly moved me, they 
 affected mo, I know not why, in the secret depths of the soul. 
 It was two years since I had left France ; the image of my own 
 country vividly appeared to me ; my eyes filled. I watched the 
 flag ; it was more resplendent than the labaruin of Constantme. 
 I looked down at my pantaloons ; tliey were red, aU red, and of 
 so fine a red that I wept on seeing them. 
 
 There is, if I am not deceived, a pontifical flag, with the keys 
 of St. Peter in the center. It is a flag well preserved and in 
 fine condition. The balls and the bullets have not left any holes 
 in it ; but if any one should tell me that a Roman had wept at 
 the siMit of it, I should be very much astonished. 
 
 Do'you remember the fig-tree that was in the garden of the 
 misanthi-ope Tiiiion ? All the Athenians wished U> hang them- 
 selves upon it, because a good number of young and healthy men 
 had aheady been hung Uiere. The flag of the pope is a fig-tree 
 
150 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 upon which no one has thought to hang himself, because no one 
 has been hung there. 
 
 This is why the conscription, which has a place in our cus- 
 toms, as well as in our laws, will not for a long time be a Roman 
 usage. France can say to the young men of twenty : " Come 
 here and draw a lot. Those who obtain a small number will take 
 care of their red pantaloons ; the others will be authorized to take 
 black pantaloons." 
 
 The children of our country are never so happy, in fact, as when 
 they play soldier. Roman infants play priest. They say little 
 masses and organize little processions. They are dressed as abbes 
 when tliey have been well-behaved ; ours look forward to New 
 Year's day for a gun, a sword, or at least a drum. 
 
 Is that saying that the French are braver than the Romans ? 
 Certainly not The Italian race, which formerly conquered the 
 world, is to-day one of the most masculine and most energetic of 
 Europe. The Romans are Italians as well born as the others, 
 but differently brought up. 
 
 The prince who reigns at Rome, ought to have no need of 
 soldiers. Spiritually he peacefully governs the minds of one hun- 
 dred and thirty-nine millions of men, which is quite handsome. 
 Temporally, he administers a domain which amply suffices for 
 all his wants. Should he seek to extend or to round it out by 
 conquests, he would commit a mortal sin, and put himself to the 
 necessity of danming himself. The question of natural frontiers 
 does not furnish him with a sufficient excuse, for, finally, his king- 
 dom is a donation from some pious persons. One does not look 
 a gift horse in the mouth. 
 
 The pope has no need of soldiers, nor of conquest, nor even 
 of defense ; for his neighbors are Catholic princes, who will make 
 it a matter of conscience to arm themselves against an inoffen- 
 sive old man. 
 
 Why, then, has the pope an army ? To repress the discontent 
 of his own subjects. But it is evident that the Romans would 
 not be discontented, and that the pope would not need arms, if 
 the pope governed his States in a manner satisfactory to the 
 Romans. 
 
 If the pope thinks himself forced to raise an army, it is doubt- 
 less because the Romans are discontented. If tlio Romans are 
 discontented it is, according to every appearance, because tlio 
 
 THE ARMY. 
 
 151 
 
 government of Uie pope does not do what is necessary to make 
 tliem contented. 
 
 I suppose that tlie Romars are very difficult to please, or that 
 the pope has not the time to satisfy them, since he finds it shorter 
 and more economical to raise an army, which frightens his sub- 
 jects. 
 
 But here a new difficulty is raised. The Romans are not dis- 
 posed to clothe themselves with red pantaloons and shoulder a 
 gun for the service of the pope. Whv ? do you ask ? But pre- . 
 cisely for the reason that I tell you, because they are discontented. 
 
 The pope, wlio is an absolute sovereign, can decree a conscrip- 
 tion. But this novelty would redouble the discontent, and the 
 end will be missed. 
 
 Moreover the conscription is a source of fear to the ponti- 
 fical government. An army recruited by this means would be- 
 long less to the pope than to the nation. This is the very thing 
 to be avoided. 
 
 Sixty francs of bounty to all the Romans who, of their own 
 will, consent to put on the red pantaloons in the service of the 
 
 pope ! 
 
 Sixty francs, that is very modest. At that price one can not 
 buy choice men. If you were a wagon-boy, a hod-carrier under 
 the order of a mason, would you not prefer this relative liberty 
 to tlie servitude of tlie miUtary life ? And will sixty francs make 
 the balance yield ? 
 
 The French enhst voluntarily. We see young men of good 
 family, coming out of college, sliding their bachelor's diploma 
 into tlie cartridge-box of the soldier, and spiritedly go wherever 
 their country stmds them. If any one should offer sixty francs 
 to these voluntary recruits, they would respond that it was too 
 much and too httle. But we are a mihtary people. The youth 
 of our country love their country as a mistress ; they do not fear 
 being killed in the sight of her fine eyes. 
 
 The native country for a well-born Roman is Italy. The pope 
 is not his country— the pope is not Italy. Those who would 
 willingly put on tlie red pantaloons for the defense of Italy, are 
 not willing to disguise themselves as soldiers for the defense of 
 the pope. It is even said, in certain circles, that the pope and 
 Italy are not the best friends in the world, and that to enter into 
 the service of one would be to render a bad service to the other. 
 

 152 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 THE AKMT. 
 
 153 
 
 Agreed it is an error, an absurdity ; I hope so. But it is be- 
 Leved m the States of the Holy Father ; anV they rep y to te 
 ree™t,n, „mee,.: "I .,„ not sell n,y cuntj f^r'tweWe 
 
 crowns "'f i 7'°'"'^ of ™i^i"S the enlistment bounty to twenty 
 
 franT" will nn f '"'^Tr" ""^ "''""'^- ^ """^ "^ '^ ^^''M 
 trancs wiU not be much better tl.an a man of sixty 
 
 Jt you wish to create an army, recruit it amon^ honest people 
 In J ranee a sokher ought, above all, to be a man of n.oanr Tl e 
 mos absolute conOdenee rei,=n>s in the barracks. The "malic t 
 tl.eft ,s p„n,shed with a rigor wisely niagnif.ed. An indS' 
 
 t:t;i:";*x: '"^ ''"''-' ^°""--"-' '^ - ^--^ 
 
 The pontifical government is very ea^y re-ardin- the elnraeter 
 of Its volunteer recruits. They are ask^d, indee.!; for ferUfi. 
 cate of good conduct, signed by the cur6 of their pari.* ■ but the 
 curees do not scruple to guarantee the morality of the worst ndi- 
 viduals so long as it concerns sending them to the arn v IW 
 get nd of them at the cost of a little fib, and all is said ThI 
 nbunaks themselves, if they are in pursuit ;f a seou d"^ do nol 
 
 W^ut"" '"^ --^-S- J-aica. punisliment, di^ 
 
 nar^tlvffr,?'™'',"" ^^^^n-ited, partly from the milit..ry and 
 partly f om the e.vdians. With the civilians they are treated no 
 
 wot' i?, ; ?r """' '""''^- '^ '"' "- -i^"-y " - --h 
 worse The chef de corps are invited to designate the soldiers 
 
 woltr r '"': '"-' P^'''^" ^"■'"■'^'•y- Thej-reeommen" S 
 worst subjects m order to get rid of them 
 
 soilr' r,' """" /° '""^ "'"' ^ '''^" ''"' '^"''n committed by a 
 soldie , and even by one of the armed police. Why sl.ould it bo 
 expected that n,en of bad character U...ome honest in the Lr 
 uec ? Aetther good conduct, nor lengU, of time spen under 
 U>e flag, nor mentorious actions, nor personal instn>c^on aSc 
 auythmg for advancenient. It is n.ado by the prelates u^nle 
 recommendation of other prelates "iwn me 
 
 I am assured that in lS49thcre'was more discipline and prrv 
 b.ty )n U.e revolutionary troop of Garibaldi than in the e-^uW 
 ■-^Y. of tl.e pope. The theft of a coral necklace o/a Lm a 
 uoUimg, was immediately punished with deatlt ' 
 
 I have met with plenty of gcnsd'armes who did not kno^y 
 
 ' mrt copper pieces of five sous ---^'^''7-^7 , 
 circulation, all this debased coin was sent to Rome. A deto^' " 
 ment of gcnsd'armes escorted each convoy, the pensdarm.s 
 opened some sacs and hghtcned the load of the wagons. A gen- 
 
 1 d'arme informed me. , , r „ Ti,„a 
 
 It may happen that a bad cause recruits good soldmi-s. Thus 
 the Kin.' of Naples made a very pres..ntable army Duty is not 
 tlie sole moving power of man. We have less noble and equally 
 powerful ones, like pride, for example, and ambition. A\ hcrever 
 advancement is given to merit, the soldier seeks to deserve ad- 
 
 vanccment. . , , 
 
 In the Papal States the soMier is nothing. Uc is less than 
 nothin-'. Two examples from a thousand. A coachman was 
 drivin.." his master to the theater, and refused the contersign; 
 Uie se"ntinel demanded it, the coachman whipped up lus horses 
 
 and passed on, saying, 
 
 » Do your duty as a soldier, and leave me to attend to mme as 
 
 a servant." 
 
 The livei-y is nobler than the uniform ! 
 
 A Roman merchant in a small way. gave an evening party. 
 A stranger presented himself; he was the son of the l'""^- "« 
 was engaged in the army of fmanco, was a custom-house officen 
 The oldest brother went to receive him in the aute-chamber, and 
 beled Mm to call in the next day; they had invited somo 
 Frenchmen ; there wa.s company there ; the family did not ..sh 
 to compromise themselves by h.troduc.ng a so dierl Ihe next 
 • mornin" this elder brother met in the Piazza d'Espagna a enm- 
 .Xniployed upon the public works of the Colonna umiacu- 
 Uta 1 ne shook hands with him publicly. The f.-iend.h.p of a 
 galley-slave is mucli less discrediuble U.an to be tl.e relative of 
 
 a goldier. ^ ^♦:„,» qc fVio 
 
 And the officers? They are upon the same foot n? as tne 
 oufer civil functionaries. They form part of the middle class. 
 Solu..y does not receive tl.cm, and holds them m slight esteem 
 A monk, do what he m..y, will always be tlie superior of a 
 
 '°T"e''.n-ade of colonel is, to this day, the highest in the army. 
 The fuKtlons of U.e general are filled by colonels. The title 13 
 
 . i_.rf V - jJ j-i^k!c« ji.. 4hAc'H'%^tiifr< 
 
 
«- fj^ji- .i'-if^'KSrVf'leA/ifC^til^ 
 
 154 
 
 KOILE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE ARMY. 
 
 155 
 
 a Dominican, a Carthu^^ian fnir nr « Po.^ u u ^ "^^^'' ^^^^'^''^ 
 The di^iUm nff} ' Capuchin bears so proudly. 
 
 head of the aJ-my! * ^" ^^ ^«^'«>'^=t'cs at the 
 
 To-day I June, J SoS) the njinistrv of war U f,n„ 4 ^-.u 
 or obnoxious men held in .™,n . ^ '"''' '^^ 
 
 of grave indelica^iek the necSvt r/fiT™"'" ^'"^ 
 but nothing i, done. " ^'^'^"'^n -^ '«ln"tted, 
 
 W^tJfo^',I!\''"°""^'' ^■°''°'^''"' ''f "-^ French artnv 
 ~~^r >r P= '""' '* r^-^rganize a.e Roman anrr ^n' 
 
 -I nev have '5uot-ppi-'.:».i ir, »,^.u- >v:inout us. 
 
 hnveheat^fhralXil-^P;-;- -ir ^^^ ^ 
 
 •he ^venunent. the sbadowVThernlSe. ^e ^itf 
 all are opposed to the creation of a pontifi.^ ILv O ' ! '' 
 the water. ""^ ""^ ^nitructors, all has fol'en inw 
 
 Still I should do tusuce towns P ->.„,- m 
 very honorable eSbri. Th v Tt^v X" ' v' \"t 
 
 French officers, but to what p ^^ ."m ' ^" ^"^ ^« 
 
 choice, that i3 to say favor, above ti^e'erad; of . ' "" ^^ 
 
 i he specal coT« contain some d-- 
 
 ''-- •.vou'd 
 
 maintain their rank ahjrwhere. The offio^rs of the engineer 
 corps are excellent theorists ; they want nothing but practice. 
 
 Even practice is not wanting to the officers of artillery. But 
 tl-.e gooil-will and the talent of some individuals are lost forces in 
 an army without a future, without esj^ril de corps, without pride, 
 without devotion, without confidence ; where one can not count 
 eitlier upon his neighbor, his chief, or his flag. 
 
 The school of cadets was established to furnish officers. It is 
 not an arL-t<x*ratic institution, as the name might lead one to 
 Buppose. The Roman aristocrac\' no more cares to put its sons 
 into the army thian the Faubourg St. Germain thinks of sending 
 its children to the droits-8*Mnif. The cadets are mainly the sons 
 of small merchants, or the children of officers. 
 
 They are received without examination, upon some person's 
 simple recommendation. They are gently instructed, in the 
 Koman fashion. The chaplain of the army carries a high hand 
 over the est nent 
 
 In 1S5S, General Goyon v.-ishei to inspect personally, the 
 shool of cadets. He confirmed the fact that certain pupils 
 c- >uld not make a division. The French course existed only in 
 t;.' ir programme: the professor of history, after seven montlis* 
 instruction, still dc. . in the fourth or fifth day of the creation 
 of the world. The programme made no mention of modern 
 history. The house was badly built and in very great disorder. 
 The htrMiers placed at the piUow of each student were wanting 
 ill holy water. General Goyon turned to one of tlie employees, 
 and said to him very pleasantly : 
 
 *• What, sir ! not even holy water ?" 
 
 The poor man naively remarked : '• Your excellency, they are 
 now making some fresh." 
 
 The Roman soldiers wear the same uniform as ours. There is 
 only a slight dillerence in the collar, but one sufficiently great in 
 tiie l-earlng. 
 
 Difficulties someuc.es arise between individuals uc.0114.ng to 
 t:.e two armies. Our generals severely punish these fK>t-house 
 quarrels. 
 
 I remember that a Fren-ja anJlery officer was attacked by 
 f . ur Ss^liiers of the Roman infantry. The a. jrs ingeniously 
 
 threw their sabres at him so as to reach Lim Irom a distance. 
 Uc picked up a weapon from the pavement, ran alter his enemy, 
 
 
156 
 
 KOMK OP TO-DAY. 
 
 and cut off a piece of a nose or car. The general bv an act of 
 perhaps cxccssu-o impartiality, inflicted upon hfm as ,ln ,^^ 
 wounded n,an, a month's confinement in pHson!^ ' '" "" 
 Ihe pontifical army costs ten millions ner ann,„„ „, i • 
 
 CetrrSa "'"^■?,-' -■ ^^^^ -n'i ■ 
 our nionc^. ' "''^"^ "'""'"^'' ""' ''' '"'^- «<>-=thi„g for 
 
 ■i".eeverywhcre%utpHncip^nnG™n:any''r:mrrL^^ 
 
 given himsell the trouble to equip them. Th.-y are ha^v v 
 treated ; they are even submitted to the bastinado ^ 
 
 rulS m tlXSntl^^t:;"^ '-'' '-''' ' - -- ^- 
 
 arntv^Tr: ^^'''"'^T'"' "/ ^'^ '^^""'^ ^^'"^ ^°^r°™' i" ti.e French 
 
 amj He so conducted himseli; and cut so many caper, that 
 
 he chiefs seriously thought of cashiering him Wlnt , M Z ll 
 
 Ha^« forty Germans, and entered a. omc;V;:tV'i p;',:.! 
 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE GOVERNMENT. 
 
 IF you arc curious to know what I tliink of the pontifical gov- 
 ernment, my dear reader, the thing is very easy. Make a 
 little journey to Switzerland or Belgium. Enter the first book- 
 store which comes to hand, and ask for a volume entitled The 
 Jioman Question — you will see my opinion at length, in the clas- 
 sic costume of Truth. 
 
 That'which I printed in the month cf April, 1859, was true, 
 and is still so. I retract not a single word, but prudence forbids 
 my repeating it. If I allowed myself the pleasure of giving you 
 the second edition of a work condemned and damned, the mag- 
 istrates of our fine city would seize Rome of To-day to read it 
 at their case. Perhaps even they would send me to prison, all 
 the time agreeing with my way of thinking. 
 
 This is why I will imitate the wise reserve of scalded cats, 
 who even distrust cold water. Behold the exact copy, and with- 
 out commentary, of the statistical information which was fur- 
 nished me in 1858 by a devoted chami)ion of the temporal 
 power : 
 
 " Our holy father, Pope Pius IX., happily reigning, is the two 
 hundred and filty-eighth successor of the prince of the Apostles. 
 He was born at Sinigaglia the 13th of ^March, 1792, of the noble 
 family of the Counts Mastai Ferretti. His exaltation to the pon- 
 tificate dates from the IGth June, 1846; his coronation, the 21st 
 June ; his possession the 28th of the same year. 
 
 " From time imiYiemorial, the Holy Father is not only the 
 spiritual chief of the Catholic Church, comprising one hundred 
 and thirty-nine millions of souls, but also the temporal sovereign 
 of the Italian State, the superficies of which amounts to four 
 
 
158 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GOVERNxMEXT. 
 
 159 
 
 millions, one hundred and twenty-nine thousand, four hundred 
 and seventy-six hectare?,* and the population to three million 
 one hundred and twenty-four thousand, six hundred and sixty- 
 eight men. lie unites in his hands the powers of the pontiff 
 the bishop, and the sovereign. 
 
 " His States, which are the guaranty of his moral independ- 
 ence, belong to him personally, and depend upon him akmo. He 
 is the father of his subjects, and he has over them the rights of a 
 father over his children. He can make laws, change them, or 
 infringe them. The only limit of his power is that which ho 
 deigns to impose upon himself. His absolute authority is tem- 
 pered but by justice and his goodness of heart. 
 
 " For the administration of the general affairs of the church, 
 the Holy Father naturally adds the sacred college of Cardinals. 
 The Cardinals form around him various congregations, each one 
 of which exercises a special function. We have the Roman and 
 universal Holy Inquisition, the Consistorial Congregation, the 
 Apostolic Visitation, the Congiegation of Bishops and Regulars, 
 the Council of Trent, of the Revision of the Provincial Decrees 
 of Council, of the Residence of Bishops, of the State of Regulars 
 of the Ecclesiastical Immunities, of the Propaganda, of tiie In- 
 dex, of Sacred Rites, of Ceremonials, of Regular Discipline, of 
 Indulgences and Holy Relics, of the Examination of Bishops, 
 of the Correction of the Books of tlie Oriental Church, of the 
 Venerable Fabric of St. Peter, of Loretto, of Extraonlinary Ec- 
 clesiastical Matters, of Studies, of the Reconstruction of the 
 Basilica of St. Paul, of the Peneiemeria, of the Chancellerie, 
 and of the Apostolic Daterie. 
 
 " For the government of temporal matters, the Holy Father 
 reserves the right to promulgate his will in the form of a consU- 
 tution de motu propria^ de chirografo sovrano, of rescripts, and 
 all tliat of which he judges it best to decide by force of law, in 
 the present or the future. But he has the custom of referring 
 his current affairs to the charge of a Cardinal Secretary of Stiite. 
 This first minister, friend, and confidant of the Holy Father, rep- 
 resents tlie sovereign to strangei-s and pontifical subjects.' He 
 names and directs the diplomatic personnel, composed of cardi- 
 nals or prelates ; he publishes in the State the edicts, to which 
 
 • Two acres one rood thirty-five perches make a hectare. 
 
 , 
 
 a strict obedience is due, as if the laws emanated directly from 
 the Holy Father. He confides to whomever seems good to him 
 the subaltern portfolios of the interior, the public works, finances, 
 and the army. The ministers are not colleagues but employees, 
 for he is cardinal and they only prelates. He it is who appoints 
 the prelates charged to administer the finances, like the prefects 
 of your departments. 
 
 " In your quality of Frenchman, you probably know the or- 
 ganization of the Gallic church ; but it differs so much from ours, 
 that my words will be like a sealed letter if I do not give hero 
 some words of explanation. 
 
 " In your unfortunate country, overturned by a long series of 
 revolutions, the clergy, despoiled of their property and their 
 privileges, are compelled to confine themselves to tlicir spiritual 
 domain. A French seminarist, ailer having received the sacra- 
 ment of the order, departs as a curate into a miserable village, 
 where he feeds some Hock in wooden shoes. The skeptical gov- 
 ernment, that treats upon a footing of perfect equality the min- 
 isters of all religious, inscribes in its budget this priest of the 
 true God between the schoolmaster and the rural guard. In 
 exchange for a pitiful salary of nine hundred francs, you exact 
 that the priest slavishly obeys atheistical laws, and prostrate 
 hiraseff belbre the lay authorities. If he proves himself to have 
 talent and zeal, you nominate him arch-priest or curate of a 
 canton. From this new employment he is not removable, and 
 takes from the budget a sum of twelve or fifteen hundred francs, 
 according to the number of the papulation ; but he does not ex- 
 ercise any legal authority out of the holy temple ; he must sub- 
 mit, like the first comer, to tlie jurisdiction of the laical tribu- 
 nals ; he has not even the right to put a man into prison ! If he 
 deserves by his virtues to be elevated to the episcopacy, he can 
 not be instituted by the Holy Father until he has been nomi- 
 nated by the laical chief of your government. This the con- 
 cordat signed in 1801 by Pope Pius VII. and th6 Consul Na- 
 poleon* Bonaparte exacts. I am enraged when I think 1».iat 
 Monseigneur Sibour, Archbishop of Paris, who died a martyr at 
 the foot of the holy altar, had been nominated by the General 
 Cavaignac ! No more heart-rending fact can be brought to show 
 how with you the spiritual is slave to the temporal. 
 
 " Tilings go differently under the care of the Holy Father. 
 

 ^.a^^r^ 
 
 IGO 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GOVERNMENT. 
 
 161 
 
 An irreproachable logic maintains, in the temporal domain, order 
 and the ecclesiastical hierarchies. The Holy Father is absolute 
 master of the property and persons of his subjects, because all 
 that has been given without condition to the supreme head of 
 the Church. After him, the principal authority and the liighest 
 employment belong to the cardinals. Nothing more just and 
 more natural, since the cardinals are the principal chiefs of the 
 Church, and any one of them, the Holy Spirit aiding, may some 
 day become Pope. After the cardinals, princes of the Stiite as 
 of the Church, are placed the high and respectable nobility of 
 the prelates, who are all in the way to become cardinals. The rest 
 follow in the same order, and the thirty-eight thousand three 
 hundred and twenty pereons who compose the secular and regu- 
 lar clergy exert in the State an influence proportionate to the 
 rank wliich they occupy in the Church. The last of these thirty- 
 eight thousand three hundred and twenty persons is immediately 
 superior to the lirst of the laity. This hierarchy is as constant 
 in the eyes of the government as in the eyes of God himself. 
 
 " In 1797, before the spoliations of which we were the vic- 
 tims, the Roman clergy, regular as well as secular, possessed two 
 hundred and fourteen millions of francs in funds. To-day its 
 territorial fortune is entered on the registry at five hundred and 
 thirty-five millions. You see that it has repaired its losses. The 
 Koman cardinals touch but twenty thousand francs per annum 
 from the cash box of the Pope, but we should add to this modest 
 sum the revenue of some bishopric, of some benefice or high em- 
 ployment selected among tht- tnost lucrative. This combination 
 allows them to appear poor and to be rich. When the pageants 
 of the Court of Rome are attacked before you, you can always 
 say, with M. de Rayneral, that the cardinals receive but four 
 thousand crowns per year. But you have sufficient good sense 
 to comprehend that their stable alone often eats up more than 
 four thousand crowns. 
 
 " The sacred college of cardinals, the number of which varies 
 from sixty to seventy, is recruited from the prelacy. In France 
 you designate under the name of prelates only the bishops and 
 archbishops, but it is uiilerent with us. The prelacy, is an in- 
 stitution entirely Roman, and which has no analogy in other 
 States of Europe. It is a sort of spiritual and temporal aristoc- 
 racy recruited by the Holy Father, who has signed the letters of 
 
 nobiUty. It is a school where by degrees one is raised to the 
 dignity of a cardinal ; it is a political career where some enter 
 for ambition, reserving to themselves the right to quit through 
 discouragement. The younger sons of good houses, on leaving 
 college, may obtain and even buy certain domestic or judiciary 
 posts which open the prelacy to them. At this moment they are 
 like bachelors in France, who may aspire to every thing. They 
 wear violet stockings; and thus shod they advance in the road of 
 honors. The administration, diplomacy, the high courts of jus- 
 tice are the domains ; or, if you like it better, the race-course of 
 the prelates. The most skillful and tlie best thinkers rise before 
 the others, but rank Ls necessary, protection, conduct, and espe- 
 cially fine bearing. When a prelate comes to be nominated 
 auditor de rote, or clerk of the chamber, or secretary of the great 
 congregation, he may hope, without too great presumption, that 
 he will die in the purple. He who attains to one of the four 
 great employments of the prelature is certain of his affair. 
 These employment?, which are named cardinalesques, are those of 
 governor of Rome^ treasurer-general, auditor of the chamber, 
 and major domo of the pope. New titularies enjoy in anticipa- 
 tion some of the prerogatives reserved to the holy college. They 
 paint their carriages red, and they attach red silk top-knots to 
 the heads of their horses. 
 
 " It is never too late to enter into the prelacy, and one is 
 always free to go out of it Suppose that a man of good intel- 
 ligence, like you, wakes up with the call or the ambition to enter 
 the sacred college. The Holy Father may even name you prelate 
 to-day, and you will wear violet stockings. You will belong 
 ipso facto to the aristocracy of the Roman Church, to the etat 
 major of the papacy, and that without contracting any religious 
 obligation. You will pass to the cardinalship, and you will take 
 tlie red stockings, tlie day that the Holy Father shall think pro- 
 per ; in twenty-four years or in twenty-four hours. It is requi- 
 site that, at the last moment, you be ordained deacon, for one 
 never becomes a cardinal witliout this formality. If the hat 
 makes you wait toodong; if your patience is cxliausted, if you 
 find on the road an opportunity for an advantageous marriage, 
 notliing prevents you from quitting tlie prelacy. You put on 
 Avhite stockings, and all is said. The Count Spada, who was 
 prelate and minister of war, went out of the prelacy to marry. 
 
 ■■**■'%::' w 
 
 &h-L£iK^ lii.. 
 
162 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE GOVEENMENT. 
 
 163 
 
 He is nothing, and will be nothing in the State, since he baf 
 taken off his violet stockings ; but no restraint was ex erted to 
 
 retain him. 
 
 " The Holy Father, the cardinals, and prelates govern Avith a 
 paternal gentleness the nation which belongs to them. They 
 have a particular regard for the princes and nobles, not only 
 because the Roman nobility is especially of pontifical origin, but 
 also because the distinction of classes is the foundation of the 
 pohcy of the States. They reserve for a Roman prince the hon- 
 orable charge of senator or mayor of Rome. Another great lord, 
 by especial privilege, directs, without putting on violet stockings, 
 the administration of the post-oCBce. Four Roman nobles, 
 princes, dukes, or marquises, accompany his Holiness in the 
 religious ceremonies, under the title of chamberlain of the capo 
 and sword. The younger sons of some good houses compose the 
 noble guard, in dress of sky blue, and, in general, it may be said 
 that the sons of family make their way more rapidly than th« 
 plebeians, in the ecclesiastic career. 
 
 The people of the lower class are gently treated. They are 
 sympathized with, assisted, amused ; nothing is asked of them but 
 to hve like Christians and avoid scandal. One might wish them 
 more perfect and especially less violent ; but as they submit to 
 their dogmas and their masters, the authorities cast an indulgent 
 vail over their sins, and avoid, as much as possible, shedding their 
 blood. 
 
 The intermediate class, if they dared to complain, would also 
 have little favor. They are allowed to cultivate the land and to 
 devote themselves to commerce and manufactures. No one 
 bothers them about their religious and political opinions, provided 
 they carefully keep them to themselves. Nothing is demanded 
 of them but obedience to the laws and seventy millions, taxes ; 
 for which they get something, for the prelates generously give 
 up an incredible multitude of small employments in which a man, 
 content with httle, easily gains the wherewithal to live. All the 
 well-thinking and well-recommended bourgeois find places in 
 some office — a tribunal, a depot of tobacco, or the bureau of a 
 lottery. The thing is to choose a protector, to obey him in 
 every thing, to bear oneself with the humiUty of an unassuming 
 condition, and ostensibly to practice the Christian virtues. 
 
 It may be said that the Pontifical States have always been 
 
 %: 
 
 amiably governed by men gentle and polished, whose education, 
 habits, and faith predispose to indulgence. The prmces of tlie 
 Church, humbly submissive to the venerable scepter of the Holy 
 Father,' share without strife or jar a secondary authority. They 
 make a large part of the Roman princes, their allies ; and the 
 prelates, their future colleagues. An exchange of good offices, 
 recommendations, and reciprocal concessions, closely unite all 
 men who are something in the St^te ; a tradition of patronage 
 and of clientage as ancient as Rome itself (for it dates from 
 Romulus), keeps in submission to them the simple people and the 
 
 intermediate class. . 
 
 *' All would then be for the best, if the revolutionary spirit, 
 escaped from Uie depths of the abyss, was not like a scourge 
 spread over Europe and Italy herself For more tJian two hun- 
 dred years some innovators— enemies of the rehgious faith and 
 monarchical tradition— have endeavored to wake up m the mind 
 the soi disard principles of human infallibility. Aft^r havmg sap- 
 ped the foundations of clerical authority by claiming for the indi- 
 vidual the discernment of true and false, of good and evil, which 
 belongs only to the Church, they are come, by the logical con- 
 sequence of their system, to deny the legitimacy of aU temporal 
 power, and to put subjects above kings. We have seen millions 
 of men, drawn into the torrent of a common error, affirm tliat 
 a kin-dom belonged to them, from the simple fact that they were 
 born hi it, and abolish or limit the power of their prmces. 
 
 *' This contagion has not been arrested at the fronUers of our 
 St^te, and for many vears the Sovereign Pontiff and the sacred 
 colle-e have been obliged to contend with the most intolerable 
 exi-encies of human pride. Without the presence of the French 
 anny wliich defends us, the people of this country would pro- 
 claim a republic, or throw itself into the arms of a foreign prince. 
 Constrained to rocognize the authority of its legitimate masters, 
 it insolentlv claims to share it with us. There is neither a city 
 nor a villa^^e wliich does not demand the right to administer by 
 iLseh^ and 'to elect a municipal body. The laity pretend to usurp 
 the hiMi offices reserved for the prelacy, and to serve the pope 
 in «pite of himself. The advocates wish to unite in assembly and 
 make laws, as if law, in the States of the pope, could be any 
 thing eke but the will of the pope! Finally the contnbutors, 
 
 
104 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 who ought to pay to Caesar that which is Cesar's, and to Gk>d 
 that which is God's, do not fear to call us to account. 
 
 " We would disdain to answer pretensions so new and mon- 
 strous, if tliey were not in some sort supported by our protectors 
 themselves. Who would believe it ? The ambassador of a 
 Catholic prince quahfies with tlie name of abuse the fundamental 
 institutions of our monarchy. Your emperor himself, in a letter 
 which no one could take seriously, counsels the secularization of 
 the administration and the adoption of the Code Napoleon I 
 
 " Prudence commands us to obey, at least in form, counsels 
 coming from so liigh a power. We have promised what has 
 been demanded of us, and traced upon paper the plan of our 
 ruin. But the invasion of the- laity into the employ of govern- 
 ment, the adoption of a revolutionary code, the emancipation of 
 our communes, the public discussion of our budgets, would make 
 of the Holy Father a constitutional king. His religious authority 
 would not long survive in the minds of men, his political infal- 
 Hbihty— the pope would no longer be pope 1 But we profess a 
 religion which interdicts suicide." 
 
 To this picture, flattering yet sufficiently exact— to the reason- 
 ing, indisputable in its deductions, but founded upon doubtful 
 axioms — I will add but a few words. 
 
 The government of the Pope, to satisfy the desires of its pro- 
 tectors and its subjects, has instituted a kind of representative 
 regime. The Holy Father appoints communal electors, charged 
 to name in each village a municipal council. But to spare them 
 the embarrassment of a choice, he takes it upon himself to com- 
 pose the council. 
 
 The municipal councils, thus formed, present to the Holy 
 Father a list from which he himself chooses the members of the 
 provincial council. 
 
 The provincial councils, in their turn, present to the sovereign 
 a list from which his Holiness chooses the members of the Com- 
 mittee on Finances. The pope adds to tliis council, formed by 
 himself, some prelates of his choice. 
 
 The Committee on Finances is intended to give its advice 
 upon all questions wliich affect the treasury. It was instituted 
 in September, 1841). It entered into function in December, 
 1853. It gives its advice, and no account is taken of it. 
 
 The mayor bears the name of senator of Rome and Bologna. 
 
 THE GOVERXMENT. 
 
 165 
 
 of gonfalonier in the cities of less importance, and of prior in the 
 ) villages. But senator, gonfalonier, or prior, is only a passive in- 
 
 atnimont in tlie hands of the ecclesiastical authority. 
 
 The Holy Father may indefmitely suspend, by his chirografo 
 sovrano, the execution of a regular judgment even in a civil 
 matter. I do not think that any other sovereign of Europe so 
 overrules the law. 
 
 It may be said, witliout fear of contradiction, that the pope 
 
 reigns and governs. 
 
 The Secretary of State, charged to defend without, and to ex- 
 act witliin, the absolute authority of the Holy Father, lias been 
 for tlie last twelve years the Cardinal Jacques Antonelli. 
 
 sasJ!r* 
 
■^!A':-t:Ai&l>'2 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 TF this chapter abounds in enormous contradictions, I bcff the 
 -* indulgent reader not to be at all astonished. All is contra- 
 diction in the city of Rome : a people weU-born and badly brou-ht 
 up; a government full of grandeur and of littleness; laws very 
 mild and very despotic; taxes very moderate and, notwithstand- 
 mg, very burdensome; a great fund of natural sinceiitv with 
 much acquired hypocrisy; and economical life, with foofish ex- 
 travagance ; a wary prudence and blind passions; the habit of 
 retirement and an eager desire to be known in the world- a 
 great admiration for social equality, and profound respect for Uio 
 existing inequality; a constitution despotic enough to concen- 
 trate all the power in the hands of one man, and democratic 
 enough to put the kingly crown upon the head of a capuchin friar. 
 AU the statues which are seen in Rome, whether in the public 
 places, or even in private galleries, are complet^'ly mumed up 
 with vine leaves. Some of the allegorical figures which decorate 
 the tombs of the old popes have been clothed with a drapery of 
 tin. The artist made them nude, considering that we owe only 
 truth to the dead. Modern hypocrisy has clothed, draped, stuffed, 
 and smothered them, as if a beautiful statue could be an object 
 of scandal To make amends, men are allowed to bathe literally 
 naked in the Tiber, or even in the basin of the fountain Paolina. 
 Nobody IS shocked by this license, neither the police, nor the 
 pubbc, nor the Roman women, who go and come and wash their 
 imen around these hving statues, without thiukin- of evil 
 
 Jjy'l ^"^ !^" ,^''P''"^ ^^ ^" ""^y ^J^^"^- ^'''^ ^^ i^^menso 
 establishment, richer and better endowed than any of the otlicrs. 
 
 A young man, a resident of the house, received mo at tho door 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 167 
 
 9m» 
 
 and conducted me very politely, without knowing who 1 was. 
 He is a physician ; at least, he has passed the examinations of the 
 theoretical doctorate. In two years ho will pass the practical 
 doctorate, and will go to some village to practice his profession. 
 In the meantime he studies, but not all that he wishes to. He 
 confessed to me, in confidence, that he had never seen the body 
 of a living "svoman. 
 
 " And the accouchemcnts ?" 
 
 " We deliver puppets enclosed in a small mannikin. But when 
 I have passed my last examination, I shall have the right to 
 attend women." 
 
 " I pity the first one who shall come under your care." 
 " And I, also." 
 
 The halls of the hospital arc enormous, both in length and 
 breadth. Four rows of beds, end to end, without curtains ! The 
 feet of one patient touch the head of another. The interests of 
 these poor unfortunates have been sacrificed to the grandeur of 
 the building. 
 
 A placard hung near each bed indicates the regime proscribed 
 for each patient. " Whole portion, half portion, porridge and 
 pg:^, viaticum^ This last w^ord made my hair stand on end. 
 Poor things, to be told eighty hours beforehand that they are 
 doomed to death I 
 
 Some one calls away my guide to point out to him number 
 two hundred and so many, who is just passing away. I follow 
 him, and see a man writhing in the agony of the last convulsions. 
 He is a peasant, who was attacked by a gastric fever for want 
 of proper food. A hospital nurse straightens his limbs, removes 
 his shirt, spreads a sheet over him, and lights a lamp. I observe 
 then that five or six similar lamps are lighted in the room : so 
 many corpses. !My cicerone points out to mo that the happy 
 idea has been adopted of afilxing to each bed a kind of ring to 
 support the funeral lamp. 
 
 A friar, large and fat, circulates in the ward, distributing abso- 
 lution to those who require it For the otliers, there are two 
 grand confoFsionals near the entrance door. 
 
 I am shown a peasant, red as a tomato, and sweating great 
 drops in his bed. He has been bitten by a tarentula ; notwith- 
 standing, there is nothing in his appearance which indicates a 
 passion for the dance. My young doctor affirms, that the bite 
 
w ^aHifit^t'-Asn»ff --B*^-^V 
 
 168 
 
 EOME OP TODAY. 
 
 cf the tarentula induces a violent attack of fever. Nevertheless, 
 he inclines to think that fear has much effect in this malady. 
 Sometimes a complete cure is effected by a glass of water, or by 
 a pill made of a crumb of bread. 
 
 One hall is specially devoted to the sick soldiers. They are 
 paternally cared for, even their irrdigicms maladies. But in this 
 particular case, the price of their medicine is deducted from their 
 pay. In consequence of this, a soldier who is sick from hia own 
 fault avoids the hospital, and remains sick as long as God pleases. 
 
 I visited the amphitheater, the anatomical cabinet, and all the 
 scientific collections which belong to the hospital. The most 
 remarkable specimen is a sore clothed with a vine-branch, for the 
 eihfication of the young physicians. Et nunc erudimini I 
 
 The Hospital of the Holy Spirit, hke all ecclesiastical pro- 
 perty, is a place of asylum. A robber, an assassin, a parricide 
 can here find refuge, to recover, or to die, under the shelter of 
 the laws. Some invalids, profiting by such gracious impunity, 
 have thought that it was allowable for them to rob and to kill 
 in this inviolable retreat. But the pontifical authority, consider- 
 ing that it is not right to abuse such clemency, has i. i that 
 the crimes and offenses committed in the hospital can have no 
 right to impunity. This law, engravei upon a slab of marble, is 
 placed in view of the sick, who, however, do not know how to 
 read. 
 
 The Foundhng Hospital connected with the Holy Spirit, has 
 seen the prologue of a httle drama which would seem hardly 
 credible, if the tribunals had not taken pains to verify it. 
 
 In 1807, the Duchess X., who had already a son and a daugh- 
 ter, was clandestinely dohvered of a third child, in the palace of 
 her husband. Why did she have the new-comer conveyed to the 
 Hospital of the Holy Spirit, instead of presenting it to the Duke 
 X? Perhaps l>ecause tlie Duke had occupied separate apart- 
 ment.^ for many years. The httle Lorenzo X. entered tlio world 
 by the door of the foundling children, without other capital than 
 a five franc piece, su= ' J at the end of a ribbon. 
 
 Some time af\er, the L»jchcss, who had some maternal affec- 
 tion, proved tliat the five tranc piece ' to her. She 
 reclaimeii Lorenzo, put him out to nurse, and allowed Lim a 
 yearly allowance of twenty francs a i n was scrupu- 
 lously paid to the time of his majonty. inks to the LUraliiy 
 
 EOMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 169 
 
 of his mother, he did not die of hunger, and learned to pjunt 
 
 miniatures. 
 
 The deatli of \i\^ father, and of bis elder brotlier, changed his 
 
 occupation. 
 
 He saw a pretty fortune, about seventy-five thousand fi*ancs 
 income, passing into the hands of his sister, the Princess T., who 
 was not exactly in want of it The Princess T. is forty or fifty 
 times a millionaire! Hunger, opportunity, public favor, and 
 certain enemies of tlie family of T., urged Lorenzo to reclaim the 
 name and property of the X. family. 
 
 If I could transcribe here the different parts of the lawsuit, 
 which have been collected in one volume, you would see some 
 curious facts. The advocate for the claimant charged the Duch- 
 ess with having left her son in penury, whilst she committed 
 follies for a druggist of Frascati. The Princess T. said, by the 
 organ for her defense, " This young man is the son of my mother ; 
 so^be it : but very certainly my father had nothing to do with 
 him. Mamma had an infinite variety in her affections. Lorenzo 
 is the son of some one. probably of a Russian called M." 
 
 But the most marvelous of all, is the deposition of the Ducheai. 
 At the moment of appearing before God, this august lady did 
 not disdain to declare, for the interest of her daughter, that her 
 son was a bastard, and incapable of inheriting. 
 
 Notwithstanding such respectable testimony, the young Lo- 
 renzo gained his cause : Is pater est quern jusicR nupti<B denum- 
 gtrant. Besides the advocates proved that the late duke had 
 compromised himself with all the women, the duchess with all 
 the men. and that, consequently, the duke and duchess must, 
 once in a while, at least, have come together. 
 
 Lorenzo, educated in adversity, is one of the most energetic, 
 most intelligent, and liberal of the Roman aristocracy. You will 
 find him at the head of all the enterprises which can advance the 
 progress of Italy. His sons are brought up in Piedmont ; they 
 are not allowed to come to Rome, even during vacation, as 
 t . the air of the Holy City could poison their minds. 
 
 His one defect is a deplorable awk-wardness in the use of fire- 
 
 anns. 
 
 Another romance. The Duchess A. was left a widow in ia50. 
 Her fortune, like her palace, was still quite imposing, although 
 somewhat dilapidated. 
 
 8 
 
170 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Fortune so arranged it that a regiment of French dragoons 
 was stationed in the neighborhood of the palace A. Eacli morn- 
 ing the duchess had only to place herself at her window to be 
 able to witness tlie toilet of the horses. She remarked a young 
 quarter-master who had quite a grand air, although he was su- 
 perintending a prosaic operation. From watching him she fell 
 in love with him, and as she had done nothing to displease, she 
 pleased him. Coming to an understanding, she learned that 
 M. H. belonged to a very honorable family of Norman hus- 
 bandmen. He, personally, was esteemed by his conuades and 
 superiors. He would not be long without an epaulette. The 
 duchess waited till he became an othcer, pei-suaded, not with- 
 out good reason, that a French oflicer was the equal of a 
 born gentleman. M. H. has quitted the service ; he cultivates 
 the lands wliich belong to his wife, and builds up a fortune that 
 Roman carelessness had allowed to decay. His wife is no longer 
 a duchess, but she will be rich and she is happy. The difficulty 
 will be to the lackeys in Rome, who will be forced to announce 
 the former Duchess A. under the name of Mme. H. As for the 
 peasants on her estates, they said to me very naively : 
 
 " Our new master is called the Duke A. since he has married 
 the Duchess." 
 
 When love has gamed possession of a Roman heart, it reigns 
 supreme ; everything yields to it, interest, duty, and even preju- 
 dice. Look at this no longer young man who is hastening to 
 the Piazza d'Espagna. It is the Prince C. He is going to kiss 
 the hand of a young girl, a dealer in groceries, by whom he is so 
 much infatuated that he wishes to marry her. Such folly will 
 astonish no one. It is true that the wife holds but a small place 
 in the family, and a man can choose where he will, without com- 
 promising himself. 
 
 It is not that the Roman wives are beings of no consequence. 
 There are some very spirituelle^ like that little Princess C. de S. 
 
 The Prince C. de S., who died of old age in 1849, had married 
 in 1848 a lady very much younger than himself. The same day 
 that the old dotard was placed under ground, his widow declared 
 that she was enciente, and she was not accused of falsehood. 
 She was delivered of a son at the limit of legal delay, and her 
 presence of mind made his fortune. 
 
 " This child was born watch in hand," say the jurists. 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 } 
 
 : 
 
 Education is in vain. \Vc find, even among the nobility, 
 Roman women who are very proud and very noble. 
 
 That poor little ToUa or Vittoria Savorelli, whose history I 
 published some years ago, was certainly not a vulgar soul. 
 
 I have lately met her seducer. He is an insignificant fat man. 
 His remorse, if he ever felt any, has not emaciated him. 
 
 ^I. Savorelli, the father, is absorbed in business. He manu- 
 factures stfc-ariue candles, and is making very quietly the fortune 
 of his family. He has in his house a beautiful bust of his daugh- 
 ter, sculptured by a brother of Tolla. 
 
 I saw recently a young girl of very good family, who has had 
 the courage to learn the profession of painting, in order to marry 
 a poor young man whom she loved. After eighteen months of 
 study she became capable, love aiding her, of painting copies 
 quite as presentable as most that are sold to strangers ; but her 
 lover was no longer true to her ; he courted another. This 
 heroic girl did not die like Tolla. She is enamoured of a for- 
 eigner, who will not marry her, who has told her so, but whom 
 she loves in spite of common sense. She has refused the hand 
 of an old diplomatist, who is immensely rich, to remain faitliful 
 to this Frenchman, who is not even her lover. 
 
 The Prince T., the richest man in Rome, is perhaps also the 
 most unhappy. His family has recently lost a fine duchy, an 
 important inheritance, and an enterprise prodigiously lucrative. 
 His wife is insane, his heirs are daughters, his brother is nobody, 
 one of his nephews is an idiot, and the other, who was worthy 
 to live, will die. Sic trayisit gloria mundi. All the city sincerely 
 pities the Prince T. He sells his money somewhat dear, but he 
 has done good with it, encouraged the arts, and given splendid 
 fetes. 
 
 His two nephews have married daughters of great families, 
 very beautiful both of them. The wife of the eldest has a char- 
 acter open, loyal, and passionate. She resists energetically the 
 encroachments of her sister-in-law, who uses more than the 
 diplomacy of Richelieu and Mazarin to procure the right of primo- 
 geniture for her husband. 
 
 One day recently the Cardinal Antonelli invited the ladies of 
 the Roman nobility to a torch-hght promenade in the vaults of 
 Saint Peter's. At the supper which followed, his eminence ap- 
 
 ;•**? 
 
tarn -hUiA »■ ''*flJH1t " 
 
 112 
 
 BOMB OF TO-DAY. 
 
 proached the young Princess T., wife of the eldest, and excused 
 himself for not having invited her sister-in-law. 
 
 " You have done right !" replied the proud Roman lady. " It 
 is very necessary to maintain a proper distance between the 
 elder and the younger 1" 
 
 A Roman lady, a princess, educated in a convent, commuted 
 some imprudence. The waiting-woman knew everything, and 
 gave her mistress to understand tliat she could tell all. On 'such 
 an occasion, what French lady would not have arranged matters 
 with her ? My Roman lady slapped the impertinent°creature in 
 the face, threw her down, stamped on her, and sent her off im- 
 mediately. Our poor Stendhal, were ho living, would admire 
 this specimen of courage. Observe, if you please, that the prin- 
 cess is no virago, but a dehcate and pretty little woman. The 
 servant went away, and has never spoken of the affair. The 
 heroine herself related it to her friend. 
 
 Of aU the Roman nobles, the Prince de S., descended from 
 Valerius PubUcola, most nearly resembles the French, lie was 
 at the siege of Rome with our officers, and is worthy to havo 
 the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. His house is richly furnished 
 and, what is more rare, in good taste. His conversation is varied 
 and amusing, particularly before dinner. He is what is called in 
 Paris, un hon en/ant, but too much so for his own good. Yester- 
 day he was at Reignano for tlie solemn investiture'' of the young 
 duke. The municipaUty had prepared fire-works. What did 
 the Prince do S. do but light the fuse with his ci;?ar in broad 
 dayUght ? 
 
 I have sometimes met on tho Pincian another Prince de S. as 
 much a prince as his cousin, and reduced to live on a pension of 
 a few crowns a month. The latter would have made a fine sol- 
 dier in a country where the laity has influence. Ho consoles 
 himself for liis forced inaction with hunting roe-bucks and wild 
 boars. He is a Nimrod, resigned to his fate. He philosophically 
 walks his dogs on the Pincian at the hour when the Duke Grazi- 
 oU and so many other parvenu bakers pompously drive their 
 horses. 
 
 Horses, carriages, lackeys, liveries, and armorial bearings— the 
 city of Rome is full of them. The meanest little cure gives him- 
 self the luxury of a coat-of-arms. Nobody, except the fiacre 
 driver, puta a single horse to a carriage. The carriages are large 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 173 
 
 and showy ; one mounts to them by a ladder, as into paradise. 
 I am always asking myself why the cardinals and other grand 
 €eigneiu*s carry about three lackeys standing on the same board 
 behind the carriage. One is sufficient, I comprehend exactly 
 why the Turks put two sentinels in one sentry-box ; the hours 
 are long, the time hea\y ; tlie second guard may j)erliaps keep 
 the first awake. But tlu-ee Ibotmen in a slow trot behind one 
 cardinal! Is there some charitable intention concealed? Can 
 the second and third be put there to keep the first fi-om falling? 
 Then have only one, and make him sit down. 
 
 In Rome, the pettiest citizen makes it a point of honor to carry 
 nothing himself. The little boys who go to their classes "WTap 
 up their books in a silk handkercliicf and swing them negligently. 
 To show that they carry tlieir own books to school, would be to 
 confess that they have no servant. 
 
 A notary of Paris, who had studied this government, said, on 
 returning home, ** There is only one way to 'resolve the Roman 
 question. Sen<l off all the laity and leave only the priests." 
 
 Ratlier a violent measure I I imagine the same end can be 
 reached in another way. Let us give Italy to the ItaUans, and 
 Rome to the Pope. The "Eternal City" will be inhabited by a 
 peacefid community, resigned beforehand to a mild servitude ; 
 cardinals, prelates, priests, monks, princes, clients, providers, 
 lackeys ; total, fifty or sixty thousand individuals, who have all 
 exalted obedience to tlie height of principle. Add to this a float- 
 ing population of twenty thousand foreigners, who will come to 
 see the ruins shut up in this rum. 
 
 The Roman cardinals never, by any means, walk out in the 
 city ; theu- dignity obliges them to use a carriage. Those who 
 feel tlie necessity of a little exercise, go to the Villa Borghese, 
 or rather to a deserted garden which extends back of the Coli- 
 Beum. I do not remember ever to have seen one walking on 
 the Pincian ; but fine-looking prelates are often to be met there, 
 walking erect, their hose well drawn up, and followed by lackeys. 
 
 I am assured that the cardinals can not enter a church With- 
 out a certain ceremonial It follows from this, that if a cardinal 
 were incUned to open the door and go hke an humble behever to 
 Bay his prayers, etiquette w^ould bar the way. 
 
 The menials of Rome, full of respect for the cardinals, are 
 somewhat insensible to the episcopal dignity : it is because there 
 

 '•Cmu (KkKiAiissr* 
 
 174 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 175 
 
 are such a multitude of bishops in the citj. They say that, in 
 one of those ceremonies which always draw a crowd, a Swiss 
 guard drove back the people with blows of his halberd. 
 
 ''Take care," cried out a lackey, "you will knock down his 
 Eminence I" 
 
 "Pardon me," said the Swiss, prostrating himself before the 
 cardinal ; " I thought it was a bishop." 
 
 When a cardinal, in his carriage, passes a military stxmun, the 
 guard comes out and presents arms. The cardinal returns the 
 salute without touching his hat, by slightly raising his carriage- 
 glass. The inferior dignitaries salute in the same njanner. 
 
 A pensioner of the Academy of Home, whom I could name, 
 went to visit the manufactory of mosaics. In one of the work- 
 rooms of the establishment, he saw a prelate walking around 
 with his hat on his head. Concluding that it was proper to 
 remain covered, he put on his own liat. The prelate came up, 
 and with one stroke of his hand knocked it from his head. This 
 ia an anecdote of 1858. 
 
 Miracles are no longer wrought in Rome, nor in the Papal States. 
 Some zealous persons try it from time to time, but the Holy Office 
 soon puta a stop to it. A young girl who died at the hospital of 
 St. John retained for some time the color in her face. Mgr. Tizani 
 reported a miracle. The Inquisition commanded silence. 
 
 At Sezza, some four or five years ago, a pious young girl began 
 to prophesy, under the direction of two priests. The people 
 laughed at her prophecies. The government imprisoned the 
 pythoness and her two directors. 
 
 Three years ago, a young female medium attracted the crowd 
 about a mile from Rimini. Two ecclesiastics said m:u«s in her 
 chamber ; she prophesied fluently. Three Dominicans hastened 
 to Rome. The miracle wa^ stopped, the affair investigated, and 
 at the end of a suit which lasted three years, the young girl and 
 her magnetizers were on their way to the galleys. 
 
 Perhaps we may congratulate ourselves that the very lucrative 
 miracle of La Salette is produced in France. The Holy Office of 
 Rome is more severe than the clergy of Grenoble, or more pru- 
 dent. It is afraid of scandal, and holds fast to the old niiraeles. 
 
 The law, or at least the usage of Rome, permits a poor man, 
 if hungry, to steal a loaf of bread from the baker's basket. 
 
 I have seen famishing men who did not avail themselves of 
 
 this privilege. A peasant, who had numbered fifty years, was 
 walking along the Corso, looking from right to left with an indif- 
 ferent air. At the corner of an adjacent street he spied out an 
 enormous cabbage-stump, in a heap of fiith ; he ran to it, seized 
 and ate it with an avidity terrible to see. Wait. When he was 
 satisfied, or disgusted, he threw away the remainder. A young 
 fellow of twenty years, who had followed him for some minutes, 
 picked it up and devoured it. 
 
 These are observations which the mere tourist can not make. 
 Time ia wanting, opportunity, and a certain kind of curiosity. 
 
 The Turkish women sleep with their heads dressed, and the 
 Greeks with their entire costume. The Roman women, their 
 husbands, and their children sleep entirely naked. In Paris it is 
 untidy to sleep in stockings ; in Rome it is improper to retain the 
 
 shirt 
 
 A French lady had entrusted me with a small present for her 
 foster sister, married to a lockmaker of Borgho. I went to his 
 house on Sunday morning, at about seven o'clock. I knocked. 
 
 " Chie (who is it) ?" rephed a man's voice. I made known my 
 
 errand. 
 
 *' Excuse me," replied he, " I am not dressed." 
 
 " What is that to me?" 
 
 " Come in, then." 
 
 I entered. There he was, naked as a worm, but making the 
 profoundest bows. He conducted me thus to his wife, who was 
 in bed, attired in the same way. I handed her the silver watch 
 which I had brought. She screamed with delight. 
 
 At the sound four foathcrless birds half raised themselves 
 from a neighboring bed. They were the children of the house, 
 two boys and two girls. 
 
 Here is a story from one of my artist friends, a fellow to be 
 trusted, and incapable of falsehood : 
 
 -' While 1 was ranging the mountains, for the study of costume, 
 
 I made my headquarters in the village of • I was often 
 
 guided in my walks by a kind of good old hermit, who asked 
 alms by the way— a wordiy man, and not useless in his genera- 
 tion, for he was skUlful in puffing teeth. One evening we arrived 
 
 together at the hamlet of . No inn ; we presented ourselves 
 
 at the cotUge of one of the country people. Brilliant hospitaUty I 
 I heard two cries : me and couic ! Me, that is from a kid which 
 
ire 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 EOMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 177 
 
 they are killing ; coniCj that is from a hen whose neck is getting 
 squeezed in a drawer. After supper the countryman made a bed 
 for me in the room. 
 
 " ' For you,' said he to the hermit, ' you can very well sleep 
 with us.' 
 
 " He was married. I lay down ; he did the same, after putting 
 out the light, the wife in front, the husband in the middle, the 
 hermit behind; all three in the national costume. In the morn- 
 ing, before daylight, I heard a little noise ; it was our host, who 
 was getting up to go to his work. He came in at about eight 
 o'clock for breakfast. 
 
 "We are about to leave ; I wish to pay ; our host objects ; I in- 
 sist ; he is in despair. At length he says to the hermit : 
 
 " Since tliis gentleman will not permit me to give you hospi- 
 tality for nothing, take your tools and pull out a tooth for me. I 
 have one here which is going ; it does not ache yet, but it will 
 have to come out some day or other." 
 
 The people in town and country, and, indeed, all the common 
 people, love flowers. There are very lew among tlie peasantry 
 who do not plant a hedge of roses around the vineyard. Every 
 woman twines flowers in her hair ; the plowman comes back 
 from the fields with a nosegay fastened in his hat ; persecuted 
 lovers carry on their correspondence by the help of flowers 
 dropped along the path ; it is a handwriting with rules of its 
 own, where every twig has a meaning. In a village near Romti 
 the processions are trained to design, as they walk, a richly pat- 
 terned carpet of flowers. 
 
 It is not more than twenty years since the Roman nobility 
 distinguis:hed itself from the common people by an aristocratic 
 contempt, for the stench of flowers, h puzza de' fiori. What sur- 
 prises me Is, that in a country wher^ all the natural odors, even the 
 most disagreeable, are patiently endured, that an exception should 
 have been made with roses, violets, and heliotropes. 
 
 For a few years back the beau monde has been adopting more 
 natural tastes. I saw at the villa Borghese an exhibition of hor- 
 ticulture which gives evidence of progress. But if you will walk 
 through the gardens of the last century, you will notice that 
 flowers were excluded from the original plan. The gardens 
 were intended only for lawns, shrubs, laurels, evergreens, cypress- 
 es, parasol pines, and a great deal of cut stone. 
 
 %m^ 
 
 There is not, in all Rome, a tolerably comfortable bathing es- 
 tabUshraent. Strangers bathe at their hotels, and the nobility in 
 their palaces. A large part of tlie population deprives itself of 
 this little luxury, which, however, is a costly affair. 
 
 The dead are washed in warm water; how many Romans 
 have had only that bath? 
 
 "For whom do you take me?" was the answer of a young 
 Roman girl. " I am an honest girl ; I do not soak myself in 
 
 A pubhc bath, neatly kept, open to every one, would excite 
 the same astonishment as the lighting by gas, the laying of the 
 electric telegraph, the first locomotive at Frascati, or the first 
 turning figures, which drew the entire city before Uie windows 
 of a hair-dresser on the Corso. 
 
 Every one knows that in the Pontifical States a married man 
 can never succeed in anything. There is no career except for 
 celibacy. Nevertheless, nature is so powerful that Romans of 
 all classes marry young. 
 
 The people live simply ; tlicir masters allow them httle ambi- 
 tion, few pleasures, few ideas ; they devote themselves to repro- 
 duction. God smiles upon their efforts— hence the swarm of 
 children which covers the pavement in Rome. 
 
 The sovereign, that is to say, tlie clergy, does not tolerate tJio 
 free unions which unhappily abound among us. When a young 
 man and a girl live together, the police watches them, surprises 
 them, brings a priest, and inflicts the nuptial benediction. 
 
 Such surprises appear to you improbable ; they would be im- 
 possible in a country ruled by law ; but remember that in Rome 
 there is no law. J^Iarriage there is not an act but a sacrament. 
 The oi\il registers are kept, and badly enough, by the cures. In 
 the matter of birth, marriage, and death, the certificate of the 
 curd is the onlv paper which is taken in evidence. 
 
 If the clergy may marry people in spite of themselves, the pair, 
 matrimonially inclined, may, by another species of abuse, extort 
 the nuptial benediction, and force the hand of the priest. Let 
 two young people resolve to unite themselves without the 
 consent of°their families ; they betake Uiemselves to the house 
 of the priest, and surprise him as he jumps out of bed. One 
 says, in a clear and distinct voice, " This is my wife l" the other, 
 « This is my husband I" and if the priest has heard these two 
 
 8* 
 
M:i':iMi^^AMi^id 
 
 178 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 no 
 
 phrases, he >s obliged to bless the weddea pair. The trick is 
 complete; the marriage remains as iad.ssoluble as if tl.e mayo^ 
 of twenty arrond.ssements of Paris bad passed upon itiTo 
 authontjes may proceed against the delinquents, put he lad under 
 look and key or a fortnight, and dmt up the girl in a conven 
 tdcrno'S'- "^^ ^^''r "-^^ ^hall have thus pa.d their debtt 
 r!l "'^'"= """ ^'"'^'' ''^"•™' ""^ consummation of the 
 
 marriage 
 
 A good sHup e cure- in a parish in the precincts of Rome had 
 ^owed hunseh to bo caught napping, and had married vo 
 cluldren m sp.te ol hm>self. His bishop suspected him of allow- 
 
 1,;^^. , "'""' ^''""' '"' P'"-"'' '••''J ••' ^""il'-"- Tap for 
 
 m the night to carry the sacrament to a sick person in exlnmi. 
 He dressed hurriedly, lighted his lantern, and hastened ran 
 .solated house where the lovers were waiting for him. But he 
 was soon on h,s guard, and wlien he saw with what sort of sick- 
 ness he had to do, stopped his ears, sun- danced whirled 
 round read.ed the door, and rushed out like mad, withouT t ' 
 mg heard the two sacrament.il phrases. 
 
 Tl,ere is now in Eome a young country-girl from the kin-^dom 
 o Naples, whom all the artists know under the nan,e of Stella 
 
 « .tl> he. face and her costume, for she has sat for .nore than one 
 French pamter. Stella is very pretty and very prudent. She 
 crculates unharmed through the atehc,^ with no other chaperon 
 han her httle sister Gaetana. These two children (the elder "s 
 but e,ghteen-the younger nine or ten) earn together a dozen 
 J-anes a day by following the profession of n,o5el. Theyp<^e 
 fo he head and the dress. It is a very laborious occupatln 
 pa Ucu a, ly ,n the early stages. The absolute immobilitv of bodJ 
 m the desired attitude becomes oveq^owering at the end of half 
 an Lour, and I have seen inexperienced models fall like a hfeless 
 mass at the end of the sitting. 
 
 StfUa, as I have said, is ir'reproachably prudent. This youn-. 
 g.rl, who can not read, who has received no moral education" 
 who spends the whole day among young men, has never g ven 
 oc«ision for criticism. She follows her profession conscientiously 
 gathering crown after crown, until tlie day when she will be rich 
 
 
 • I. • 
 
 enough to purchase in her own village a house and a husband. 
 The«e southern mountaineers arc the Auvergnats ot Italy. 
 
 Unfortunately, Stella's village is under the control of the cure. 
 The c.ir,5 fancies that Stella is in danger at Komo. He writes 
 about it to the bishop of the province, who writes to '!'« P^^^'^ « 
 charged with the pontifical police. Consequence-orders to b ella 
 to "ive over or to marry. The painters complain loudly, and set 
 powerful springs in motion. A n.ontU-s respite is gained, liut 
 the curi^, the bishop, and the police return to the charge. A 
 husband is found for Stella. He is a booby of a mountaineer, 
 ugly, stupid, and lazy. He now crosses his legs on a t.ylor s 
 board, but he will cross his arms so soon as he shall be master of 
 a woman who earns money. The affair rests at this point. The 
 little Gaetana promises to kill the man. 
 
 You will ask me why these respectable edblesiastics consider 
 it their duty to make a poor girl who harms nobody marry ? Is 
 it the love of virtue? No, it is the horror of scandal \.rt.ue 
 i, not more common in Rome than in the other capitals of i.u- 
 rope, but scandal is more carefully hushed. The police does no 
 allow a young girl to have a lover-it would be scandalous ; but 
 the married woman may trade upon her charms-the flag covers 
 
 tlie merchandise. . .. , t 
 And the husbands, what say they ? Tliat is as it happens. I 
 ment at the house of an artist friend a young woman, who is not 
 there for her portrait. We talk. She tells me that she is mar- 
 ried to a shocm.-iker of F street. She boasts of her bus- 
 band, her mother-in-law, her children. 
 
 " But," say I, " what would your husband think if he knew 
 
 what I have just Icimed?" . , 
 
 '• He I He would think it no harm that I should gam a little 
 
 money from persons of quality (persone di garbo). Ah I it i 
 
 were to be imprudent with one of our own clas.^ he would kill 
 
 "^ Do you understand ? On one side w.int, on the other vanity. 
 
 Moral sense ? Absent. 
 
 Here is a more original anecdote. A young m.in from Lyons 
 tlio representative of a commercial house, stops m ^^^^^ 
 takes lodging in the ncighbori.ood of the post-office He is v^ 
 ited by a go-between. These gentlemen swarm in the city and 
 for a present of five francs they will kiss your hand. My Lyon- 
 
^^fi'k'^^SSiSjfe^i; ■ 
 
 180 
 
 EOME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 nese aided by his go-between, takes a mistresa She was mar- 
 husband. The lyonnese was prudent of necessity. He never 
 
 l>'s whip, but mid-way was seized witli indisposition A rL 
 ade w o was returning to Rome had changed bor^es wit Z 
 
 pected , and his first movement was to draw a knife The Lv 
 ZZ "^P''"'";'^'--o-d, entreated, set forth ht qJaLL' 
 Frenchman, and offered » indemnity the five or six crowns th^ 
 
 were cotTed "n '" '°'^''"'^"' '"^ ^^"^'"^ -^ '"~7 
 were accepted. "Dress yourself," said the man- "but if Pv.r 
 
 oTper; J^y^zTsS; u- "-- - ^^^^ 
 
 and at the foot of the i. A nlt^! T' ''''" ^°" '° ^^'"''=« 
 stay; wait for me. I £ VotiS^Tou ''T^r^T''. ""-^ 
 into his pocket, locked up^hirtrand S nf oif "Z^ 
 
 u es to 1 ve W °"°'^^,^ '""^"''"^'^'^ '^' ''« ''"'' »« *«" min- 
 utes to Int. Whenever they turned into a badly-li-^htcd street 
 ho said to himself :" Now for iH" W» ™ '0 '„'itcu street, 
 
 Lome'wi:hL'r'"'''^° "" '^°"'"" '° -™ -^ "- -y 
 
 The Eomaa answered, with sublime sweetness : 
 happeiTo'iU" "' "'"' "'"' ' '■^^''^^^' ">^' -- -'dent would 
 
 Sre^Tr^;:cShn:^rstt;^.^Lt"i" "--- ^^- 
 
 unconsciou^y to see if the dooSloLd """' '"•"°°'" 
 
 ROMAN CUSTOMS. 
 
 181 
 
 I 
 
 I knew a French officer, a handsome fellow, by my faith 1 who 
 was living in furnished rooms in the house of a very pretty Ro- 
 man woman. Her husband was a cardinal's servant, and earned 
 fifty francs a month ; the woman made the rest. Singular acci- 
 dent ! the creature had conceived a violent passion tbr her lover. 
 She sometimes treated him to scenes of jealousy, and the am- 
 val of the husband did not shut her mouth. " For heaven's^ke, 
 said the poor man, '^ let mc eat my supper m peace ! If you 
 can't hve without quarreUng, havn't you all the day to your- 
 
 Selves ? 
 
 The same woman had a son, a boy of some ten years. She 
 did not dream of concealing herself from him. On the contrary, 
 tlie child kissed her hand every night, and she gave hmi her 
 
 blessing. ,., , 
 
 The Roman people have unheard of deUcacies, and mcrediblo 
 brutahties of language. They will not say a hog, but a hlack anv 
 mat for euphonism. To make amends, they boldly call any man 
 a hog who may displease them. A mason on cntermg a drmkmg 
 shop will caU the wine-seUer monsieur le patron ; his wife, mad- 
 ame T espouse; liis clerk, monsieur h premier, monsieur U pnnci- 
 paJ But if you vex a little girl four years old, she will cover 
 you with abuse that would soil the mouth of a horse-killer. 
 
 I was riding in a carriage with a citizen of some fifty years, 
 and a very pretty girl, his daughter. At the first stoppmg-place 
 the father said to the young lady : 
 " Would you like to get out ?" 
 
 " No, papa." 
 
 " If you have any little occasion to satisfy, you would do very 
 wrong to incommode yourself These gentlemen wiU tell you 
 so, as°well as I ; you would do very wrong." _ ^^ 
 
 " Thank you, papa. I took my precautions before starting. 
 
 Oh nature 1 I softened the words in the translation. 
 
 This same citizen, in ^^Titing to his partner, would not omit to 
 ^>Tite out the full address : " To the very illustrious and most 
 estcemt^d Seigneur Bartolo." 
 
 M de U'vis was terribly scandalized when, in going up the 
 staircase of the Vatican, he met a servant who held out his 
 tobacco-box to a cardinal, and the cardinal helped himself to a 
 pinch. These famUiariiies may be seen every day m a city 
 where Uie social conditions are separated by vast gulfs. W hiie 
 
182 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Visiting the trenches of the Via Latina, I have seen the Cardinal 
 Barberini surrounded by prelates, priests, and servants in livery. 
 Tlie servants joined in the conversation. One lackey, with a 
 fluent totigue, began quite a dissertation, and a circle formed 
 about him. The cardinal, who is quite short, circulated on the 
 outside of the group, and saw only Uie backs of his domestics. 
 
 Monseigneur Muti, a Roman prelate, is descended in a direct 
 line from Mucins Scajvola. Some one asked him, 
 
 " What do you do with your evenings— you arc never to be 
 seen anywhere?" 
 " I stay at home." 
 " It must be tiresome ?" 
 
 " No, we play some little game. I have up the cook and get 
 away two or three of his crown pieces." 
 
 This anecdote was told me at Frascati by the ambassador of a 
 great power. M. de Martino, Minister from Naples to Rome, 
 and three quarters of the diplomatic corps heard it as well as I. ' 
 In a little excursion which I made about Rome with our excel- 
 lent M. SchnetJ!:, I remarked that the landlords always set four 
 covers for our dinner. We were but two, but M. Schnetz had 
 his coachman and valet de chambre, and it was thought a matter 
 of course to scat them with us. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 THE Romans of to-day, like those of old, know how to die. 
 We must do them the justice to acknmvledge this. They 
 accept with philosophic indifference all the necessities of life, 
 including this last of them all. Thoy die as they eat, as they 
 drink, as they sleep, as they love— naturally, simply, familiarly. 
 
 One is struck with admiration on reading in Tacitus how few- 
 were the ceremonies performed by the great citizens of the em- 
 pire in the presence of death. The resignation of the ancients 
 was due to the lo0cal and undoubted hope of an eternal sleep ; 
 perhaps also to the daily spectacle of mortal conflict in the am- 
 phitheater. The resignation of later times is due to the hope of 
 a life of happiness in a future world, and to the repeated moni- 
 tions of a religion which says that " all must die." 
 
 Every sermon that I have heard during the past five months 
 has contained one reference at least to the nearness of death. All 
 the churches that I have passed have been placarded with those 
 insi^-nia of mourning, on one side of which are to be seen the 
 coat of arms of some one deceased and on the other side a hide- 
 ous skeleton with this device, " Jlodie mihi, eras /iti— To-day 
 is mine, to-morrow thine." Thy turn will come ! 
 
 *' I open wide the gates of heaven and hell. 
 Life to the just I give, to sinners death." 
 
 At Velletri, before the workshop of a farrier, I even saw the 
 skeleton of a horse portrayed upon the sign, as if to t^ach the 
 bmtes that they, too, have to die. 
 
 Why not ? the brutes themselves have a religious duty to per- 
 
 4 
 
 
 'j^^^M 
 
184 
 
 EOME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 form in this sin-iilar country. They go every year on St An- 
 thony's day to take holy water. 
 
 But I must return to tlie human animal. The morning after 
 All Saints' day various incidents from Scripture are represented 
 m all the churches, such, for instance, as the death of Jacob or 
 the burial of David. The bodies have been usually made of wax 
 lor a few years past. It is not, however, very long since real 
 corpses were employed, which were obtained for the purpose 
 trom the hospitals; and the nuns used to send to every palace 
 bon-bons, called bones of the dead, the marrow of which was re-' 
 presented by sweetmeats. Strange expedient to nourish in the 
 Koman mind the thought of deatli I 
 
 Who has not seen in the square of the palace Barbcrini the 
 quarters of tlie Capuchins, in which everything is dead even to 
 the furniture ? Th^y consist of eight or ten rooms on the ground 
 floor. One day I found the windows open for the pumose of 
 airmg the tenement. I stopped and looked inside. The furni- 
 ture was uniform, as were also the dresses of tlie occupant. The 
 wainscoting was one continuous net-work of bones. In the 
 beds, contrived in the wall, reposed skeletons of friars in their 
 gowns. One had preserved Uie skin, anoth* the beard Fes- 
 toons, composed of vertebne, set off the bafeness of the walls 
 The eccentiic imagination of the monks had run riot in contriv^ 
 mg a thousand grim devices. Interlaced ulmc, bundles of radii 
 baskets of shoulder-blades, pelves, suspended in form of lusters' 
 with sockets made of skuU caps. Each room contained fifteen 
 of these monks, lying in two rows in good order: the earth 
 which directly covers them in the absence of coffins, is a mira- 
 culous soil brought home, they say, by the crusaders 
 
 In reality it is a sort of poussolane mixed with arsenic, which 
 has tlie property of destroying flesh in a few days. From Una 
 poussolane to the ancient funeral pile, the distance is not great. 
 I he French barracks are in some convent, where our soldiers 
 quietly smoke their pipes iu the court belbre tliose open win- 
 dows. * 
 
 The church of Buona Morte also has its vault decorated in tlio 
 funereal style of the Capuchin convent. Here are preserved as 
 neatly as possible, the bones of the drowned, the suffocated, and 
 the victims of otlier accidents. The brotherhood of Buona Morte 
 go in quest of the dead bodies. A sacristan of some skiU dries them 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 18^ 
 
 and arranges them as ornaments. I conversed some time with 
 
 tliis artist. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I am never so happy as when I am here in 
 the midst of my work. It is not for the sake of the few crowns 
 I earn daily by showing the chapel to strangers. No ! but this 
 monument which I keep, which I embelUsh, -vhich I brighten by 
 my labor, is become tlie pride and the joy of my life." 
 
 He showed me his materials, that is to say a few handfuls of 
 bones, heaped up in a corner, was loud in liis praises of pousso- 
 lane, and profuse in his contempt for lime. 
 
 " Lime burns the bones," said he, " and makes them crumble 
 to dust; what good can you do with bones aft^r they have been 
 
 in lime ?" 
 
 It is trash. Rubbeccia I 
 
 In Rome burials are, in reality, spectacles. At sunset, tlie hour 
 for promenade, you will find the Corso filled with an army of 
 Capuchins. Two or three brotherhoods pass in long files toward 
 an open pa!:.oe. Enter boldly with the crowd. The bier, sur- 
 rounded with a few torches, awaits the ])ody. The Swiss sen- 
 tinel squares himself at the door, in full dress. The deceased is 
 brought down, placed on a litter, and covered with cloth of gold 
 or silver. Four porters, disguised as members of the brother- 
 hood, take him upon their shoulders, and all is ready. The pro- 
 cession of Capuchins moves first, lighting their candles, which 
 illuminate the street. The associations come next. Then the 
 priests, and afterward the body, followed by two chests full of 
 tapers. The procession is closed by the carriages of the deceased, 
 all empty. What are you looking for? The relatives 1 the' 
 friends I they are not there. The relatives have borne the ex- 
 pense of the spectacle ; Uie friends enjoy it, like yourself. There 
 they are in the crowd, smoking tlieir cigars, and watching tlie 
 slow march of the Capuchins. 
 
 Beside the funeral cortege run fifty or sixty urcliins, armed 
 with paper trumpets. They pick up the wax which faUs from 
 the tapers, and do not scruple to break off sundry fragments, if 
 they spy an opportunity. On reaching tlic church they roU the 
 wax into pellets, and improve their skill as marksmen. While 
 • they are quarreling, and puUing each otliers' hair, the corpse 13 
 laid away in a corner, with litUe ceremony, and everybody goes 
 home. 
 
186 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 187 
 
 They always so arrange it that fine funeral processions shall 
 pass along the Corso, even if the deceased lived at the other end 
 of the city. What a rage for appearances ! 
 
 If any family has the misfortune to lose a handsome daugh- 
 ter, and the body is not too much decomposed, permission is 
 sought to inter it with the face uncovered. They paint the inani- 
 mate clay, they exhibit it, they make much discourse of the ex- 
 cellent qualities of the departed and of their own for twenty-four 
 hours. This is an amazins: success. 
 
 The nobles wear mourning; a mourning of ostentation, which 
 distinguishes them from the common people. The middle and 
 lower classes make no chancre in their dress. A citizen, some 
 time ago, having put on black clothes, on the death of bis moth- 
 er, I heard a bystander remark : 
 
 " Formerly, mourning was only for princes, but now the vas- 
 sals are presuming to wear it. What next?" 
 
 The word vaSv^al is worthy of note. 
 
 In aristocratic circles the younger is bound to wear mourn- 
 ing for the elder ; the latter may, if he please, wear it for tho 
 former. 
 
 Funeral cards are i: new custom which will with difficulty 
 be established. Why? Because the deceased is forgotten 
 the day after the funeral. He is in Paradise. God has received 
 his souL They speak of him no more. Visits of condolence are 
 in bad taste. It is out of fashion to remind people of the loss 
 they have sustained. 
 
 A Frenchman had danced a few times at a house in Rome. 
 Having heard that the father of the family was dead, he thought 
 it but right to call on the daughter. He was entertained with 
 much gay small talk about the weather and so forth. At length 
 he made a desperate attempt to approach the topic which had 
 brought him tliere. 
 
 " Miss," said he, " I sympatliize deeply with the sorrow which 
 has overtaken you. You well know liow attached I was to the 
 Count." 
 
 ** Truly I" said the orphan, with a gentle sigh, '' he was very 
 old." 
 
 " Yes, Miss ; but how wonderfully he had preserved the exer- 
 cise of liis faculties 1 ^yhat vigor of mind ! What a complete 
 character I" 
 
 I » 
 
 " Yes I so much so as sometimes to render our Ufe very hard to 
 
 bear." 
 
 " Ah ! is that so ?" replied the Frenchman, in a new tone ; " I 
 was only condoling with you out of politeness, and talking to 
 please. But I can laugh wnth you from the bottom of my heart. 
 I don't see why the decease of your father should give nie more 
 trouble than it does you. He is gone ! good day to him I" 
 
 The deceased of quality are interred in the churches, a usage 
 very projudical to the public health. Voltaire said so much about 
 the matter that the French law at length put an end to it. The 
 Roman law literally no longer permits a source of pestilence under 
 every church. But here abuses have more authority than laws. 
 It is prohibited to bury earlier than twenty-four hours after 
 death, but I have seen with my own eyes two persons carried to 
 the grave who had drawn their last breath the same day. It is 
 prohibited to biyy in the churches ; but I can certify that in the 
 httle town of Forli, between 1830 and 1858, this law was broken 
 one thousand four hundred and thirty-five times. I have taken 
 the figures from the official register. 
 
 The Roman clergy is interested in making a charnel-house of 
 all the churches. It exacts a tax for breaking the law. 
 
 Forli is a small city of seventeen thousand souls. Rome has 
 more than one hundred and seventy thousand. Calculate the 
 prodigious quantity of human flesh that must accumulate every 
 year \mder the churches of Rome. 
 
 Meanwhile, the French have constructed for the Romans the 
 cemetery of St Lawrence outside the walls. This was done in 
 1811. We made it after the Roman fashion, for it was abso- 
 lutely necessary to conform to the customs of the country. 
 
 Figure to yourself a square enclosure, paved, and surrounded 
 with walls. Four hundred large slabs of stone, disposed in the 
 form of a quincunx, close up four hundred vaults.or pits, each four 
 yards square. Every night one of these flags is raised, a cart 
 brings the dead of tliat day, which are thrown in one after 
 another. The lime and the rats consume the whole in less than a 
 year, and thus there is never any want of room. 
 
 M. de Toumin tells us that in his day the Romans buried their 
 dead in a simple shroud. They saved in that way four pine 
 
 boards. 
 
 Has this custom been preserved at Rome ? I d o not know. 
 
188 
 
 EOifE OP TO-DAY. 
 
 DEAXn. 
 
 189 
 
 Several persons have assured me that it has not, but I can scarcelv 
 behe^^ them. The vault., of St. Lawrence and the u e ofS 
 hme do not well accord with the employment of the coffl,? 
 
 \Vhat I can say, however, is this : that in Bologna the' „oor 
 are buried without a coffin, in a pit diiff by the .Dude of J 
 
 ener, just as for planting potatoes. It ;as^ . g^l. Jr piL" 
 digger of that admirable campo santo who informed me ^ 
 
 There is, m Rome, near the pyramid of Cestius, and two stena 
 from the powder magazine, a shady retreat, dot ed wi^h a S 
 trees, and adorned with beds of flowe.^. This is the cemettv 
 of the acatholics. The Romans, by an effort at toWaUon rivo 
 this name to the heretical and schismatical foreignei"iu;: 
 Church condemns, but whom the governmcnf must protect 
 Amencans, Russians, Englishmen, Germans, repose side bv ^dt 
 m this peaceful and melancholy resting-plac;. Many artSsl^a 
 there who came to Rome in quest of talent and glorj b ,bund 
 fever and death. Nearly all the inscriptions repoaf in virions 
 forms the sad story, ^' Here lies, far fromhis natJelalaJ^^. 
 Almost all who sleep there, could, when dyin- say with <^\J„ 
 nedof Niebelungen, "Long wiUmy mothefan^i n^br ter 1 
 home expect me in vain." ^ uiumers at 
 
 By a freak of chance, in one comer lie close together the dust of 
 the son of Goethe and the son of Charlotte, Aug^ste Kesner Min- 
 ister of Hanover, who was born in 1778, and died Maicr5 1853 
 
 the luend of Byron ; - heart of hearts : cor cordium " says tlie 
 mscnpuon : and Keats, that young poet who, in desplir had IZ 
 graved on Ins tomb this touching epitapli : 
 
 THIS GRAVE 
 CONTAINS ALL THAT WA3 MORTAL 
 OF A 
 
 YOUNG ENGLISH POET, 
 
 WHO, 
 
 ON niS DEATH-BED, 
 
 IN TEE BITTERNESS OF HIS HEART 
 
 AT THE MALICIOUS POWER OF HIS ENEMIES, 
 
 DESIRED 
 THESE WORDS TO BE ENGRAVED ON HIS TOMB-STONl : 
 
 HERE LIES ONE 
 
 WHOSE NAME WAS WRITTEN IN WATER. 
 
 Fehniarv 24 1>^'»1 
 
 h 
 
 Is not all the bitterness of wounded pride concentrated in 
 these last words — " Here hes one whose name was written in 
 water ?" 
 
 At the entrance of the cemetery is a small, neat lodge, arranged 
 with all tlie scrupulous regularity and precision characteristic of 
 the EngUsh. I read there : 
 
 1. The tarilf of prices for interment. 
 
 2. The catalogue of valuable articles confided to the charge of 
 tlie porter. 
 
 3. The names of the dead posted up, like those of the occu- 
 pants of a hotel 
 
 The official physicians of a village of three thousand souls (in 
 the province of Frosinona) gave me tlie following details, for the 
 accuracy of which, however, I do not vouch : 
 
 *' The pontifical authority wishes us to order tlie sacraments for 
 every patient after our second visit. But I know the savages 
 of these mountains too well to conform to the law. As soon as 
 one of the family has received the sacrament, tliey think of 
 nothing but hurrying him out of sight as speedily as possible. 
 They discontinue all treatment, put away the medicines in the 
 cupboard, tear off tlie cataplasms and blisters. Should the 
 patient ask for a glass of water, they would reply, * Thou wiit 
 drink thy fill in paradise.' 
 
 "On the other hand they proceed to buy tapers for the 
 funeral, and ask the patient if everything is provided according 
 to his wishes. They show him the boards for the coffin, to prove 
 that the wood is of choice quahty. They take the measure for 
 the shroud which he is to wear into the other world. They put 
 water on the fire to wash him as soon as he shall be dead. 
 These preparations do not go on without numerous expressions 
 of condolence and sympathy. ' My poor father ! My unhappy 
 brother I My unfortunate cousin V As soon as tlie death-strug- 
 gle commences, the whole village runs to the chamber, and 
 remains tliere until life is extinct. So much, politeness demands. 
 From moment to moment holy water is sprinkled on the head 
 of the patient to drive away evil spirits. At every convulsion, 
 the relatives throw themselves on tlio body, rending the air with 
 their cries. Nothing more would be needed to kill a healtliy 
 man. Those less delicate profit by the occasion to detach a fin- 
 ger-ring or an ear-ring. The young man whom you see there 
 
190 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 at the door of his shop, went to his father's death-bed with a 
 false key in his pocket. The old man havinpf expired, the son 
 was inconsolable, and exhibited such p-ief that they could not 
 get him away from the house. He remained alone, and plun- 
 dered the cash-box of tlic deceased, to the detriment of the other 
 heirs. 
 
 " I once saw the last sacraments produce a very curious effect 
 on a patient of mine. The night before, he had saffly passed 
 the crisis of his disease ; but the family seeing that he was worse 
 tiian usual, summoned the priests in the morning to administer 
 the sacrament. I found my man on his back, a crucifix in one 
 hand, and a madonna in the other. He pressed the sacred 
 images to his heart, and showed the whites of his eyes. 
 " ' Well, well !' said I. 
 " ' Alas ! dear doctor, you see all is over.' 
 " ' Why ? Do you ft3el worse ?' 
 " ' I don't know ; but all is over,' 
 
 " ' Give me your hand ; let me feel your pulse. Pooh, pooh ! 
 you have no fever now.' 
 
 " ' No matter I go ; all is over.' 
 " ' Show me your tongue : it is magnificent 1' 
 '* 'I am very glad, for your sake, good doctor; but for me, all 
 is certainly over.' 
 
 '• This consultation in extremis, with a man who is doing well, 
 was twenty times interrupted by the bellowing of the family and 
 the attendants. I had to use force to put the brawlers out of 
 doors, and tlie patient on his seat. He was half cured. Two 
 days afterward he ate a pound of meat ; the Sunday following 
 he walked liis chamber, repeating, ' It is of no use, doctor ; when 
 a man has received the sacraments, we may couolude that all is 
 over.' At the end of eight or ten days he returned, quite crest- 
 fallen, to his olives and vineyard. His appetite and strength 
 had come back. He devoured the rations of a tiger, and did the 
 work of an ox. But he was not yet thoroughly convinced of 
 his resurrection, and I had to make him feel the Ibrce of several 
 blows on the scapula to prove to him that all was not over. 
 
 " If the sick man dies, all the people present scream and weep 
 at once. It is a duty imposed by propriety. After this tliey go 
 in quiet to the Brotherhood of the Souls of Purgatory. It is tlie 
 custom to play a little comedy on the arrival of the bier. A 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 191 
 
 ■woman of the household tries to prevent them from carrying off 
 the body. They reason with her, persuade her, and at length 
 she yields. Sometimes the body is still warm, for the proscrip- 
 tion of the twenty-four hours exists only in the law. The rela- 
 tives and friends accompany the coq>se to the church, where it 
 Is left in charge till night. No funeral service ; no more than in 
 Rome ; and that is saying everything. The nearest relative of 
 the deceased takes all those who attend the funeral to his own 
 house, and consoles them in the best way he can. I have seen 
 orphans so perfectly consoled that they went home on their 
 heads." 
 
 If tlie author of this narrative has exaggerated the eccentrici- 
 ties of his fcllow-citizens, I leave it to his conscience. But what 
 I myself have witnessed in the country, incUnes me to beheve 
 that he has given the truth. 
 
 Romans, — my dear fiiends, — I love you sincerely, because you 
 are oppressed. But I think that all truth is proper to be spoken, 
 and I describe, without concealment, all that I have seen and 
 heard while traversing your admirable country. If it has been my 
 lot to note some trait of ignorance, or of barbarism, do not sup- 
 pose that I regard you as ignorant, or barbarous, or that I write 
 this book against you. I aim only at the teachers of the people, 
 who bring Uicm up badly, and whom we shall change some day, 
 if it so please Heaven. 
 
THE CATTLE. 
 
 193 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE CATTLE^ 
 
 THE Campagna di Roma is a vast meadow, broken in a few 
 places by the plow. It is the most beautiful plain in Eu- 
 rope ; it is also the most fertile, the most uncultivated, and the 
 most unhealthy. 
 
 Six- tenths of these valuable lands are subject to mortmain ; 
 three-tenths belong to the princes. The remaining tenth is di- 
 vided among private individuals. 
 
 The lands of the monasteries and those of the princes are 
 farmed out to rich individuals called " country merchants." The 
 proprietor leases to them the bare soil, usually for a short terra. 
 The farmer (country merchant) has no interest in constructing 
 buildings, in planting trees, or in improving tlie soil. Grain is 
 raised to some extent, and with good results. But the govern- 
 ment levies a fixed tax amounting to twenty-two per cent, of 
 the crop. Moreover, the religious houses do not scruple, in many 
 cases, to interdict the cultivation of the rich lands by an express 
 clause in the lease. They fear lest the soil should be impover- 
 ished, and the revenue of subsequent years suiTor in consequence. 
 
 Another obsUicle to culture is the vexatious law which arbi- 
 trarily proliibits or permits exportation. Suppose a grain mo- 
 nopolist should make himself the absolute master of Franco, and 
 should be in a position to close all our ports and frontiers to the 
 exportation of grain, no agriculturist would run the risk of pro- 
 ducing grain beyond the absolute wants of the country. 
 
 The culture of grain involves enormous expenses. It requires 
 many hands, important inatrneJ, and a considerable number of 
 cattle, and all in view of an uncertain result. The raisinsr of 
 cattle requires but httle help, and involves fewer expenses. It 
 
 ii 
 
 yields moderate but sure results. It is tlie business most com- 
 patible with the unhcalthiness of the climate, the depopulated 
 condition of the country, and the discouragement of agricultural 
 enterprises. 
 
 A farm of one hundred rubbia (four hundred and sixty acres), 
 if cultivated n>r grain, will require thirteen thousand five hundred 
 and fifty days' work, and will cost eight thousand Koman crowns 
 of about one dollar each. It will yield, in an average year, one 
 thousand three hundred measures of grain, which, at the medium 
 price of ten crowns, are worth thirteen thousand crowns, the net 
 profit amounting to five thousand dollars ; while the same area 
 devoted to pasturage would yield scarcely more than one-fifth of 
 that amount in net profit. 
 
 But pasturage prevails. Let us speak of that. 
 
 Koman horses arc born and reared in the open air. There arc 
 no stables in these vast sohtudes. Night and day, summer and 
 winter, in fine weather and in foul, the horses are out grazing 
 under the care of a mounted herdsman. A stallion lives at lib- 
 erty with twenty or twenty-five mares. The colts are reared in 
 the open air, and take no harm. They scarcely know more than 
 a single disease, the harbojie, which attacks them pretty much as 
 scarlet fever attacks children, between their eighteenth and twen- 
 tieth month. It is an eruption of the glands of the neck. To 
 cure it a few blisters are sufficient, 
 
 Wlu.'n a year old, the colts are caught by means of a lasso, and 
 marked with the initials of their owuor. At three years old they 
 are broken, sold, and set to work. 
 
 The breed is handsome and good. Distinguished breeders 
 have told me that the horses of the Campagna are scarcely sus- 
 ceptible of improvement, and that crossing does not produce any 
 important result The Roman horse is usually a fine, healthy 
 animal, of moderate height and of robust build ; lively, rarely 
 vicious, and full of fire, with much endurance. You can see 
 horses who have never eaten any thiug but grass and hay, and 
 do not know the taste of oats, perform the same leats of strength 
 as the horse of the most unexceptionable training. 
 
 Hence, Piedmont, Lombardy, Tuscany, and Naples, all buy 
 their horses in the Campagna di Roma. The Romans themselves 
 keep scarcely any but the worst. 
 
 A stallion will bring from three hundred to tliree hundred and 
 
 
 
 :i^>pm^;^:-^i0ii'Si;'^c/ , t'^-^ "Z '"■ ;,r-" 
 
 ■=--»•:•#"' 
 
194 
 
 R0M:E of T0-D4.Y. 
 
 fifty crowns ; a mare three yea.-s old, fiom seventy to one Imn- 
 dred crowns ; a handsome pair of carriage horses are worth fiorn 
 tee hundred to five hundred crowns ; a fine saddle-horse w.ll 
 c^rfiom eighty to one hundred and fifty crowns ; a cavalry 
 hoi eight/or ninety. Animals of less value are reserved for 
 agriculture, and cost only thirty-five or forty crowns 
 
 It is said that Roman horses at twenty-five years old and 
 more have been found carable of doing good service. 
 
 Ev'errbrecder has h.s^wn peeuhar race. SilvestnU> ra,ses 
 a breed of chestnut horses. Serafini is the owner of the cardi- 
 nal's breed. Prince Borghese has obtained, by crossing a ve y 
 handsome breed, but they are too slender and too .«'"'' '•^'^<' 
 breeds most in esteem belong to the pnnees Chig. and PK>m- 
 bino, the duke Cesarini, and the country merchants Silvestrelh, 
 Titoni Viacentini, Serafini, Senni. 
 
 Th Roman far'mei, do not employ the horse for carta, still less 
 for draught. Transportation is too difTicult and Uie roads oo 
 bad F^rm work requires enormous muscular strength, for the 
 mtiow L to be broken up. The ox and the buH-ab only an- 
 swer for this hard work. But the horse is employed to thresh 
 
 ""Th^e'lian^^st ended, all the di.^posable horses are shut up in an 
 inclosure. A hundred paces off the sheaves are placed, the cars 
 upwM on a hard beatin area. Six horses sUut off abreast nt 
 7m gallop, and are kept going round until the straw is disen- 
 gaged from the grain. It is a hard task under the burning sun of 
 
 ■^"Se grain is forthwith winnowed, heaped together, put into 
 sacks, and sent to Rome. The straw is carried away or is burnec^ 
 aecordin.- to the state of the roads and the ncarnes. of the 
 "wns. The field remains bare until the first rajns of winter 
 bring up the grass. It again becomes meadow laud, and re 
 mains so at least seven years. 
 
 I have inquired of these immense farmers why they did no 
 u^ Uireshing machines. They replied that it, was of the highest 
 necessity fo^ them to hasten the removal of the gram They 
 have neither store-houses nor barns. The country i.s unheallhy. 
 There is not a moment to be lost. Every hours ^li'l^J »>'?'' 
 cost the life of a man. The horses gallop, the graui lalb, the 
 farmer gathers up his crops and betakes lumselt to flight. 
 
 THE CATTLE. 
 
 195 
 
 
 The Romans of the age of Cato did not know of the large gray 
 oxen which at present beautify the Campagna di Roma. The 
 indigenous breed was small, red, and sliort-horned. Specimens 
 of it are still to be found among the mountains. It was the ir- 
 ruption of the barbarian which brought the long-horned breed 
 
 into Italy. 
 
 Thesis animals are well known, thanks to the painter's art, so 
 that I have no need to describe them. Their admirable frames 
 and tlieir enormous weight of bone and muscle, wonderfully 
 adapt them to field-labor. A Norman grazier said, with reason, 
 that the Durham breed is better for the butcher. In Normandy 
 the ox is chiefly an instrument for transforming hay into beef. 
 
 We must, however, acknowledge that the beef and veal one 
 gets at Rome are of excellent quality. 
 
 The Duke of Northumberland has just purchased of Titoni, 
 an immense farmer, four heifers of one year old, and two calves 
 of the same age, for transportation to England. 
 
 Titoni has taken a farm containing two thousand four hundred 
 rwbbia of meadow-land, almost ten thousand acres, for the rais- 
 ing of horned cattle. Whore the land is good, two cows will sub- 
 sist very w'ell on one rubbia. 
 
 The best breeds of horned cattle are those of Rospigliosi, Gra- 
 ziosl, Titoni, Silverstrelli, Dantoni, Senni, Grazioli, Floridi, Sera- 
 fini, Piacentini, Franceschetti, Rocchi. 
 
 I am not connoisseur enough to do justice to the various Roman 
 brccls of cattle; they all rfsemble each other at the first glance, 
 and, I I e'.ievc, little has been done to imi)rove them. 
 
 Still there has just sprung into existence an Agricultural Soci- 
 ety ; I was present at its first annual fair. The pontifical 
 government at first prohibited and then tolerated this novelty, 
 which modestlv concealed its true character under the name of 
 a Society of Horticulture. 
 
 The Roman oxen are excellent workers ; they labor without 
 rest fi-om daybreak till noon ; until half-past two in the winter 
 season. They have no food but hay and grass, and are very 
 robust. Tiiey are castrated at three years old ; bulls of eight 
 years old are also castrated for fattening and sale to the 
 htitchers. 
 
 An ox of three years old, well broken, is worth fifty or sixty 
 crowns ; an ox of eleven years may be fattened in three months, 
 
 ^^F:^; 
 
 lit 
 
196 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 and sells for from sixty to seventy-five crowns. A fine cow for 
 the butcher is worth fifty-five crowns, a crown being worth 
 about a dollar. 
 
 I have seen ono hundred and sixty yoke of oxen plowing the 
 same tract of land. Some months later I saw eleven hundred 
 workmen employed in reaping a field of grain. It is a groat 
 industrial interest this Roman agriculture, and requires an im- 
 mense capital. 
 
 The most striking specimen of brute life is the buffalo. Ilis 
 heavy and awkward frame, his long neck, his flat head, his broad 
 muzzle, his knotty horns, his bare back, his fierce bellowing, all 
 tell us that this monster of the Indian marshes is a relic escaped 
 from the deluge, a fi'agment of a creation more ancient than our 
 own, an archaic model, forgotten in tlie recasting, a huge living 
 fossil. 
 
 The Italians have acclimated this creature among them for a 
 dozen centuries. lie is a half savage ally, but contented with 
 little. He gambols with delight in the most fetid marshes ; ho 
 feasts on rushes and reeds ; his favorite diversion is to plunge 
 into the mud up to the neck, and go to sleep. 
 
 He wears a ring in his nose, like an Indian cacique ; by that 
 he is governed, if indeed it is not a play upon words to s'ay that 
 he allows himself to be governed. His master borrows him from 
 nature when it is necessary to make one of those prodigious ef- 
 forts which surpass tlie strength of men, horses, an<l oxen. Yoke 
 him to a rock, tree, a mountain, to a forest. lie lushos for- 
 ward, head down, his neck outstretched, and his enormous 
 muscles strained to the utmost. Everything yields ; everytliing 
 follows in his train ; he goes on his way like an unchained power, 
 and overthrows everything in his path. The work finished, ho 
 is unyoked, returns to his bog, and wallows in the mire. 
 
 This creature is endowed witli memory; the buflalo comes 
 when his name is called ; he is twice baptized, first, at his birth, 
 and aftenvard at the acre of thirteen mouths. His second name 
 remains with him till he is eleven years old. Ho is then led to 
 the slauQ:htcr-liLHise. 
 
 Quarrels often arise between tlie buQalo and his keeper; tho 
 furious animal rushes upon the man and kills him, not with his 
 horns but with his head. If the man is experienct'tl in this kind 
 of eumbal, h<« iii'S il.M upon his taee, and op(*u-< his pufket-knife. 
 
 THE CAITTJ:. 
 
 197 
 
 f 
 
 > 
 
 ) 
 I 
 
 k\\ 
 
 When the buffalo, who is not very adroit, conies groping after 
 his victim, the man plants six inches of steel in his nostrils, and 
 the monster betakes himself to flight. This is the only reasonhig 
 he can i-oiiiprehend; cudgels break over his back like lueifer 
 mateh<'^!. A gunshot only titillates, agreeably, his epidermis. . 
 
 In the routine Marshes there is a herd (»f buffaloes employed 
 to clean out the canals. They are urged into the water with 
 long poles ; they swim, they become entangled, they tear up the 
 aquatic plants while passing along the banks, and at length es- 
 cape, loaded with slime, and crowned with adhesive verdure. 
 
 Rorpighosi has fourteen hundred buffaloes; Ce^^arini eight hun- 
 dred, and Caserta one thousand. A male buffalo, three years 
 •Id, is worth tliirty-five crowns ; a female is worth eighteen or 
 twenty ; an ox buffalo will bring as much as thirty. The flesh 
 of the buffalo is not very good, but the Neapolitans are satisfied 
 with it, and the Jews of the Ghetto esteem it a savory morsel. 
 At Terrncina, on the frontier of the States of the Church, a buf- 
 falo is killed every week during September, October, and No- 
 vember. The people think the flesh is more delicate when the 
 animal is fiitigued ; they attach a long cable to the horns of their 
 unsightly victim, and twenty robust fellows hold on by the other 
 end : thus accompanied, the buffalo is urged through the streets, 
 and when he is making a great rush, they stop him short ; they 
 then give him another start, and again check him, so long as he 
 has any strength left. He does not rciceive the final blow until 
 he has pulled down several trees, overthrown several walls, and 
 crippled several passers-by. 
 
 Ot\en he is let loose in an inclosure : the most ventursome and 
 mischievous boys go out of their houses to torment him, and 
 rush in again as quickly as they can. One day a buffalo, tired 
 of this kind of amusement, dashed into the door of a coach-house, 
 and ascended to the second story. Nothing was more strange to 
 behold than this comeilian turned spectator. The butcher alone 
 succeeded in dislodging him. 
 
 These cruel amusements suit the tastes of the lowest class. I 
 am astoni.^^hed that an ecclesiastical government has never done 
 anything to soften the prevailing manners of the people. On 
 tlie bridges of Rome you see boys fishing with swallows. I 
 have met with little urchins who threw sparrows at an olive tree 
 just as th.ey wonM throw stones, and others who beat each other 
 
198 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 with kittens. The bird-catchers of the Rotunda sell to the pass- 
 ers-by gold-finches, linnets, and chaflinches, whose eyes they 
 have put out. The law of Grammont is one of those which 
 should be introduced hero. But how many centuries must elapse 
 before there will be any laws in Rome? 
 
 Pshaw ! we should despair of nothing. 
 
 In the uncultivated region, which extends all round the city, 
 are raised large flocks of sheep of excellent breeds ; besides the 
 Spanish and the mixed, much is thought of the Sopra-vissana of 
 Yisso, near Spoleta. This animal is vigorous and strong, and is 
 capable of resisting severe changes of the weather. 
 
 The wool of this country is exported to France, Switzerland, 
 and Piedmont. The manufactures of the district, which were* 
 formerly numerous and celebrated, are now confmed to coarse 
 cloths. 
 
 The three first qualities of wool are sold at from twenty-one 
 to thirty-one cents a pound, according to the demand ; the fourth 
 and fifth, from eighteen to twenty-four cents ; the black, from 
 fourteen to eighteen cents. 
 
 The Roman pound, it must be remembered, contains nearly 
 twelve ounces avoirdupois. 
 
 Like the oxen and the horse«», the sheep live constantly in the 
 open air. They pasture nine months on the plain. In July, 
 August, and September, they are conducted to the momitain. 
 
 The hlack animal (this is the hog, if my readers will excuse 
 the indelicacy of mentioning his name) is abandoned to the sujall 
 proprietors of the elevated regions. The mountaineers bring him 
 up with tenderness, for he costs nothing to feed. He lives on 
 the most intimate terms with the family, who seldom go out 
 without him. Whenever they f^o into the fields, they permit 
 him to grub up one corner to his heart s content. They assign 
 liim a place at< the bottom of some ilitch ; the young girls fasten 
 a cord round his body, and walk him out. I have myself seen, 
 more than once, in the toilsome paths that conduct to the villages, 
 a boy attached to the tail of a hog, like a ship to the stern of a 
 tug. The notables of the ])ari.^h go a-visiting with their hog, 
 just as I do with my greyhound. This friend of the household 
 is slaughtered in th(; month of September. 
 
 The raising of cattle has a right, if not to the protection, at 
 
 THE CATTLE. 
 
 199 
 
 i 
 
 ii» 
 
 least to the tolerance of the government, for it is one of the most 
 fruitfiil sources of national wealth. 
 
 I am told that the gi'aziers are subjected to vexatious taxes, 
 and that an ox, before being slaughtered, must pay to the State 
 twenty or thirty per cent of his value. 
 
 The horses which thrive in the Agro-Romano are subject to a 
 tax of five per cent every time they change hands, so that, if 
 one of them is sold twenty times, the grazier and the treasury 
 each share one half the price. 
 
 A Roman will perhaps reply, that in the joyous country of 
 France, thanks to the enormous taxes on conveyances of pro- 
 perty, the treasury may, in four or five years, get the entire value 
 of an estate. I will not dispute this point, for it is true. 
 
 Almost all the figures contained in this chapter were furnished 
 to me at Rome by an agriculturist, who is both very honorable 
 and very competent 
 
 The poor fellow, who was very rich, was inconsolable at not 
 being able to travel. He was ashamed at not knowing any part 
 of the great world but Rome and its suburbs, and would have 
 given a considerable sum of money for a simple passport 
 
 Do not suppose, however, that they refused liim this rag of 
 paper. The police is too clever to do any such thing. Mo'n- 
 seigncur Matteucci, vice-chamberlain of the holy church, director 
 general of the police, referred him very politely to the chief of 
 the passport ofl'ice, but this honorable functionary was never to 
 be found at home. This game lasted several years. 
 
 I learn to-day from the journals, that my poor friend has re- 
 ceived his passport without having asked for it, like the son of 
 the celebrated goldsmith, Castellani, and so many other Romans, 
 who are an honor to the city of their birth. They have not been 
 exiled? No; but they have received a paternal recommendation 
 to leave Rome and return no more. 
 
 They will return; perhaps. 
 
 ^^rf-n^ 
 
XVI. 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 T HAD promised myself not to quit the States of the Church 
 J- without having taken an excursion to Sounino. I had 
 heard so much about this little to%\'n, its name occurs so often in 
 the history of brigandage, the skill of the painter has so often 
 represented tlie costumes and the exploits of its inhabitants, that 
 I wished to see the country and men with my own eyes, and to 
 discover whetlier there remained in the place or its inhabitants 
 any vestiges of the past. The enterprise was difficult, not only 
 because Sonnino is three days from the Vatican, and far distant 
 from the frequented routes, but especially because I was a for- 
 eigner, and a foreign traveler seldom converses except with inn- 
 keepers. An excellent and respectable friend at Rome oflered 
 to release me from my embarrassment. He promised to take mo 
 to Sonnino in his carriage, to lodge me with persons whom he 
 knew, and to introduce me to the private hfe of the inhabitants. 
 lie had visited the place about the year 1830. He was sure of 
 finding there an aged woman, the widow of one or two brig- 
 ands. He had formerly employed her as a model, and now aided 
 her with a small pension. I gladly accepted so agreeabU^ an in- 
 vitation, and we set out on the 10th of June, 1858. 
 
 AJbano, Ariccia, Genzano, ;uid almost all the villages M' this 
 surburhan region wear an aspect of grandeur. Palaces and con- 
 vents abound. The houses of the great farmers, witiiout aiming 
 at ostentation, are lufly and commodious. Tiiey bear the seal of 
 rustic simplicity, and do not indicate the parvenu. In the dis- 
 tricts near the capital the professions of butcher, bnker, grocer, 
 etc., are exorcis<Ml by virtue of a license as public fuuotionai-Ies! 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 201 
 
 ! 
 
 • 
 
 
 The place of a grocer is solicited just as a lottery office, or a 
 license to sell tobacco, or salt, or spiiits and wines. 
 
 This Ucensing is practiced throughout the Pontifical States. 
 Insurance companies, glass works, sugar refmeries, candle manu- 
 factories, every branch of industry of any importance is founded 
 upon a license. Even the very panniers in which fruit is exposed 
 for sale, in the square of Navona, are hired to the hucksters by 
 a licensed agent. 
 
 From Albano to Velletri, we cross a certain number of bridges, 
 built by the pope. Several inscriptions take care to apprise us 
 of this fact. I do not know any country where the rage for in- 
 scri[»tions is carried so far. There is not a bridge thrown over a 
 brook, or a station erected for four sentinels, but a marble slab is 
 set up to perpetuate the name of the pontiff who has rendered 
 liimself illustrious by so conspicuous a benefit. Pretty near the 
 Eternal City there is a spring of mineral water, where tlie grand- 
 sons of Romulus go to purge themselves, in pleasure parties. 
 Inscriptions upon inscriptions ! Such a pontiff conveyed the 
 water; such another repaired the conduits; such another ce- 
 mented them anew. This prodigality of pompous words would 
 seem, at first sight, somewhat mean and ridiculous. But it is a 
 Roman custom. Uso Romano ! two words which explain and 
 even excuse all. It is true tliat if the ancients had been more 
 sparing in their inscriptions, we should be ignorant of many 
 things which marble and stone have taught us. Inscriptions 
 have ever been one of the richest fountains of historical knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 They play us false, however, sometimes. Witness the inscrip- 
 tion wliich attributes to Pius VII. the admirable works with 
 which the French administration embellished the Pincian Hill. 
 The popes have every where efiaced tlie traces of our presence. 
 They have retained nothing but our benefits. The councilors of 
 Pius VII., after the restoration, did all they could to suppress 
 every thing that reminded them of France . It was even pro- 
 posed to take away the sti-eet -lamps, which General MioUis and 
 M. de Tournon had introduced in Rome. 
 
 I could find but a single monument which had preserved the 
 name of this brave and illustrious MioUis. It is a Uttle slab of 
 marble, hidden in the grotto of Tivoli. 
 
 During the revolution of 1849, when Mazzini reigned at 
 
 9* 
 
202 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Rome, and the Holy Fatlier at Portiei, the beautiful viaduct 
 which connects Albano to Ariccia was forcibly inten-upted. A 
 simple farmer of the neii^hborhood opened liis purse and contin- 
 ued the works at his own risk and peril. No inscription per- 
 petuates the memory of this boautiful incitlent. 
 
 Velletri is a vilhige of sixteen thousand souls, and is the capi- 
 t-il of a province. You find there a bishop and a prefect, as at 
 Versailles. There are also brigands, for Velletri is upon a moun- 
 tain, surrounded with forests and secret passes, and at the en- 
 trance of that cclel)rated campo morto belonfrinfr to the chapter 
 of Saint Peter. T have already stated why the Plain of Death, 
 or campo morio, is a place frequented by dangerous characters. 
 Tlie right of asylum attracts a multitude of Uiieves and assas- 
 sins to the privileged security of its insalubrious enclosure. Its 
 proximity to Velletri imparts to that city a sort of moral insa- 
 lubrity, which has recently been manifested by the crime of 
 Vendetta. 
 
 The following is the story of this affair, as it circulates from 
 mouth to mouth, in the city and in the neighborhood : 
 
 Below Velletri, and near the gate which leads to Naples 
 there is a convent of Jesuits. These reverend fathers keep a 
 school. I have just heard a murmur of infant voices, and I read 
 over tlie door, " Chssis ehmentaHsy 
 
 Their chapel is -a very ancient edifice. I noticed a very fine 
 arch of the Renaissance period, a ceiling which was very rich, 
 tliough of doubtful taste, and a fine fresco, of the school of Peru- 
 gino ; but the most precious of all their treasures was a miracu- 
 lous Madonna, painted by St. Luke. History does not say that 
 the evangelist St. Luke was eitlier a painter or a sculptor. It is 
 even known that he was not converted by St. Paul until after the 
 death of Jesus. Still, public credulity is pleased to attach his 
 name to all the ancient representations of the virgin and child 
 whether in painting or in sculpture. It was thus that in ancient 
 Greece the popular faith attributed to Hercules all those achieve- 
 ments with the club which were in any way memor;d)le. 
 
 However this may be, the miraculous image of Velletri is 
 kept with the most scnipulous care in a niche closed up with 
 shutters, and situated in tlie recess of a chapel, protected by an 
 iron grating. The population of the neighboring village offered 
 
 AN EXCUKSION SOUTH. 
 
 203 
 
 ) 
 
 
 a superstitious worship to this picture, and brought rich offerings 
 to it every year. 
 
 An innkccr)er of the Campo Morto, named Vendetta, projected 
 a daring si)eculation. For a long time he had black-mailed the 
 people of Velletri and its neighborhood. From one he demanded 
 two crowns ; Irom another ten or twelve. Vv'lioever had a har- 
 vest ready for the sickle, trees loaded witli fruit, or a brother on 
 a jouiney, paid, wilhout hositati(>n, this' singular tax. Still Ven- 
 detta became in^[>Ired, at length, with a disgust for his trade, al- 
 though it was so lucrative, lie cherished the scheme of resuming 
 bis place in society with a moderate income and an honorable 
 occupation. To attain Ihis end he could hit upon no expedient 
 more ingenious, or more to his purpose, than to carry off the Ma- 
 donna of Velletri, and conceal it in a sure place. 
 
 A lete was near at hand at which the chimes were to be rung, 
 and the Madonna exhibited to the populace, with all her jewels. 
 The sacristan opened the niche, and with cries of sorrow mado 
 known the fact that the Madonna had disappeared 1 The news 
 soon spread over Velletri ; search was made in every direction, 
 but in vain ; the people of the adjoining villages were in a state 
 of ferment, and the rural clergy accused the Jesuits of having 
 robbed themselves ; the Jesuits recriminated upon the priests of 
 Velletri, and finally the convent was attacked, pillaged, and de- 
 stroyed by an idolatrous mob. 
 
 To crown all, on the ensuing Sunday, during the celebration 
 of high ma«s. Vendetta mounted a seat, poniard in hand, and 
 deliberately denounced himself! He begged the people to ac- 
 cept his excuses, and promised to restore the Madonna so soon 
 as he had made his peace with the authorities. The latter treat 
 with him as with an ec^ual powder; Vendetta demands a free 
 pardon fur himself and brother, a certain income, and a post under 
 government. His requests are acceeded to, but Rome disavows 
 the acts of her agents ; the mountaineers rise, en masse, and 
 threaten to sack Velletri ; the brigantl, yielding to superior num- 
 bers, reveals the place where the Madonna is concealed, and 
 gives himself up unconditionally. No one in Velletri doubts 
 tlKit he will lose his head. 
 
 The Madonna is restored ; a crowd of devotees indicate to me 
 the chapel where she performs her miracles • but a blue curtain 
 
204 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 embroidered with the initials of Mary, prevent me from seeing 
 St. Luke's chef dceuvre. 
 
 Vendetta is a robber of a declininn^ age. He has liad his short 
 reign of audacity, and this speech, delivered before a whole con- 
 gregation, is no common action. Still, how dilforent from Passa- 
 tore ! He was indeed a man of bold deeds ! 
 
 Passatore once captured Forlimpopoll, a town of five thousand 
 inhabitants. One evening all the notables are assembled at the 
 theater ; the curtain rises, and upon the stage appears a chorus 
 of armed men, who chain the attention of tlie audience. The 
 tenor entere, that is, Passatore himself, holding a paper in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he says. " the exits from the theater are guard- 
 ed, the city is in our power, but we shall do no harm. We have 
 laid Forlimpopoli under a contribution of so many crowns, dis- 
 tributed as follows : each of you will please pass out as his name 
 is called, and, under a safe escort, produce the sum he owes us. 
 I begin." 
 
 He begins the list, and finishes without interruption. The ran- 
 som is paid upon the nail, and the captain retires with larger 
 receipts than the theater has ever before enjoyed. 
 
 Aside from his audacity, Passatore possessed some redeeming 
 qualities. Under no circumstances would he despoil a poor 
 man; more than once he has been known to empty his purse 
 into pockets whicli he had found empty. 
 
 Having been on one occasion seriously wounded, he stood in 
 need of medical services. But how find a pliysician willing to 
 thrust his head into the lion's mouth ? The difliculty was over- 
 come by forcibly seizing the most reputable surgeon of the dis- 
 trict, who was detained until the cure was eflected. Tlio brigand 
 then ordered his treasurer to release him, after having paid him, 
 which was done. 
 
 " How much did you give him ?" asked Passatore. 
 
 " Ten crowns !" 
 
 " Ten crowns to the man who saved the illustrious Passatore I 
 Are you crazy ? Run after him — give him a hundred, and be 
 sure to tell him that is nothing!" 
 
 Imagine the terror of the physician when he found himself 
 overtaken by a horseman at full gallop. 
 
 Six months allerward the doctor was leisurely crossing the 
 
 AN EXCUllSION SOUTH. 
 
 205 
 
 ) 
 
 ) 
 
 »■ • 
 
 mountains upon bis mule, when Hite again brought h.m in^ con- 
 tact with his fornier patient. This time he regretted havmg 
 saved the bripind's hfe ; but Passatore overwhelmed him witli 
 politeness, and ended by asking him the city time. 
 
 Upon seeing his prescrv(^r draw out a common silver watch, 
 
 Tassatoro exclaimed : . 
 
 " Is it possible that the physician of Passatore carries only a 
 
 silver watch ? Give mo your watch 1" 
 
 He dashed it against a rock. 
 
 A few <lays aRorward the doctor found on his table an excel- 
 lent dironometor of London make, imported into Italy by an 
 En^lisli tourist, who possibly still regrets Its loss. 
 
 Our h.TO was killed in a inelc'e. The pontificals retained the 
 body but his renown still lived among the mountains ; and his 
 bandeudeavored to keep .ip the belief that he had escaped. In 
 order to establish the identity of the corpse, the captors resorted 
 to the contemptible plan of exhibiting it to his own mother, an 
 old and decrepid woman. Supported by the courage which 
 liatrcd and voncreance can alone inspire, this feeble creature, 
 thou-h dctainedlfor an hour and a half in the presence of the 
 corn°e obstinately refused to recognize its identity. The proot 
 seemed conclusive, and in the evening she was set at hberty. 
 But nature finally asserted its rights, and at last the mother 
 threw herself upon tl.e body of her son, batlimg it with her 
 tears, and pouring out execrations upon the soldiers who had 
 
 '^ Thorwho have never visited the Pontine Marshes have an 
 idea that they are an extended tract of sterile and fever-breeding 
 bo- as disagreeable to the eye as U.ey are repugnant to the 
 smeli. Nothhig can be further from the truth. ^Ije Pontine 
 Marshes form, during three-fourths of the year, one of U.e most 
 charmiiK' as also one of the richest districts of Europe. 
 
 I "m. an extended plain, bounded on one side by the sei, 
 on the'^olher bv a range of picturesque mountains, cultivated to 
 the r V rv summits, their upper slopes forming one magnificent 
 %. of olive treJs, whose bluish foliage gives t em t. appear- 
 ance of always being baU.ed in the morning haze. Ihe lower 
 Tpes are pLtcl wi-h groves of well-bearing orange-trees 
 Forests, me dows, and cultivated fields dinde the plain T^e 
 for sts of vigoroul and loHy growth, attest the incredible fertJity 
 
 .iirj.t ^1 ^t^ 
 
 ■ ;»<j*ui\ ' 
 
 

 206 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 00.0. a.. pe..r,..e the ...:^.. ^^^ S:^^^:^''""' 
 The pastures teem ^vi,h countless herds, s„oh a, not even 
 Amenca or the Ukraine can rival Covro r,r i V ■, . 
 
 gallop at liberty within vast incburef an, c t, an 1 1 ff?" 
 peacefnllv nm,^ fK^ 7 • 1 ' cattle an-l buffaloes 
 
 ptriteiuuy crop tnc luxuriant horhuo-o ti,^ ^■ 
 
 Cultivated farms are few in numhor Knf ^r • 
 
 In spring it is not uncommon to seton;iunae r""'r" Z^''",'- 
 plowing the same field. At the end °°' '^^ ^"ke of cattle 
 
 a field of grain a square-lfagu i, eltenf Wh°' .""'^. °'^'' '"' 
 prolincally, and nle attaint" "^ a Wht i at .n" ''"> '"" 
 back is totally concealed between tl ^r -s \ul" Z 
 
 Open drains suffice to produce all these good results Al.no-. 
 
 lecta the sand m dunes Ton h.\ ^,^^ ^^'^^^ ^^'"^^^ ^vhich col- 
 
 Gironde, also covers wthTth !""' of Gascony and the 
 
 , ^c. covers vMth it the western coast of Italy so as 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 207 
 
 I I » 
 
 to absorb the streams. The only difTercnce between our lands 
 and these is in the greater depth of the Italian soil and the ab- 
 sence of aZi05. The rays of the sun are also more ardent, and 
 vegetation i', consequently, ranker. 
 
 ilowevcr, every thitig has not been done for the Marshes, for 
 they are not habitable. The cultivators descend from the moun- 
 tains, sow, reap, and glean, and then flee for their lives. 
 
 An extension of the system of canals, with a greater fall m the 
 current, would remedy this condition of things. 
 
 The detritus of vegetable matter forming this fertile soil di». 
 en-arre'' under the almost tropical heat, a subtile miasma, inap- 
 preciable to the senses but fatal to health. The decomposition 
 of animal matter, though fetid, is innocuous— nay almost salu- 
 brious. There is no danger in living at Montfau^on ; whilst these 
 perfumed fields generate the plague. When the July sun has 
 set at liberty the gases lurking under the sod, the winds carry 
 them whithersoever they will ; and at ten leagues' distance m 
 tbe mountains, a naturally healthy locality, we see men dying as 
 
 if poisoned. 
 
 Tills pest, which at regular intervals decimates the population 
 of the States of the Holy Father, and which grows worse every 
 year, is not beyond remedy. Some practical operations in farra- 
 in<- would expel all the poisons from the ground. By turning 
 up°the soil, and thus setting free the deleterious gases, the whole 
 r(-/ion would be rendered healthy. I do not altogether despair 
 </seein<r thif^ revolution, which, in less than twenty-five years, 
 would enrich the land-holders and people the Campagna. A 
 few steam-plows would work wonders. No country is so ad- 
 mirably adapted, from its level surface, to this plan of cultivation. 
 The true friends of the Roman people should preach up steam, as 
 the apostles preached the gospel. It is to be feared, however, 
 that the popular mind is but illy prepared to receive such inno- 
 
 vations. „ 
 
 Xothin*^ can present a more singular appearance than a larm 
 in the Pontine Marches. You enter a village which, for threo 
 or four months, is almost abandoned. The buildings, with few 
 exceptions, belong to the lord of the soil. His ducal escutcheon 
 surmounts the door-ways of even the cottages. The granaries 
 he has constructed, the wells he has dug, are so many monu- 
 
208 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 ments to his glory. Pompous inscriptions unblusbing^y entreat 
 you not to forget him. 
 
 In the center of the village an.l of the estate stands ])is pal- 
 ace, an immense square pile crowned by a tower, from which 
 the hours are sounded. This edifice lias never seen its owner, 
 nor his father, nor grandfather, thougli it may be that his great- 
 grandfather has once stopped there iu passing. The funiifT has 
 estabhshed his office in this monument. Clerks may be seen 
 passing in and out, cigar in the mouth, and the forgotten pen 
 stuck behind the ear. Toward night-fall the guardFans of the 
 stock, the overseers, and the sworn superintendents, distinguished 
 by a silver plate stamped Avitii the ducal arms, ride in upon their 
 ambling horses, to make their reports and ix^ceive orders. Carts 
 arrive laden with grain, or with bullocks, thrown down upon 
 tlieir sides, their logs tied, and muzzled with bands of hay. The 
 products are registered and sent to Rome ; not, however, until 
 after each employe has helped liimself to as much as he can 
 safely purloin. Yet so fertile is the soil, and so rapid the increase 
 of stock, tliat the country factor will put aside some ten thousand 
 crowns by the end of the season. As to the proprietor, the 
 master of plain and chateau, the Duke of Carabas, you ma'y be 
 sure that he will never hear any thing of all this wealth. Ho 
 has anticipated the income of several years in order to raise the 
 means of giving a ball or laying out a garden. It is even said 
 that hLs affairs are in so embarrassed a condition, that he eon- 
 templates leasing out his palace in Rome, and economizing by 
 travel in France or Germany. ° 
 
 We quit the new road leading from Rome to Naples, which 
 crosses the Pontine Marshes in a straight line. Our horses slowly 
 climb the ancient highway, now abandoned as a post-route, and 
 of course sadly neglected. At hist we reacli Piperno, a town of 
 five thousand inhabitants^, and the seat of government of the 
 province of Froisinone. Our inn, the only one in the place, is a 
 granary. We have to pass tlirough the wagon-house in order 
 to reach our rooms in the second storj-. And such rooms ! 
 
 The situation of the village is, however, very picturesque. 
 The market is held in the shade of some fine orange-trees. The 
 notables of the place assemble every day before the apothecary's 
 door. I make the acquaintance of the physician, the surgeon, 
 the phlebotomist, the notary, and several councilors. Here 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 209 
 
 ► 
 
 
 comes the curate. He halts a few paces from our group to tie 
 up two or three pounds of cherries in his pocket handkerchief. 
 The neighboring lemon- vender hangs out some pieces of lemon 
 rind, as an ;umounceinent that ices are re.atly. I enter into con- 
 versation witli the notables, and am assured that the people are 
 by no means unhappy, that property is equally divided, the olive 
 crop is abundant, oil brings high prices, and, finally, that there 
 are neitlier nobles nor beggars in the commune. 
 
 By half past two the houses are all closed, not excepting even 
 tlie hospitable establishment of the apothecary. It is the hour 
 of tlie siesta, and the inhabitants slumber until five. In the 
 meantime I make the tour of the town. The old ramparts are 
 covered with gardens and orange groves. An inscription, arrest- 
 ing my attention, I stop and read : 
 
 PAUSE FOR A MOMENT, TRAVELER, 
 
 HOWEVER GREAT THY UASTE. 
 
 PRIVERNIUM, AN ANCIENT CITY OF LATIUM, 
 
 TUE CAPITAL OF TUE VOLSCII, 
 
 A ROMAN MUNICIPALITY, 
 
 A VICTIM TO TEUTONIC FURY, 
 
 HAS LEFT, AS THOU MAY'sT BEHOLD, 
 
 FEW TRACES IN THE RUINS WHICH COVER 
 
 THE NEIGHBORINO PLAIN. 
 
 THE NEW EDIFICES WHICH CROWN THE SUMMIT 
 
 OF THIS HILL 
 
 BEAR WITNESS TO THE GREAT SOULS AND GENEROUS SENTIMENTS 
 
 OF THE BRAVE CITIZENS, 
 WHO HAVE RESUSCITATED THE NAME AND THE EXISTENCE 
 
 OF THEIR ALMOST FORGOTTEN COUNTRY. 
 
 THAT Tins GLORY OF PRIVERNIUM AND THE PR1VERNIAN3 
 
 MAY NOT PASS UNAPPRECIATED BEFORE THEE, 
 
 TUE SENATE AND PEOPLE OF PRIVERNIUM 
 
 HAVE ERECTED THIS MONUMENT, 
 
 THIS, THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1753. 
 RESTORED IN 1845. 
 
 The Privernians advise us to take a relay of horses, better 
 tliree than two, if we wish to reach Sonnino before the close of 
 day. We adopt their advice, and leave the capital of the Volscii 
 
210 
 
 ROMK OF TO-DAY. 
 
 by the Consular road. A side route is known as the Via 
 Camilla. 
 
 Sonnino, perched upon the summit of a rock, is visible at a 
 great distance. Its buildinjrs are of a uniform j^ray tint — the 
 color of ruins. AVe may distinguish the bases of a few half- 
 demolished towers, the sole remains of the ancient wall. Two 
 or three houses, of a dead white, dot the landscape, partiallv 
 relieving its gloomy sameness. There is something sinister even 
 about the road, though bordered with flowers. The olive, vine, 
 clematis, blackberry, and bramble blossom in profusion, tlie buds 
 of the myrtle are bursting open, yet this luxuriant growth of the 
 Italian spring speaks to us of neither love nor pleasure. As wo 
 ride along, we peer into the gloomy ravines which cross our way ; 
 we lift our eyes to the lofty cliifs. A few plots, occupying the 
 ledges (»f the rocks, and seemingly no larger than the hand, 
 reveal to us at once the hard and laborious life of the inhabitants 
 and the meager return of their toil. Here nnd there grow some 
 scanty stalks of barley, oats, or maize, but the olive is the prin- 
 cipal object of culture, and the eye becomes weary of resting 
 upon its somber foliage. 
 
 Two convents of sleek monks contribute, by their prayers, to 
 th<.' prosperity of Sonnino. One of these monasteries is situated 
 half a mile from the city ; the other is located directly in front 
 of the lower gate, as if for the collection of town imposts. At 
 the latter we were obliged to bring up, there being no other 
 shelliT for us. These excellent personages soil hospitality to 
 horst^s and carriages, and charge all the more from the fact that 
 no wheeled vehicle can enter the town. The main artery of 
 Soiuiino. traversing the town through its greater diameter, the 
 inhabitants, in their simplicity, have named the Middle Street. It 
 tcrmiuato at each end by gates, tlie upper bearing the appella- 
 tion of St. Peter, the lower tliat of St. John. To tell the tiiitli, 
 this so-called stveet is nothing but a series of slippery steps 
 flanked on either side by crooke<l rows of black, ill-built houses 
 of unequal height. From it diverge gloomy alley-ways, which 
 resemble nothing so nuich as our railway tunnels. The great 
 distinction between this magnificent street and the others is, 
 that three men can walk abr^^ast in it; the otliers accommodate 
 but two. At intervals ujion the right, you suddenly come upon 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 211 
 
 / 
 
 
 frightful precipices, with the plain below in full view. Such are 
 the adjacent streets. 
 
 Our coming had been announced; the brigand's widow had 
 secured us a lodging at the house of one of her relatives, formerly 
 a brigadier in the gend'armery, but now a well-to-do bourgeois 
 of Sonnino. He met us at the lower gate, and cordially wel- 
 comed us. He was a corpulent man, with an open couutenauce, 
 ill fine health, but almost destitute of teeth, which rendered his 
 conversation difficult to understand. He conducted us to his 
 domicil, and placed his household at our disposition. 
 
 It would be a difficult matter to describe tlie plan of his house. 
 The entrance is upon Middle Street, but the first story forms a 
 curious elbow, and through its passages you penetrate to another 
 quarter. Traversing a corridor and stairway, we find ourselves 
 in a smoky kitchen, where we are received by the hostess and hei 
 only daughter, a fine brunette of fifteen. The usual compliments 
 exchanged, we ascend a dozen steps and enter the dining-room. 
 After crossing a roof, mounting another stairway, and traversing 
 an entry way, I reach my bedroom, and while removing the traces 
 of the journey, can not help asking myself how it is possible for 
 twenty-five hundred people to move about in a village so con- 
 stnicted without losing themselves. 
 
 It was not long before my excellent guide sent for me in order 
 to introduce his old model. She was a large, stout woman, from 
 fifty to sixty, lame and almost blind, but full of health. She 
 spoke rapidly, in a very masculine and surly tone. Still, on tlie 
 whole she received me well. The arrival of her old benefactor 
 and master (perhaps he had occupied other relations) gave her 
 evident satisfaction ; but there was nothing enthusiastic or strik* 
 ing in the exhibition of her joy. An observing eye could easily 
 recofmize in her manner that impassability common to the peas- 
 antry, which is the natural result of labor and suffering. Her 
 dress was altogether modern, resembling that of the country 
 people of Bievre or Montreuil ; it was plain to see that she pre- 
 ferred the calicos of India, or the silks of Lyons to the beautiful 
 tissues of dark wool such as she had worn in her youth. 
 
 " I really hope," said she, " that you have brought your Sun- 
 day garments." 
 
 My reply disconcerted her. 
 
 '* It will never be believed that you arc of noble rank ; to- 
 
. ' ■■'C *kV*** 
 
 
 212 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 morrow will be the feast of St. Anthony, the patron of Sonnino. 
 There is to be a procession, a horse-race, and fireworks ; our own 
 band is to perform from morning until eveninj^, for we have a 
 band composed of the first younpr men of the district; thejhavo 
 learned tlie music and bought the instnunenls. What a pity 
 that you did not bring your <lark clothes." 
 
 I excused myself in the best way I could, as I had the strong- 
 est reasons for keeping in her good graces ; I managed mattera 
 so that she promised me the history of her life upon the follow- 
 ing day. 
 
 "But to what end?" said she, in her old surly tone ; 'I have 
 lived like the others, and nothing extraordinary has happened to 
 me ; ever}^body lodged at the same inn in my time." 
 
 Supper being served, :Maria Grazia refused to partake with us. 
 She finally consented to join in a glass of Avine, and ended by 
 drinkinc: several. 
 
 '• This does me good," she said, '* it is a long time since I have 
 ha«l anything like it; this supper is too extravagant." 
 
 Our host removed the servants' plates as soon us he was in- 
 formed that we were not in the habit of eating with tliem. Ue 
 introduced us to his future son-in-law, a young engineer, who 
 liad tlie air of a college student. I am astonished that mere chil- 
 dren should be allowed to marry only to beget their like. The 
 answer is: "Such is the custom." At Sezza, in the unhealthy 
 district, girls marry still younger, and it is not uncommon to find 
 young won)en of fifteen years living with their third husband. 
 The air of the :Marshes is so fatiil to husbands ! 
 
 Our repast was good and abundant; we had nothing to com- 
 tlain of but the excessive poHteness of the host. In these moun- 
 t^ims the inen serve themselves before the women, it; indeed 
 the latter dare eat in the presence of thi'ir husbands. But custom 
 exacts a great many compliments. *^ Goo«l appetite to you ! 
 Thank you! You are my masti'r ! Make vourself at home I 
 Do me the favor! Koally, it is too much!* You overwhelm 
 me ! I hardly know how to be sufi^iciently gratc-ful ! By your 
 leave! May this repast repay you! Alirnv'^nie to reheve you 
 of my presence! Adieu! Good evening! Good night! 
 Pleasant dreams I May the Virgin watch over you!" Do not 
 forget that upon entering the landlord told you that you sliould 
 be well served witliout compliments or ceremony. 
 
 AX EXCURSIOX SOUTH. 
 
 213 
 
 f 
 
 I slept as a traveler only can sleep. On leaving my room the 
 following morning, I met the yoimg engineer, who obligingly 
 offt^red to show mo the town an«l the fair. I could not in polite- 
 ness refuse the ofTor. On the road I sounded him a little. He 
 had studied at Rome, where he attended the course of the Sa- 
 pienza. While pursuing his mathematics, he had found time to 
 read Voltaire and Rousseau ; for he could rea.l French, although 
 he did not speak it. Rousseau was his idol. lie had often 
 secretly discussed his theories with his companions. His opinion 
 of the pontifical government is the same as that of all the middle 
 class ; he hoped to live long enough to see it overthrown. Mean- 
 while he was endeavoring to obtain a place in the department 
 of public works. 
 
 The fair was held at the extremities of the main street. I 
 counted in all a dozen poorly-fiirnished booths. The first glance 
 was sufficient to estabUsh the fact that Sonnino is not a center 
 of commerce. A few pieces of linen, some cotton and silk hand- 
 kerchief-J, a small assortment of iron and earthenware, chaplets 
 and cherries in abundance, complete the inventory of articles 
 which I made upon the spot. Add to this a collection of stories 
 at a cent a-pieee, and cdiiying religious ballads, and a load of the 
 thinnest possible boards, which the vender, at a moment's notice, 
 manufactured into chairs, trunks, couches, and even bedsteads. 
 
 The streets began to fill with people. The men were tall, thin, 
 and sun-burnt; the females small-featured and delicate. The 
 national costume, which is severe and at the same time diversi- 
 fied in color, was occasionally visible ; but the modern silk fab- 
 rics, which must finally displace all others, have already destroyed 
 tlie toilets of tlie women. Both men and women bore flowers 
 in their hands, in the mouth, or in the'ir head-dresses. 
 
 The crowd ascended and descended the wet stairs without 
 slipping. From time to time they glued themselves against the 
 walls tt) make way for a mule, an ass, or a small drove of black 
 animals: I have already given the meaning of this euphonism. 
 
 At one ])oint Middle Street widens so as to form a place, or 
 square. I asked the young engineer, whether the rack was 
 not located here, under the pontificate of Leo XII. He 
 replied that he knew nothing about it, and suddenly changed the 
 
 subject 
 
 He pointed out the government palace, a regular barn, where 
 
 
^■ j i "«^*t < i ii Mn (> !WM 
 
 214 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 presHles a judge-gover„nr ,vnth a salary of one hundred and 
 
 I reco-^ized Saint Peter's .rate, from llie description, I Ind 
 prevousy read. Here were forn.nrly .suspended i , ,ro , e^.^ 
 
 He had never hearj'of :,:e-oet It" "''''"''' "'''''' "--• 
 He conducted me, liowever, to an immense buildin.^ flanked 
 by a tower m ruins. A porter, or steward, who vL~i7n the 
 ower part, led ns through several half-empt'y room me i 
 furmshed w,th straw chairs and bedsteads of ^Vlntc-wood fS 
 or s,x beauffully .ilded pieces of furniture, in thet^rst./,' " 
 neglected m tUo garret. Jlere an,l there were to be seen vul'^r 
 mages f.gures o Christ in colored wax, and rustic hi" 5: 
 In a kmd of parlor, a little wooden Saint Peter stood ,^ 
 regarding four indecent plaster statuettes c \ "s Si 
 lacmg her corset, another tying her garter, and a thi d 411 
 her hnen for mseets. In this house was born one oC he S 
 
 ~dli. °'''"' -^'P'-^'-ts-his Eminence Cardinal 
 
 We were not allowed to depart without entering the nrincinal 
 room of the e.^Ublishmeut. In this apartn.ent ar^eollee^eS m 
 
 The Antonelh family purchase the oil in small lots from th^ 
 Sitf .llr^^S-' -' --- °^ '^ - -« to Z 
 
 1 ,. t^ . . " iii^ni nia.-s wa.s nerrormed n 
 
 stZl """"^■' '" ""- '^°'"-^"' ^^■'-•- - ' '----« 
 
 We arrived shortly before the com.nencen.ent of the eeremonv 
 
 feet n; VTT r "'"'"''' '""'''" "'"'^ '^'^-<- '»"- 
 teet of the Sa:nt. Each one gave what he had, and ked for 
 
 What he wanted at the top of his voice. A mother, holing up 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 215 
 
 her sick child before Saint Anthony, exclaimed, " Cure liim, or 
 
 txike him !" 
 
 The mM?s was very lonof. When it was ended the procession 
 beo-an. Almost all the male inhabitants of Sonnino are enrolled 
 in some brothorh.ood, whose frock and cowl they assiune. The 
 brotherhood of the Souls of Purgatory is tlie most aristocratic ; 
 that is to say, jt is made up of peasants of the better class. The 
 brotherhoods of the Body of Jesus and of the Name of Mary 
 arc its bitter rivals. On this occasion a dispute as to precedence 
 arose, and in an instant staves were flourished in defiance. How- 
 ever, the parties confined themselves to the exchange of oppro- 
 brious epithets, order was restored, and a long cortege, bristling 
 with crosses and banners, wound through the streets. The pro- 
 cession was terminated by a calf, decorated with ribbons, a 
 somewhat heathenish olTering made by a wealthy individual to 
 St. Anthony. The donor himself led the animal, one hand 
 holding him by the head, the other by the tail. 
 
 There were frequent interruptions in the line. Sometimes a 
 banner could not pass under an arch ; sometimes a child Avas to 
 be picked up ; sometimes tlie image of the Saint required a fresh 
 relay of porters, and sometimes the calf stubbornly refused to 
 budo-e. At each station some one cried out Ave Maria, which, 
 in processional language, means Halt I 
 
 The few inhabitants who remained at home showered down 
 broom flowers and leafless carnation from the windows. 
 
 Wc had nm on in advance of tlie procession, and posted our- 
 selves in a convenient location. I there made the acquaintance 
 of the communal physician, who introduced himself without 
 ceremony. The communal physician is a person of great im- 
 portance in these small towns. He has studied at Rome, and 
 obtained his situation i)t the annual public examination, when 
 the students compete for the first rank. The commune pays 
 him a fixed salary, lor which he agrees to treat both rich and 
 poor gratis. This arrangement is in keeping with the municipal 
 spirit of Italy. It deserves to be introduced among us. 
 
 My new acquaintance informed me that he received sixteen 
 hundred and five francs per annum, and that his colleague, tho 
 surgeon, was equally well paid. This is more than enough in a 
 country where a decent house may be liired for sixty francs a 
 year, and a person may live upon ten cents a day. I learned 
 
BtjJT^ 
 
 
 
 21G 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 from h,m that the mumcpality of Sonnino is rich, thanks to tho 
 extent of >ts comrnnnal .iomain. It ha. saved np ninety thonsand 
 ^anc., which wUJ be devoted to the restoration of L povor^- 
 ment palace and ropairin,^ the roads. The people are temperate 
 and mdusf.,o„.. Kael> „,an owns a smaU pitcil of .round ■ t".y 
 are poor, but a pauper is not to be found amons then,. The 
 
 pla nt ,s acute <?a.str,t.s, caused, as is supposed, by the use of 
 Inchan mea . PubHc instruction is at a low ebb. ^nt one out 
 of A,r.y adults can read and write. Forty male children are to 
 be found m the schools; females are more numerous, for the 
 reason that they are of less service in field labor. The ;um total 
 of the population is two thousand five hundred and Cl>y-,.i<.hL 
 of which number thirty are ecclesiastics ^ " ^ 
 
 " That is very well," I said to the doc'tor. " But tell me some- 
 thing about the brigand.s." 
 
 He cast his eyeron me, then on my neighbor, the engineer, 
 
 smile, full of meaning, and more instructive than a long speech, 
 the,; dL .T ^' P'"^""'"' " '*■ brig.'^ndage is still practiced in 
 tSstLl Ye.s "nluekily I Our peasants would scruple 
 
 toe the theft of fruit, gram, or forage. As for stabbing, it is 
 neither more rare nor more common here than elsewhere. It 
 
 tZ ,^ ^'fy "'!. "'" ^'"'^S''- ^^'I'^n wine is dear there are 
 
 lewer throats cut. ' 
 
 This was not exactly what I asked him, but I took care not to 
 repeat my question. The young engineer doubtless counted 
 among his ancestors some of the heroes hung up at the gate of 
 St. Petjen and I had been too indiscreet alrea.ly in speakin-^ of 
 brigandage before him. " 
 
 At length the procession passed by. The loiterers increased 
 their speed ; the poor calf, overcome with fatigue, had to be car- 
 red at last. ^Ve returned to the house, where dinner awaited 
 us. Our host told us that a sick woman had given u,. the ghost 
 just at the moment when St. Anthony was pa.,siug in front of 
 her house. The relations of the deceased comforted themselves 
 by saying that the Saint had Uken her with him 
 
 The people of Sonnino have a promenade of which they 
 arc justly proud. It is a road a mile long, constructc^d with 
 
 ^A2^iS^'dt,*«mmkt-i' 
 
 AX EXCUBSION SOUTH. 
 
 217 
 
 • 
 
 much labor, on the top of the mountaiu. It begins at St. Peter's 
 gate, and ends at a clump of evergreens. The ground is smooth 
 enough for you to ride in a carriage; unluckil}', carriages can 
 not get up so high. They have horse-races there on fete days, 
 when by tlie permission of Providence there are any horses in 
 the town. 
 
 The race was fixed for twenty-two o'clock ; that is to say, it 
 was to becrin two hours before sunset. While waitino: for this 
 spectacle, I went all alone to the little wood of evergreens. The 
 cows had left there large traces of their presence. Still I settled 
 myself as well as I could on a stump, and began to note down 
 with my pencil what I had seen and heard since the day before. 
 All at once the sky grew dark. It was a passing storm, coming 
 from the mountains of Naples. The light diminished abruptly ; 
 the valley was dipped in the most fantastic hues. Thunderclaps 
 came nearer in quick succession. Soon I thought I heard the 
 thunder directly over my head. I could not reach the village 
 without being exposed for u mile to a heavy rain, and I was very 
 lightly clad. Accordingly, I determined to stay where I was 
 until the storm was over. Ileaven sent me plenty of company. 
 Eight or ten herdsmen — oxherds, keepers of buffaloes, goats, 
 and sheep — came to shelter round me. They were wet to the 
 bone, but none of them had thought of putting on his jacket. 
 They wore it negligently on the left shoulder, after the coquet- 
 tish fashion of the country. I offered them cigars, which they 
 eagerly accepted, and cut up to put them in their wooden pipes, 
 decorated with copper-headed nails. A young man, in return 
 for my politeness, gave me some green apples, which might have 
 been rii)e by the end of August. lie then produced a red cotton 
 handkerchief, filled witli wliite-heart cherries, which was con- 
 cealed under his jacket, f accepted two or three with discre- 
 tion, but he insisted like a hau<lsome friend. " Don't be afraid," 
 he said, " to share my cherries. I did not pay for them ; they 
 belong to me by the right of taking them. If you won't help 
 yourself, I'll help you." 
 
 lie filled me with them at first, and then overwhelmed me 
 witli thenii he treated me as Augustus might have treated 
 Cinna; and when he plainly saw that I was above the ears in 
 tliem, he distributed the rest among his comi>anions. 
 
 Finding myself in the midst of these honest fellows, of v;hum 
 
 10 
 
 iSu... 
 
•&47. _ 
 
 218 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAT. 
 
 some ^-ere barely entering on life, while others had passed three- 
 
 andage. Only one had been a brigand ; he counted some yel'k 
 of servce m the band of the famous Gasperone, whom 1 w 
 afterward at the hulks of Civita Castellana. He Tmembered 
 ^.e tme very distinctly when the whipping-post and mv h do 
 
 heads and Ind ^•^";T^"'"° "''"^"-l ^^ith eighteen human 
 heads, and had personally known some half dozen of them He 
 
 wen 0^- hem" r !"' Tf^' «o-inst the ground.' The g n 
 went off, the man d,ed and the governor hung up his head with 
 tho others, very unfairly, as da Santis had never been taken 
 My nanator was with Gasperone when he went to take down 
 
 o ,,ive It bunal. Ho remembered some other expeditions h„t 
 
 spit:;tre r"r"' '" "^" » -^^"p^"'-- '^^Z'Z 
 
 spite of the closest attention, I could not always foli;w hm 
 
 S dtTto2r;°r'^ ''"'"'' '''^ ^'^ resisLcewl-cJ • 
 liacl dared to make to Gasperone. The great captain had sent 
 
 «. ' °" ""''' "" " '"""'^° ^^•'-" -- "^-e'y to be 
 
 wile f;::^r^Lt.:ti,a;'or?r ''%'-''' '"" " ^'- 
 n^p^ f T' -' "" - ^ "da;!-:; i^/izr 
 ;o:':;srk'„f - r.-t ^^wS- t;- t iti-i - 
 
 was not right. The man whom Gasperone s„t in lyi 
 escaped, at the peril of his life, from Hvi or si.x musket Wis " 
 
 he S hoTestlv H :. '•■'^f ~"'"^ '° f'^^^'""''-' "'-'" that 
 nt was honestly attending to his business. For the rest lie hA.l 
 
 ol bTtTeh^Tf by profession; his oecupat^n ^^s \e p 
 :^ Sht: t^:^^' '- -'• - -=" - •'"•gandage wa^ 
 Not that severe examples had been wantin- ( , Imn n„ 1 i 
 been present in his youth at the execution of ^w ntyle fan^^ 
 of he mountams, taken and shot by the French Th!ir «fl 
 bad been settled exactly at the entiLce to thtlittl wood 'L^ 
 
 AX EXCUESIOX SOUTH. 
 
 219 
 
 which we wero detained by tli? rain ; their bodies were thrown 
 into a deep and gloomy cavern, three miles from Sonnino. 
 
 I asked him to what causes he attributed the extinction of 
 briprnnda^^e. 
 
 " The rea.son is," he replied, " that the biisiness became impos- 
 sible under Pope Leo XII. Almost as soon as a man was taken 
 they cut off his head. Yo!i had not even time to escape from 
 prison. That is how the fashion died out." 
 
 He spoke of that bloody period with the utmost cnlmnesg in 
 the world, without remorse, without pride, without rancor, 
 putting gensd'armes and brigands, crime "and law on the same 
 footing, as a man, watching a game of chess, regards tlie whites 
 and the blanks, or as Macchiavelli regards the strife between 
 good and evil. 
 
 His companions listened to him with the same Italian impar- 
 tiality. 
 
 I wished to learn whether he did not regret his former diver- 
 sions. 
 
 "You are an ox-herd," I said, "and you earn little: you 
 eat corn bread, and you don't drink wine every Sunday. Don't 
 you sometimes regret the time whon you had only to take 
 them ?" 
 
 "It is true," he answered, " I have had some good times, but 
 I have met with some very bad ones ; we were not always mas- 
 ters, and sometimes, instead of pursuing, we fled. However, 
 there is no choico, for brigandage is not in now fashion." 
 
 The conversation had reached this point, when I reflected that 
 my new friends would have had an easy bargain of me, if they 
 had cultivated the picturesque like their fathers. I brought 
 out this idea before them, ir. order still better to learn their 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Aly good fellows," I said, " if you were like the old inhabi- 
 tants of Sonnino, you would long ago have rifled my pockets; 
 you are ton again.st one, a good mile from the village. You may 
 suppo.-e that a stranger who comes as far as this place has a few 
 crowns in his purse ; you see that I am unarmed, and there is 
 not one among you Avho has not, beside his stick, a good sharp 
 knife ; if I cried out, my cries would not be heard ; if I made a 
 complaint, it would be impossible for me to give your names, as 
 I do not know them. Wliy don't you strip me a little?" 
 
 .; -^■y-^y^ :^J\:,f 
 

 220 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 The old soldier of Gasperone was not offended at my questions. 
 He replied, with simplicity: 
 
 '•"VVe would not do such a thing, because we are honest 
 people." ^ 
 
 '•Then you were not an lionest man when you ran^^ed the 
 raountaiiis with Gasperone?" 
 
 " Ye?, I was an honest man. but I did as everybody did. It 
 was the habit, in those times ; and, even in those times, if you 
 had sat by me, if you had given me cigars, if you had eaten off 
 the same stone with me, I should not have tfiken a penny from 
 you ; still, if you had money in your pockets, and had given me 
 a little portrait of the pope, I should have taken it to drink vour 
 healdi." 
 
 The storm had gone its way, the sun came out again, the time 
 for the races was approaching ; already we saw tliree Jiorses leave 
 the village, and approach, at a walk, the open wood, whore 
 they were to await the signal for the start. While my compan- 
 ions judged the runners in the distance, and bet on the bay, 
 the sorrel, or the white, I saw, far off, very fur off, a little com- 
 pany of tenor twelve people descend from Sonnino by St. Peter's 
 gate and walk slowly toward the church of St. Antliony. 
 
 "What is that?" I a.sked the old ox-herd; '*one would say 
 they were carrying something." 
 
 " It is so," he answered ; " they are carrying to the grave a 
 woman who died to-day, during tlie procession." 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " Surely the law does not allow them to bury people four hours 
 after death?" 
 
 "Bah! it may be forbidden, but so much the woi-se. We 
 have no time to lose here, and when people are dead, we bury 
 them." 
 
 The dead woman, hardly yet cold, entered the church at the 
 moment when the tlu-ee horses reached us. I am not very 
 skillful in such matters, and I never wore a rosette of green card 
 board at my button-hole, but it was easy for me to predict that 
 the race would be a poor one. The three jades that were en- 
 tered wa^rc to nui without jockeys, for a purse of ten crowns. 
 The whip and spur were replaced by a few balls of lead armed 
 with spikes, to tickle their flanks. A score of urchins pursued 
 
 AN EXCUKSION SOUTH. 
 
 221 
 
 I 
 
 them with loud cries, pelting them with stones ; it was not a 
 start, but someth ng like a launch. Half way of the course, the 
 poor animals, feeling themselves no longer pursued, began to 
 walk ; in vain their owners ran toward them, to recall them to 
 duty; in vain the crowd stimulated their pride by all the projec- 
 tiles that were handy ; the race was finished at a gentle trot, and 
 the three beasts reached the goal lamely enough. 
 
 I reached it almost at the same time, although no stones had 
 been thrown at me, and I saw a pretty curious sight. The local 
 autliorities refused to adjudge the prize, alleging that coi^so, a 
 race, came from corsere, to run, and that the horses had not run. 
 The owner of the winner was tolerably calm ; he obstinately 
 repeated, " I have won the race ; give me ten crowns ;" but the 
 turfites who had bet on him were less peaceable. They accused 
 tlie people of Sonnino, cried thief, and recalled, by pretty sharp 
 allusions, the old reputation of the country. Things might have 
 gone far, in spite of the interference of the gend'armes, if wine had 
 been cheaper. 
 
 Music continued to go through the stxeets, and did not stop 
 until evening ; it had saluted the dawn, announced the mass, ac- 
 companied the church singing, followed the procession, opened 
 and closed the races ; it conducted the people to the fireworks, 
 and was only extinguished with the last cracker. It was the 
 first time tliat tlie young men of Sonnino had given a public con- 
 cert, their ardor was quite young, and their fanaticism fire-new ; 
 that was easy to see. 
 
 The fete over, some hundreds of torches were lighted, and 
 every one returned home. Maria Grazia liad not retired ; she 
 w.as waitin;;^ for me. 
 
 " Here I am," she said, on seeing me come in. " You see I 
 keep my wonl ; I am very willing to tell you my story, although 
 there is nothinij^ surprising in it, but what is the use ? What 
 will you do with it? what good will it do you to know it?" 
 
 "Maria Grazin," I answered, " when I know your story, I will 
 tell it in a book ; the people in my country have already scea 
 your portrait, now they shall know your name." 
 
 A smile of pride illuminated her old face. She sat down near 
 me, on my traveling bag, and repeated to me in a low voice, the 
 following story : 
 
 "I was born at S<»nnino. m the time of the brigands. I must 
 
 .'^ -■4tiah.rtil%«iTii ai ' SWi iil 'l l 1 ll l M ftB ll l' fll IJJ&flbJt M M&lAJI 
 

 222 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 be abcut fifty years old ; you should ask the cur^. At fifteen I 
 mari-ied my first husband. He was a fine fellow, an ox-herd by 
 occupation. Besides, he had a little property; we had one boy, 
 who died in course of time ; my husband had some discussion 
 about robbery with our boy's godfather; I don't recollect whether 
 It was grain or olives he had taken from us, but it was little 
 enough. At all events, it would have been best to forgive him, 
 but my husband complained of him to the governor, and had him 
 put in prison for a month. The other threatened vengeance. I 
 thought he would do nothing, as he was our crony, and had 
 always shown us friendliness ; still my husband thought it best 
 to move from the neighborhood, and he went to keep oxen near 
 Rome. But the other went there too, in the followim? year, 
 and finding my husband a.sleep in the field, killed him with his 
 knife. 
 
 " About that time I mnde the acquaintance of my second hus- 
 band. He was born in the kingdom (of Naples), but he lived at 
 Terracina, and it was there he took me. He worked at farming. 
 
 " I had not been long married again when my sister sent to 
 ask me about her marrying the man who had killed mv first hus- 
 band. He was courting her, and she liked him. I told her to 
 do OS she pleased ; that my first husband was dead ; that I was 
 not a saint, to bring him to life again ; and that the best thing 
 was to thiuk no more of it. Accordingly, she married the other^ 
 who was not a bad fellow, as I told yon, and had a good deal of 
 friendship for us. 
 
 " I had had two children by my second husband, and was liv- 
 ing happily in his company, when a great vexation happened to 
 him. He demanded two or three crowns from a man for whom 
 he had worked. His debtor refused to pay, because he was rich 
 and knew the judge. Then my husband, not being able to ob- 
 tain other satisfliction, killed him. The poor man,' after this im- 
 prudence, couM do nothing but turn brigand and roam the moun- 
 tain. He came into the neighborhood of Sonnino, and joined 
 tlie rest. As for mo, I returnetl to my parents, and often had 
 news of him. Sometimes he would come to see me in secret • 
 sometimes he would send me presents. 
 
 " But Pope Leo, who had resolved to make an end of brigand-, 
 age, ordered the wives and children of all those who kept to the 
 mountain to be brought to Rome by force. I was put in the 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 223 
 
 Thermae, with many other women from our part. I found there 
 my sister, whose husband too was on the mountain ; and more 
 than half the families of Sonnino. The pope was in such a rage, 
 that he talked of razing the village. Cannon had been brouifht 
 up to the mountains that commdnd it ; and you would no longer 
 see stone upon stone, if Cardinal Gonsalvi had not interceded for 
 us. 
 
 " While we were at the Thermno, the gentlemen and artists 
 used to come tliere every day ; the former to sec us, the others 
 to draw from tis. It was there that I began to sit for M. Schnetz, 
 and my sister for ^l. (Leopold) Robert It is my sister that is 
 playing the tambourine in the picture of the Madonna of the 
 Arch. I have sat thousands and thousands of times in my cos- 
 tume, and I have been tolil t'.iat my portrait was in churches and 
 palaces in your country. We were treated kindly ; we were al- 
 lowed to go to tiie studios, and even to become housekeepers to 
 respectable persons. 
 
 '* But njy husband, wlio was a worthy man, as I have told 
 you, and loved me gi-eatly, learned that I had been arrested ; and 
 supposing that I was unhappy in prison, went and gave himself 
 up in order to obtain freedom for me and the children. The 
 Holy Father had promised their lives and but a short imprison- 
 ment to tliose who should voluntarily place themselves in the 
 hands of the liishop of their province. But my poor man, through 
 ignorance, made a mistake ; instead of giving himself up to the 
 Bishop of Piperno, who was our bishop, he went and yielded 
 himself as a prisoner at Terracina. And so he lost the benefit 
 of the law. They said to him, ' If you had gone to Piperno to 
 give yourself up, you would have got your pardon, since the pope 
 had promised it ; but as you went to Terracina, so much the 
 worse for you.' He was sent to the galleys at Porto d'Anzio. 
 
 " The gentlemen whom I knew in Rome took pity on my 
 trouble. They asked that my husband might be imprisoned 
 nearer me, at the Cjistle of Saint Angelo. He came there, and 
 was even allowed to go out sometimes to see me. The poor 
 fellow behaved well in prison ; he learned to read and write ; 
 he was exemplary. He was also allowed to sit for the painters, 
 and he earned a little money. Some amnesties followed; his 
 penalty was reduced several times, so that at the end of two or 
 three yearr. he liad only eighteen months more to serve out. Wo 
 
 »k3V 
 
224 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 were happy and full of hope. Our intention was to build a little 
 tavern toward the Portese gate, and there quietly end our lives. 
 But though he had always been so pnident in prison, he com- 
 mitted some imprudence, I don't now recollect what. I believe, 
 in a moment of anger, he said some wicked words against the 
 Saint«?. At any rate, they sent him, in consequence, to the hulks 
 at Civita Veccliia for the rest of his days. 
 
 " I told you that he was the gentlest and best of men, but this 
 time despair seized him. When a man has been so near liberty, 
 he docs not give it up forever. That is why the poor fellow came 
 to an understanding with his companion in chains ; and one 
 day, when they had been sent to cut fire-wood outside the town, 
 with a single soldier for the two they got rid of their guard! 
 The Madonna must have helped them miraculously afterward, 
 for thty contrived to break their fetters, change their clothes', 
 crab's the Tiber without knowing how to swim, and reach Son- 
 nino, which is at the other end of the country. 
 
 " They defended themselves there for more than a year against 
 the soldiers of the States (of the Church) and those of the'king- 
 dora (of Naples), who tracked them on every side. If they ma(?e 
 60 long a resistance, you may be sure it was owing to their groat 
 courage, their knowledge of the country, their experience in the 
 business, and the honor of the good shepherds of the neighbor- 
 hood, who would rather denounce the gensd'armes to them than 
 got a hundred crowns. 
 
 ''But at last a traitor discovered the hut to which they had 
 retreated for the night, and they wore surrounded by Neapolitan 
 soldiers. When they became aware of the fact it was too late 
 to escapo. The comrade was killed un the spot, and my husband 
 fatally wounded ; his shoulder was fractured. 
 
 " Unhappily for him and for me, he did not die at once. He 
 was taken at first to the hospital at Terracina, and the Neapoli- 
 tan soldiers came after him to claim the sum which had been 
 promised them. Yet it was discovered, on questioning him, that 
 he was not a subject of the pope, but of the king. lie was ac- 
 corcHng'y handed over to the Neapolitan authorities, and tlie 
 soldiers wore sent to got their pay at home. They addressed 
 themselves to the governor of Gaeta, who sent them to the devil, 
 because the king had not promised any thing ; and so they were 
 paid by no body. Served them right! 
 
 AN EXCUllSIOX SOUTH. 
 
 225 
 
 I 
 
 "As for my poor man, he remained eighteen months in the hos- 
 pital at Gaeta, without a decided turn for life or death. His case 
 had been decided upon while he was ill, and the judges had con- 
 demned him to death ; but the executioner waited for him to get 
 well before cutting off his head. So he hardly had courage to 
 get well, and would have been content to remain ill until the last 
 judgment. 
 
 " All this was very painful for me ; all the more so as I saw 
 my sister happy, and had found an opportunity of becoming so 
 myself. My brother-in-law — he who had killed my first husband 
 — had made his peace with justice, and, by informing on some 
 comrades, had got the place of a jailor. He was not badly off, 
 and Theresa was not to be pitied with him. I was acquainted, 
 in Rome, with a hatter, who was well disposed toward me, and 
 wished to marry me. But I could not take a third husband, so 
 long as the second was not quite dead. In this sad condition, 
 being neither maid, wife, nor widow, I decided on getting a pe- 
 tition written to the King of Naples, to get my poor husband 
 executed as he was, without waiting for his recovery. At the 
 same time I began, together with my sister and the hatter, a 
 neuvine to St. John the Beheaded. My petition remained unan- 
 swered, but the neuvine succeeded. My husband died, properly 
 confessed, at the hospital of Gaeta, and I married the hatter, who 
 was a worthy man, too, and a pattern husband. I had by him 
 a son, a dragoon, who died in the hospital of Viterbo. The 
 father died at Rome, in his room, the death of the just. My 
 sister and her brother-in-law also are dead. I have heard that 
 poor M. Robert killed himself in despair about a picture. I am 
 in good health, and shall live long, please God, though it is very 
 cold at Sounino, and I can hardly see out of my remaining eye, 
 and w^ine is seven cents the half pint." 
 
 We have taken leave of Maria Grazia, and her too celebrated 
 country. This is the village of Prossedi, which has also its httle 
 fame in the annals of crime. Gasperone — the great Gasperone 
 — was not born at Sonnino, but at Prossedi. 
 
 It is a hamlet of fifteen hundred souls, inhabited by peasants, 
 who cultivate the olive and the mulberry, and sow grain for their 
 own consumption. There is perhaps greater ignorance here than 
 at Sonnino ; fifteen boys, at the most, go to school — one per 
 cent of the population. 
 
 . 10* 
 
226 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAT. 
 
 The village is built in such a manner that carriages can not 
 penetrate it. Our inn is situated beyond the gates, opposite the 
 chateau of Prince Gabrielli. The prince is owner of a good part 
 of the dwellings. The town-jail belongs to him. His ministro, 
 or steward, keeps two carriages. 
 
 The commandant of the fort is a brigadier of gensd'armes. 
 
 The inhabitants, in the absence of vehicles, possess a host of 
 asses and mules. It requires a great number to carry all the 
 necessaries of life up the mountain. 
 
 The women are handsome and delicate. They go barefoot, 
 and carry enormous burdens on their heads, like the women of 
 Sonnino. 
 
 The village is gloomy and unclean. Almost all the houses 
 would need repairs, but they look at the expense. To make 
 amends, there is not an inhabitant who has not inscribed over 
 his door, " Hurrah for Jesus ! hurrah for ^lary ! hurrah for the 
 blood of Jesus ! hurrah for the heart of Mary ! blasphemers, hoUi 
 your peace for the love of Mary 1" This flood of inscriptions is 
 the fruit of a quinquennial mission which took place in the month 
 of March. The village painter made his fortune by it. Every 
 inscription in large letters brought him in twenty-five paoli (about 
 two hundred and seventy-five dollars). 
 
 All these villages are alike ; if you have seen one, you know 
 them all. If I described them one by one, I should lose my time 
 and profit no one. In the morning the men go to the fields ; the 
 women go for wood or water. In the heat of the day, the little 
 city is deserted, and as if dead. Toward evening, when the wind 
 grows a Uttle cooler, the employees leave their offices, and sit 
 down before the caf^. The Monseigneur, if there be one in the 
 locality, begins his httle promenade in violet stockings, flanked 
 by two attendants, lay or ecclesiastic^U, and followed by a lackey 
 in full livery. At sunset the sellers of greens spread out their 
 stores in the square. The peasants return to the village, bur- 
 dened with fatigue and tlieir heavy tools, and buy some slight 
 provision for the evening meal ; the women return from the 
 fountain with a shellful of fresh water ; they sup, and go to 
 sleep. Sometimes they break in upon the night, to hear a ser- 
 mon in a church hung with gewgaws. Bodily fatigue, mental 
 slumber, ignorance of the past, difficulties in tlie present, uncer- 
 tainty as to the future, amd a certain sleepy resignation, complete 
 
 AN EXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 227 
 
 the existence of these poor people. A freezing dullness oozes 
 from the walls. They work, eat, drink, and breed, and all de- 
 jectedly. 
 
 If Rome should be swallowed up by an earthquake, the peas- 
 ants of these villages would continue to till their fields, consume 
 the crops at home, and vegetate in a tolerably courageous wretch- 
 m edness. Every municipality fives by itself, and for itself, on a 
 soil which is not barren. The taxes of the parish pay the parish 
 doctor and the parish surgeon, the parish schoolmaster, and the 
 mending — such as it is — of the parish roads. The State takes a 
 laige share of the revenues of each year. In return for its taxes, 
 it sends them a judge and governor, who sells justice. Agricul- 
 ture is the sole career open to human activity : there is neither 
 commerce, nor manufacturing, nor business, nor movement of 
 ideas, nor political life, nor any of those powerful bonds which 
 attach prox-inces to a capital. 
 
 Of all the useful animals, woman is the one which the Roman 
 peasant employs with most profit. She makes bread, hoe-cake, 
 {jji'zza), and mortar; she spins, weaves, and sews; she goes 
 every day three miles for wood, and a mile and a half for bread. 
 She carries a mule's load on her head ; she works from sunrise 
 to sunset without revolt, and even without complaint. The 
 children, which she bears in large numbers, and nurses herself, 
 are a valuable resource ; from tlie age of four they are employed 
 in taking care of other animals. 
 
 I inquire everywhere as to the progress of enlightenment. 
 *' IIow many people are there here who can read ?" "Poci^is- 
 simi" — very few. The answer is uniform. So much for primary 
 instruction. 
 
 When a tree needs trimming, they cut its head through the 
 middle. A touch of tlie saw in a horizontal direction soon does 
 the business. Do they need the whole tree, they saw it off 
 within a foot of tlie ground : the stump and the remains of the 
 trunk rot where they are. So much for professional instruction. 
 
 The parochial taxes on wine, meat, pork, etc., are farmed out 
 to contractors, who take all they can, and give something to the 
 parish. So much for administrative science. 
 
 The parochial taxes are pretty heavy, and the peasant com- 
 plains that he is crushed by them. In the most unpretending 
 villages, you must pay a cent at the barrier for three hundred 
 
" ■* - tfrtaimi 
 
 228 
 
 liOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 and thirty-nine grammes of meat, or pork ; fifteen to tliirty cents 
 for the smallest cask of sour wine ; so much a head for horses, 
 mules, and asses ; so niuch for every pig you rear at home. Tlie 
 right to light a hearth-fire (focaiico), costs from two to fivo 
 crowns. This last tax is progressive, so far as I could judge. 
 
 Still you can not say that these worthy people are wretch(Ml — 
 like the Irish, for example. They arc poor ; that is all. The 
 fact that religious services, school, and medical care, cost nothing, 
 compensates to a certain point for their enormous burdens. 
 The toil on their land suffices to make them vegetate to old age. 
 They spend their lives in providing for their lives. The existence 
 of this class is like an imperfect circle. 
 
 You might perhaps be terrified to learn, that a village of two 
 thousand souls has thirty priests, if you did not know at the 
 same time that those priests cost nothing. They have benefices, 
 endowments, lands, thanks to the hberality of some lord of the 
 good old times. Their property is leased out, and they live on 
 the rent. 
 
 It must be owned, therefore, that this multitude of ecclesias- 
 tics, which would be burdensome to any other nation, costs little 
 enough, relatively, to the Roman people. A cardinal, for instance, 
 takes only four thousand crowns from the budget of the State. 
 The rest of his income is derived from fat livings, and especially 
 from the offices wliich he fills. Plurality is allowed, and largely 
 practiced. 
 
 It is in part the unwholesome air and in part the total absence 
 of security in the plain, which has compelled the peasants of 
 these countries to settle on airy and inaccessible heights. It is 
 a very ancient custom, for a good number of the small towns in 
 which we halt are still surrounded by cyclopean walls. When 
 the population diminishes, a few houses are allowed to fall into 
 ruins ; when it increases, they crowd together in the buildings 
 that remain. They build very little for want of capital ; they 
 repair very rarely, and at the last extremity. All these towns 
 look as if they had been built on the same day, and of one piece. 
 The peasant grows fond of his wretched dwelling. He cares 
 little for the length of the distances, the steepness of the streets, 
 and, above all, for the inconvenience of the houses. Life is spent 
 in the fields. 
 
 To laborers, who sweai from morning till evening under a 
 
 AN IIXCURSION SOUTH. 
 
 229 
 
 burning sun, on a hot soil, in detestable roads, the man who 
 I stays at home doing nothing, and does not even go out into the 
 ■ street to walk, is a happy and privileged being, eminently noble, 
 and near akin to the immortal gods. 
 
 I was in the Palace Square, at the gate of Prossedi, and was 
 gtilting a young native to converse. He showed me at some 
 distance a well-dressed man, whom five or six persons were 
 compelUug to get into a carriage. He was a prominent person 
 in the town, who had lost his reason, and they were taking him 
 to the asylum at Perouse. 
 
 " There," said the boy, " is a man who has spent all his life in 
 his house, like a prince ; he was not seen out of doors four times 
 a year ; and now he is going to travel on the highway, like a 
 common peasant." 
 
 Pagliano — four thousand tvvo hundred and fifty inhabitants, a 
 garrison of fifty men, thirty jailors, two hundred and fifty politi- 
 cal prisoners. Last year the prisoners made an attempt to es- 
 cape. Six of them were killed by musket-shots, on the roof; 
 six others are to be tried. An old ordinance of Cardinal Lantv'? 
 has been exhumed, by virtue of which they may be condemned 
 to death. 
 
 The state of the roads is so wretched in these mountains, and 
 the difficulty of transportation so great, that no equihbrium is 
 established in the price of provisions. A pound of bread costs 
 two cents here, and two cents and a half four leagues off. 
 Transportation for these four leagues is therefore worth half a 
 cent a pound. Wine costs seven cents the half-pint (foglietta) 
 at Sonnino, and two and a half at Pagliano. At Pagliano it is 
 pretty good; at Sonnino it is bad. Does it really cost four 
 cents and a half to transport half a pint of fiquid ten leagues ? 
 
 Yesterday, while we were taking our siesta at Paghano, the 
 bells began to ring for a storm. It is the fourth we have met 
 with since Sunday. This time we got off cheaply. A few drops 
 of rain fell on the fortress, the thunder growled in the distance, 
 and we were able to start Olevano. 
 
 This morning, going from Olevano to Pulestrina, we saw the 
 traces of a frightful tempest. The brooks, swollen by the rain, 
 had engulfed the adjoining fields ; some hedges had fallen on the 
 road with enormous masses of earth. Bat these ravages were 
 nothing ; the hail had done much worse. See the walnut3 
 
230 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 spotted with large bruises ; the shoots of the vine broken ; the 
 leaves of the trees torn to ribbons ; everything tender, every- 
 thing green — all that was promise and hope has perished. 
 
 We halted at the inn at Palestrina. A little church that is 
 open on the other side of the road is flooded. Every window in 
 the village is broken. The peasants group round us to describe 
 to us the size of the hailstones, and to tell us of the ravages of 
 the tempest. Their grief, it would seem, needs to overflow. 
 They do not amuse themselves by calling us "Excellency" 
 through tlieir noses ; they " thou " us, and call us " Brother." 
 
 It is a hackneyed common-place — the wretchedness of the 
 husbandman, who sees the fruit of his year's toil perish in a single 
 morning. When we meet with this idea in a book, we are 
 almost tempted to cry out to the author, " Give us something 
 new for the love of God !" Besides, we are so accustomed to 
 see man create a thousand resources for himself in addition to 
 agriculture, that we do not understand how a few handfuls of 
 hailstones on a field can ruin a whole family. But, after hving a 
 few days among these peasants, seeing thera start before day- 
 break to hoe their corner of land, when you know that they have 
 no other property in the world, and that all they have is there, 
 exposed to cold and heat ; in short, when you touch with your 
 finger their ruined crops, when you see tlieir pale faces bathed in 
 genuine tears, you discover tliat tliis common-place is as interest- 
 ing as the last new drama. 
 
 I asked one of these despairing men if the olives on the moun- 
 tain had suffered as much as the crops on the plain. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and replied : 
 
 " What are ohves ? What is the vine ? The tJiing is, our 
 wheat is ruined. When we have no oil, we do without it ; 
 when wine fails, we drink water ; but when the grain is de- 
 stroyed there is an end of bread and an end of man !" 
 
 I have perhaps dwelt too long on a short and obscure journey, 
 in the course of which I met neither monuments nor fine ladies, 
 nor romantic adventures. Peasants, nothing but peasants ! But 
 our well-beloved Alfred de Musset, in one of his most charminsr 
 masterpieces, has taken the pains to rhyme an excuse for me : 
 
 'Ces pauvres paysans, pardonnc-moi lecteur, 
 iJes pauvres paysans, je les ai sur le coeur." 
 
 ' c* Ml i - 'W '& M ^t i ' P' g^' 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE YETTURINO. 
 
 TOURISTS of quality know him only by sight. If you have 
 gone through Italy in a post-chaise, you may have put your 
 head out of the window to look at an old dusty vehicle, half cab, 
 half berlin, stuffed with human beings, and overloaded with trunks 
 and bundles. However easy might be the road, you had time 
 to notice a man in a cap and overcoat, walking, whip in hand, 
 at the right of the horses, speaking to them words of consolation. 
 This bourgeois driver is tlie vetturino, the walking providence of 
 the middle class and poor foreigners. All artists, who are light 
 of purse, have passed some days with him, and preserved a 
 kindly recollection of liis good-nature. 
 
 In this kingdom, where the people are poor, and human nature 
 somewhat sleepy, they travel seldom, slowly, and by short stages. 
 The mid(ne class scarcely stirs ; they vegetate on the spot where 
 they happen to be born. Reflect that it is impossible to go out 
 of Rome without a passport, and passports are given only to well 
 known men. They are quite expensive, and serve for only one 
 journey; thus an inhabitant of Terracina, who finds it neces- 
 sary to cross the Neapolitan frontier three hundred times a 
 year must pay a crown every time he enters or returns. More- 
 over, he can not pass through a city, however small, without the 
 annoyance of a \is6, and compulsory tribute to a mendicant offi- 
 cial. The most determined traveler becomes at least discour- 
 aged. 
 
 When a small bourgeois at Rome is absolutely obliged to put 
 himself en route, he makes the best terms he can with a vettu- 
 rino. This u an affair of importance ; the duration of the jour- 
 
F.I'.' ■•■",». -V 
 
 232 
 
 EOME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 THE VETTURINO. 
 
 233 
 
 ney, the number of meals, the cafe, au hit in the morning, the 
 fare| the amount of drink money, all are discussed. The vettu- 
 rino engages to be in such a place in so many days, and by such 
 a route ; to take as many extra oxen and horses as shall be 
 necessary for every ascent ; to pay toll at the bridges and bar- 
 riers on the route ; to lodge his traveler in the best inns, and to 
 furnish him a certain number of meals. The contract is put 
 on paper, and duplicates are signed by the contracting parties. 
 
 The charges of the vetture are fabulously moderate. If my 
 memory serves me, a traveler can be transported, supplied with 
 meals, lodged, and served for six or eight francs per day. But 
 the conveyance is much less rapid than by railroad. A dozen 
 leagues is not a bad day's work. 
 
 The first traveler who treats with the vctturino is the master 
 of the vehicle (padrone del legno). He has a preponderating 
 voice in all the discussions on the route. I should say, however, 
 that discussions are very rare. The vetturino and his serv-ant 
 are armed with an unalterable complacency, and I have always 
 had reason to admire the courtesy of the Itahaus traveling with 
 us. Was it sympathy for the French nation ? Was it simply 
 the eflfect of that old Roman prcjuchce which saw in strangers 
 so many seigneurs? I incline to the former hypothesis. The 
 vetturino is much less familiar with us than wiUi his country- 
 men, and I have noticed that at the inns they take particular 
 care'of us. Meanwhile the innkeepers know better than any one 
 else that travelers by vetture are not exactly lords. 
 
 I ti-aveled in this way from Rome to Bologna. On setting out 
 there were five Frenchmen, with a young Roman advocate- 
 four inside, and two upon the imperial. Travelers upon the im 
 perial demand other seats when they find it too warm. 
 
 My fellow- travelers were a young tourist of much intelli 
 gence, M. Duguo de la Frauconnerie, a painter from the Acad- 
 emy of Rome, M. Giacomotti, two other artists, M. PradicT, 
 son of the illustrious sculptor, M. Jules David, grandson of the 
 great painter, and cousin-german of my excellent friend. Baron 
 Jerome David. I do not recall the name of the young advocate 
 who accompanied us, but he was a kind and agreeable man. 
 Perhaps a certain something was wanting to him which with us 
 distin.guishes cultivated men. We were almost shocked to see 
 the vetturino treat him on a footing of perfect equality. Wo 
 
 ii 
 
 were from a country where there is an enormous distance be- 
 tween a conductor of a diligence and a doctor of law. 
 
 I know nothing more desirable nor more charming than good 
 company. However, when you travel for instruction, I advise 
 you to <;o alone. From tlie hour when the vetturino took us up, 
 with bells jingling on his three horses, to the city of Foligno, 
 where I bade adieu to my friends, I saw but very Uttle. I con- 
 fess with shame, but with a certain retrospective pleasure, that 
 the conversation was but a perpetual burst of laughter. 
 
 The dreary and desolate country around Rome cliangcs in pro- 
 portion to our distance from the city. Tliis is a fact I have al- 
 ready noted more than ten times. Rome is perhaps the only 
 great city in the world without suburbs, the only one surroimded 
 by an uncultivated tract of country. One must leave it a long 
 way behind before finding good roads, busy life, an active and 
 prosperous cultivation. The greater the distance from the capi- 
 tal, the more alive the country, the more happy the people. 
 
 At Civita Castellana the vetturino sold his horses, lie found 
 a pood chance for a bargain, and was not the man to neglect his 
 alTairs. But we 1 what should we do ? 
 
 " Bah 1" replied he, with a philosophical smile, " the Madonna 
 wiU never leave us by the way." The next morning the vettu- 
 rino liitched up three jades, as ugly, courageous, and jmghng as 
 
 the former. . 
 
 Tliis is the invariable order of march. The vetturmo awakes 
 his travelers at the break of day, and looks after the baggage. A 
 cafe is open ten steps from the inn. We are Uiken there for the 
 first breakfast. We set out fresh, and travel at a small trot until 
 toward tc^n o'clock. Then comes the great halt. The baggage 
 is t^kcn down, in case any one of the trailers wishes tx) change 
 his linen A modest but substantial meal is served, seasoned 
 with some wine grown on the spot. Satisfied, we stroll over 
 the neighborhood ; the indolent have the right to ask for a cham- 
 ber for°a siesU. Between two and three o'clock we are again 
 on the way, and travel moderately until six. The baggage then 
 descends, Uie horses go to the stable, and the travelers walk 
 about until supper-time. , 
 
 All Uiis is so well regulated that five or six veitiin can travel 
 wiUiin sight of each other. Our young advocate told a story 
 of one of his friends, who was married from one to another. 
 
234 
 
 KOME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 I 
 
 TILE VETTURINO. 
 
 235 
 
 The first day lie observed a Imndsomc young girl travelinfr witli 
 her parents to take possession of a small inheritance He re- 
 cognized her the next day, smiled at her on the foUowing, spoke 
 to her on Uie fourth day, asked her in marriage on the fill!,, and 
 obtamed her at the end of the week, thanks to a bottle of 
 Monte Pulciano, which the father bad imprudently accepU'd 
 
 Are we gomg to phy the same game? for here is a vetture 
 followmg us step by step, as if to gather up our dust. Five 
 marriageable daughters, and handsome enough I And the ruddy 
 nose of monsieur the father testifies that ho has no great con- 
 tempt for the wiuo of Monte Pulcmno. But no one of us thinks 
 ot marriage.* 
 
 In the bagnio of Civita Castellana the famous Gasporone is 
 mildly expiating his crimes. I must visit this great man: and 
 at once set out for his house. 
 
 His house is the proper word, for he literally rei-ns in tho 
 bagmo. Thirteen or fourteen aged bandits form his court The 
 government provides him a civil list of five cents per dny for tho 
 expense of presentation. Strangers who visit him pay tribute. 
 
 Ihis monarch, m perpetuity, received me in a large chamber 
 which serves him for a throne-room. He advanced three steps' 
 and extended me his hand with a patronizing smile. His cour^ 
 tiers and a few gensd'armes made a circle round us 
 
 Gasperone is a grand old man of remarkable beauty. His 
 form IS tall and haughty, his features manly and regular, his look 
 briUiant. He wears a long white beard. The explosion of a 
 gun has powdered his face with a myriad of small bluish spots. 
 His dress, of coarse cloth, is that of a peasant in easy circum- 
 stances. He 19 not req^red to wear the uniform of convicts or 
 to be m their company. He lives by himself, surrounded by 
 his old companions, his ennui relieved by the visit of strangers 
 
 Ut the mountains where he was born, he has kept only the 
 accent and the shoes. He showed me his sandals, cAocA./fast- 
 ened by leather straps, and said to me with a modesty, suffi- 
 ciently haughty : ^ ' 
 
 "Excuse me if I do not spoak pure Roman; I was born a 
 c/iuc/iar, and a chochar I shall die." 
 
 Tliis title of cAocAar, or wearer o^ choches, is employed at Rome 
 
 • My four fellov^-trayelers are still bachelors, except tvro. Soptcmbcr, 1360. 
 
 as a term of contempt. Tho Cardinal-Prince Altieri, when en- 
 gaged in a warm discussion Avith the Secretary of State, did not 
 hesitate to cast in his teeth the epithet of chochar. It is positive 
 that Cardinal Antonelli, like all children in Sezza, wore chuches in 
 his boyhood. 
 
 Gasperone asked me if I was a Roman ? It was evidently 
 meant for politeness and as a compliment to my pronunciation of 
 the Italian language. I thanked him for his courtes}', and told 
 him I was a Frenc.'lunan. 
 
 "Ah I" replied he, smiling, "take me with you to France?" 
 I tried to demonstrate to hiui that a man lilvc himself could find 
 nothing to do in such a country as France. The gensd'armes, 
 wiK) were listening, shvugged their shoulders when I said that 
 brigandage was iiiifjossible with us. 
 
 The fact is, that brigamlage, so nearly exterminated among 
 the mountains of Sounino, was still nourishing in the Pontine 
 Marshes and the Romagna. They told me of a proprietor who 
 was besieged in his house at the very gates of Rimini. They 
 also gave me an account of a prison, whose occupants, prisoners 
 and jailors, had all escaped to rob in the neighboring country. 
 
 Gasperone does not want a certain bonhomie, but he appeared 
 to me a little still* and preoccupied with tho idea of his rank. 
 He remained standing while we were seated. I involuntarily 
 thought of that Roman prince who said, in his haughty pride : 
 " I never seat myself before a man of the middle class, for the 
 reason that it may be necessary to -seat him." 
 
 However, when I spoke of Bonnino, of Maria Grazia, and of 
 the mountains I had visited, the old brigand began to look cheer- 
 ful, and yielded to the pleasure of conversation. He recounted 
 some episodes of his active lile, and especially tlie last, which is 
 always on his heart. He protested against the illegality of his 
 detention. " For, finally," said he, " the gensd'annes did not 
 take me; I did not surrender. They got possession of me 
 through treason. I had accepted an interview with the govern- 
 ment to sign a treaty. They violated the right of person in de- 
 taining me !" 
 
 The gensd'armes listened with respectiul admiration. One 
 of them said to him, "Of what do you complain? You made 
 wai ; we never shall. You have been captain, and I who guard 
 you will never be more than marshal of the lodge, because I 
 
23G 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 have neither wife nor daughters to work for my advance- 
 ment" 
 
 After a good half-hour of conversation, I took leave Gas- 
 perone was very anxious that I should carry away some sou- 
 vemr of him. He offered me a list of his murders, to the numl .er 
 of one hundred and twenty-seven, if my memory serves me. 
 ■He added that Englishmen never failed to take it. 
 I What a strange animal is man! That list horrified me and I 
 refused It entirely. I had pressed, without repugnance, the hand 
 which had committed so many crimes. The sheet of paper on 
 which the catalogue had been prepared, inspired me with a sen- 
 timent of disgust. I bade adieu to this great man who had slain 
 80 many little ones, and gave him a gratuity, which he accepted 
 hke a simple cli.f de bureau. His allowance was formerly ten 
 cents ; they have reduced it to \:iYe^ the last few years This is a 
 source of grief he takes care never to forget in conversation 
 
 The mn of Civit^-Castellana is a type of the large Italian inns 
 such as one finds in romances; balconies, terraces, flowers of the 
 south, large courts open for post-chaises-nothing is wantin- It 
 13 saying the tnith, that Civita-Castellana is on the classic '"route 
 irom Komc to Florence. 
 
 What vexes me beyond expression is the obstinate bc-ary by 
 ^hich we are pursued. In tl.e better class of inns, the waiter 
 ho ds out his hand, the scoundrel who has char-c of the ba-^a-e 
 holds out his hand, the stable-boy holds out his hand. The Inn- 
 keeper himself sometimes does us the honor to ask forap-atuity 
 On the road, when the vitturino takes extra o.xen or horses, the 
 man who has just received his pay draws you aside by the sleeve 
 tor an important communication. What does he want? \ 
 small piece of money to buy bread. If bread were scarce, or 
 dear, this importunity would perhaps be excusable. But the 
 crops are magnificent; the laborera themselves say so when 
 they leave their work and come to stretch out their hands. Evi- 
 dently, these people do not need the cents they a.sk for. The-- 
 beg from principle, for the honor of the country and of the -o^- 
 ernment. ® 
 
 How proud one is of being a Frenchman I Yet I must avow 
 ttat mendicity is still more arrogant and less excusable in Pari^ 
 A Roman driver to whom you have given no drink-money, con- 
 tents himself with inwardly cursing you ; a Parisian driver ilisulw 
 
 THE VETTURINO. 
 
 237 
 
 1 
 
 you, and even worse. There are cafes on the Boulevards of 
 Paris, which collect every year more than a hundred thousand 
 francs of alms. The waiters in these establishments, who have 
 no other salary, share this enormous sum with an absurdly rich 
 proprietor; and sixty thousand francs rent are paid for the forced 
 charity of poor consumers. 
 
 At Narni, the vetturino sold us to one of his cronies, who 
 a^-reed to carry us upon the same conditions to the end of the 
 
 journey. 
 
 The Cascade of Temi is artificial, hke that of Tivoli. Art has 
 come to aid Nature ; a river has been turned from its bed, in 
 order to precipitate it into the midst of rocks. Here, the indus- 
 trious peasants have erected a hundred different inclosures near 
 the cascade. Each .one of them imposes a tax upon the curiosity 
 of travelers. 
 
 At Froligno I bade my agreeable companions adieu. They 
 were going in the direction of Perouse, which had not yet been 
 pillaged by the mercenary Germans of Colonel Schmidt. I as- 
 cended the Apennines by a route sufficiently naked and very 
 dreary. Behold me on the Adriatic slope, in the least submissive 
 of the papal provinces. Serravele, Tolentino, Macerata, Recanati, 
 the first cities and villages on the way to Ancona, have an en- 
 tirely new physiognomy. How far we are from Rome and her 
 desolate Campagna I Here the wide roads are well kept, filled 
 with vehicles and pedestrians, and bordered with fertile fields. 
 I have never seen the plains of Lombardy, but I doubt if they 
 are better cultivated than this admirable country. Property is 
 divided. The population no longer pens itself up in tlie nar- 
 row compass of villages. Rural habitations in good condition 
 are everywhere to be seen. 
 
 I have explained to you how agriculture can be only a passing 
 accident in the Campagna di Roma. They bring bullocks and 
 carts on a meadow. Thoy plow, they sow, they weed, they 
 gather tlie crops in haste, and the land is left in repose for a pe- 
 riod of at least seven years. Here agriculture is in its normal 
 state. Every field is planted with trees, and tilled, dug, and fu- 
 migated under the trees. I have frequently seen in the same 
 fiefd of two or tliree acres, a crop of mulberry leaves, a vintage 
 hanging upon the trunks of the trees, and a harvest ripening at 
 their roots. The vino matches elegantly with the maple, the 
 
238 
 
 EOJtE OP TO-DAT. 
 
 •mWow, the poplar, and the youn-- elm Th„ i 
 elm furnish exceUent provender for S;,.l7, "" "[ "'" y°""? 
 I ought to forget that we are L [he naS ^ff t '^^"^ ^<^'^"- 
 city of Wetto to recall the realty ^^ ^'"''' ^"' ^''' '= '''« 
 
 -d fourlundre^ la Z^^Tl' I' ^ ''' '''" "^■^- "'- 
 
 a series of miracles too well known f> "•" '■^'''•'"'^'' '"> 
 
 Every Catholic .nows that^tweyThJ ^^r '''.•^^- 
 some thirty feet lonrr twpirn f . 7i ^^o'y V irq:in Mary, 
 
 wasbroug^tfrom^S nt Hi:"'' ^'^r^^'" ^^'^ '■'^'^' 
 ofilay 12, 1291. It stopped atfi.t™^ 0^". °", "" °'^'" 
 mained about three years and a h.l? n ^f ""''"'' ^''^"'^^ it re- 
 1204 it crossed the id^ a ll^ri, v t f '^''"^-' 
 worthy of itself. It wandered abom 1 ,^ ""'"" """''^ 
 near Loretto, and finaUy stopped at L, 7, ""'" '" "''' ''"^'^^'^ 
 meters from the sea '^'""''•'' "'^ "''■'''= ^ilo- 
 
 brought the eLtrvrist": bir.;: ?'"""^- ^-^ "-^^ 
 
 the food of her divine child '^" ^^"'^^ '""<^P='^«J 
 
 ston2tTa\"i:e:i.:l:„rr^^^^^ of smal,. ron,. 
 
 can be richer and more maSSe„t tl^an n '"■"'''• ''°"""" 
 which they have covered if %f ''"' """> *« ornaments with 
 
 cabin and'tl. temple SenvSeTitu' '''""'' '''" '"""^'^^ 
 
 tween the Apostle Peter and PoKoXir'''.'^ """ '^- 
 recognized under its marble coatbt t^l ",.'^"' '" ^'^^^ 
 
 der the poetry of Cardinal Bembo^ ''''"^'"''' "''"^ - 
 
 This miraculous house owns tho .-■,,„ „r t 
 horizon that surrounds it T n. ^r ^'*'"" ^"'' "" '^e 
 
 francs income in stock, titl 0,^^^ '^"J ''""'"^'^ "'"-^"'J 
 which are enormous l!^ ?""'"' ""^ "'"•'»'»' ^•^^^'P'^ 
 
 and other obTe^de £ tl rblZ ^.h^""","; ■^''•"^'''^ 
 loretto a profit of from four 1 fi 1 """^.'^ 'he inhabitants of 
 
 annum. This trade not onT * J" T^'"'^ "'°"^^°'' ^'^"'^ P^r 
 but brings aae?u\TnSur rL-r Vl!: 1? ''"'^^^ 
 seen an old lady from Dublin busyin! he3' a S T" T'' 
 hour in gettmg blessed a Uiousand 111.1, .''"'""•■■' "'^"^ 
 
 chaplet^ and bells to ward off Sin! ''r^V""' '""'•■"'' 
 
 "u lio'iLniQg. An ecclesiastic, wiiose 
 
 THE VETTUEINO, 
 
 239 
 
 patience I admire, signed for her a score of images ; he put his 
 5cal to twenty others by attaching to each a small shred of black 
 crape ; he sanctified several jewels by passing them into the basin 
 from which the infant Jesus ate, after which the good lady made 
 an offering at least equal in value to all her purchases. 
 
 I do no°t speak of the most precious offerings, which are sent 
 Ly princes and grandees of the Catholic religion. There are 
 some ludicrous ones; among them the breeches of Uie King of 
 Saxony. There are some splendid ones : the treasury of the 
 holy house has repaired the losses of 1797. 
 
 The statue of the Virgin, sculptured by the inevitable St 
 Luke, is literally covered with jewels. This little image of black 
 wood, which formerly sojourned in the cabinet of medals of the 
 Imperial Library, has a richer casket than a European princess. 
 
 My cicerone was at the same time a servant to the hotel and 
 sacristan to tlie holy house ; as for the rest sufficiently incredu- 
 lous. He seemed to be especially occupied with statistics and 
 financial matters. He assured me that the holy house is sur- 
 rounded with one hundred and twenty altars, where one hundred 
 and twenty priests say one hundred and twenty masses every 
 
 day. ^ , 
 
 He drew my attention to the confessionals, where peniten- 
 
 tiaries of all languages receive confession of special sins, which 
 a simple priest can not absolve. 
 
 " All this brings much money I" said he, falUng into prose. 
 *' There are here more tlian three hundred of us employees, each 
 of whom receives two measures of wine and two pounds of 
 bread per day. Our finances have all been deranged recently 
 by M. Narducci. He left a deficit in the cash-box of thret* 
 hundred thousand francs, so they removed him." 
 
 '' And what have they done with him?" r u tt i 
 
 " They have appointed him trustee of the Hospital of the Holy 
 Chost in Rome, doubly because the Holy Ghost is richer and 
 
 more difficult to ruin." . , , i i v. „^ 
 
 The traveler who eaters the church in which the holy house 
 is inclosed, perccivefi upon the right a college of R. R. P. P- Jesu- 
 it^ at tiric'ft the apostolic pabce, where resides the successor 
 of M. Narducci. The apostx>Uc palace is kept m a middlmg 
 way. Too many women in white combing-cloths are to be seen 
 there • the women, without doubt, of the inferior employ^ 
 
240 
 
 EOME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 On the Other hand, it must be confessed that the coBo-e of 
 Jesuits seen from without, inspires a sort of re.pe.t in t^ 
 least elevated minds. It has a strict and orderly app'olt ce 
 
 In the basement of the apostolic palace is the adn, ,ahle apoth- 
 ecary shop, the vessels of which arc nearly all genuine Faenl 
 porcehun, executed after designs by the great maften 
 
 I have passed a whole day in the church. It is a veritablo 
 museum, and I was perfectly happy there, without the Zont 
 mty of dogs of bcgprs, of ciceroni, and of some oM women 
 who obstmately w,sh to make the tour of the holy hore on 
 the.r knees, for my purpose and at my expense 
 
 to Italy. At\ergaville, m the country of my grandmother I 
 knew an old woman, a pilgrim by profession, who, for acertl'in 
 compensation, went to the most renowned ckapeLs and gl n d 
 her hvehhood by gaining indulgences. I believe, however that 
 tto busmcss as much more lucrative at lorctto than at vWga- 
 
 The Italians sometimes say, '• stupid as an Englishman " This 
 
 iz^: '" "'^"^^ "pp^^'^'^ '^ - -' oui/vici^uTbut !;■! 
 
 frie*^?llIrFn ' r f"'" "' '1!^ '"°^^'= '™'" "^^-f^-'™- ^-t its 
 tnends, the English, aro not beasts. One of the inhabitants of 
 
 Ancona whom I met at Loretto, afforded me an explan t "n for 
 
 ot tnghU, all the inhabitants of the British island., but in rcalilv 
 Jns reputation of being beasts ought to be confin d to he Tr . f 
 
 stori,^, tlL^^^w^^^^^^ =° ^"■'^-"^^'^ "'« "O^t dubious 
 
 I shuddered with horror once, on seeing in a small side clnnol 
 of a church the dead body of a child, with its facT o i, wkh 
 flios. The poor little child was dressed as an abbo llcZZt 
 a umversal custom. I asked how any family could thus abandon 
 the mortal remains of a child, but an ins..(nt alter perSed 
 tta the child was not alone. A commissionaia^ or/cLw 
 paid by the day to watch the body and drive away 'tl^ £ 4^ 
 asleep in a corner of the chapel. This sad sight spoi ed my p^r 
 sure for the whole day, and whenever a fl/ht u„ L' "^ 
 
 TOE VETTCnnfO. 
 
 241 
 
 hand while I remained in the church, I dmve him off with a 
 Bpecies of horror. It seemed to me that the filthy ere! u.es 
 must be the same that I had seen clustered around (he noS 
 and eyes of the poor little child. 
 
 The sound of voices attracted me outside the church, where I 
 saw a procession of chr.char, without their bells. These unhannv 
 persons had marched with bare feet from the mounU ns ofT 
 
 t^""^, T^r" ""'^ "'""'^" '"^''^ '° ^"^'^ ^-^•i^ the pilgrim's 
 s aff. The chief of the band, a stout, well-built youth wCa 
 cloak ornamented with shells. The sweat and dust ran i^ Itl ick 
 mud down their healthy faces; thoy were shouting, at the top 
 of their voices, a canticle in the common tongue. When ab^^ 
 twenty paces from the threshold of tlie church and its magnificent 
 bronze doors, they feU upon their knees, and made their "entrance 
 upon them. Several of Uiem, wiUiout doubt the most fervent 
 went in this manner, from tlie door as far as the sacred chapel' 
 which IS at the end of the churcli. On reaching this, the; 
 uttered loud cries, some accusing themselves of their faults • 
 others begging of the Madonna that special lavor which the^ 
 came to ask. One ugly girl begge.l the release of a criminal 
 sentenced to the galleys, with whom she was in love : a husband 
 sought the cure of his wife ; a wife wished for her husband some 
 thing or other, but evidently nothing good, for she denounced 
 him to the Madonna, an<l accused him in the most picturesque 
 style. When they had aU cast tl.eir first fire, they resumed the 
 canticle, which had been interrupted. Tlie veteran on guard 
 sword m hand, and the diamonds of the Madonna, danced in 
 unison with them. I would never finish if I should undertake 
 to enumerate all the promenading about on their knees the ador- 
 ations, and kissing which these poor creatures exhibited. The 
 artists who have exposed Oieir chefs dceuvre in marble and bronze 
 to the too caressing devotion of the chuchar arc much to be pitied 
 I remember one bas-relief of the flagellation, where the figure of 
 Christ has been Uterally eflaced by the acid kisses of these eaters 
 of onions. 
 
 The city of Loretto is nothing but one great shop for the salo 
 of chaplets. It seemed to me for tlie moment in rather a stag- 
 nant condition, for we were in Uie middle of the summer. Tho 
 dealers to whom I spoke complained of the dullness of trade, 
 and cursed the intensity of the heat. Nevertheless, toward 
 
 11 
 
242 
 
 ROME OP TO-DAY. 
 
 evening the street became more animated. Great carts, drawn 
 by oxen, and loaded with sacks of rye, passed constantly. Each 
 of them bore the cypher of the Society of Jesus. The well-to- 
 do inhabitants and rich dealers began to flock out of the city to 
 enjoy the fresh air. I met in one carriage a Roman prelate, who 
 had an old woman on his right side, and two young people in 
 front of him. My observations stopped at this point, for our 
 driver harnessed up his horses and drove me to the gates of An- 
 cona, where I was to sleep. 
 
 We were stopped outside the city, because it has the privileges 
 of a free port, and you have to be examined by the custom-house 
 officers before being allowed to depart. This did not prevent 
 the custom-house officers from examining us again, the day but 
 one after, at about two or three kilometres from Ancona. This 
 was for a principle, or, if you like it better, to have their palms 
 tickled, I passed the whole of one day in this great city, but 
 saw nothing that I wanted to find. Trade was very dull ; the 
 Austrian sentinels had quiet guard duty round the forts ; the 
 Austrian police scrutinized the passport of every pedestrian at the 
 entrance of the city ; the Austrian officers played chess in the 
 cafes. These amiable officers, by the way, have shot sixty peo- 
 ple in seven years in this same city of Ancona. But then, as 
 they have shot one hundred and ninety at Bologna in the same 
 space of time, Ancona ought not to complain. 
 
 One thousand eight hundred Jews are tolerated in Ancona. 
 Of course, something ought to be done for trade. The Jewish 
 quarter is not by any means the handsomest in the city, but 
 rather the contrary. But the people who inhabit it impressed 
 me with the beauty of their persons. The Jewish women are as 
 lianilsome in this place as they are ugly at Rome. This is a great 
 deal to say, and those who know the Roman Ghetto will per- 
 haps tax me with exaggeration. 
 
 Why is this same race flourishing here, and so degraded there? 
 Without doubt, because the religious exactions are less oppress- 
 ive at two hundred and ten kilometres from the Vatican. 
 
 I arrived at Sinigaglia— or Senigallia — on the day of the 
 opening of the fair. Sinigaglia is a city of twelve thousand 
 nine hundred and fifty inhabitants, but its population nearly 
 doubled between tlie 20th of July and the 8th of August. All 
 tlie houses were transformed into shops ; trade usurped every- 
 
 THE TETTUKIXO. 
 
 243 
 
 thmg, transforming and enlivening this quiet little city. Unfor- 
 unately for me the majority of the shops were still to let; the 
 traders who had arrived had hardly begun to unpack. Tlx- fair 
 of Sm.gagha resembled some exposition of industrv, on the day 
 ol the official opening. Besi.les, I was assured thaVthis trades- 
 man s gala-t.me is each year losing its importance and its renown 
 1 he same has t.ken place at Beaucaire, at Leipsic, and in all 
 cvdized countries. Fairs have now no value, and have no rea- 
 son for being held, where trade is carried on all the year roun<l 
 A manufacturer of combs, named Albert ilastai, left Breschia 
 h.s native place, about the middle of the sixteenth century, and 
 established himself at Sinigaglia. There he made a kind of 
 lortune, and his family prospered so well that he finally slinncMl 
 into the position of one of the small nobles of the province. Jian 
 Mana Mastai- won the hand of a Feretti, of Ancona, and, thank. 
 to so high an alliance, he became Count Mastai Feretti. From 
 this fortunate race sprung, in 1792, Gian Maria Mastai Feretti 
 who now rules at Rome under the venerated name of Pius IX ' 
 lie cities of the Marshes and Romagna are none of them very 
 wealthy; but there are very few of them which do not induL^e 
 m the luxury of a theater. The taste for art, and above all ibr 
 music, is much more developed upon this slope of tiie Apen- 
 nines than upon the other side. At Pesaro, at Remini, Foili 
 and laenza, and in nearly all the cities, the walls themselves 
 bear witness to the fanaticism of the people. The dilettanti 
 I>aint upon their houses the names of the leaders, or artists then 
 most in vogue. On every side you see, "Long Hve Verdi 1"— 
 ^'Long hve Ristori!"—" Hurrah for the divine Rossi I"— " Lon- 
 hve Medori !"-" Corvetti !"— " Lotti I"-" Panciani !"-" Ferri l" 
 --"Cornago!"~"Rotar'-"MarianiI" It does not seem that 
 the missionaries sU'uggle very hard against tliis influence. With- 
 out doubt they are occupied in the villages of the other side of 
 the mounUins. They preach to the peasants of the Mediterra- 
 nean, who have no need of conversion; they abandon the citi- 
 zens of the Adriatic to their earUily passions. For all this, I 
 noticed upon several of the houses of Faenza, the cypher of the 
 Jesuits marked upon the wall near a little victory holding a crown 
 over the name of Madame Ristori. 
 
 All the theaters of these little cities are large and handsome. 
 
244 
 
 ROME OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Above all, they are convenient I only wish ours liad the same 
 recommendations. 
 
 There is no theater at San Marino, but there are numbers of 
 monks, many beggars and ignorant persons, and very little civil- 
 ization. This singular State, containing nine thousand five hundred 
 men, which retains the name of republic in the midst of the ab- 
 solute monarchy of the pope, has all the characteristics, to me, of 
 a rural ghetto, I am persuaded that the successors of St. Peter 
 have respected their rights purposely, to show to their subjects 
 how much superior the monarchy is to a republic. It is appa- 
 rently with the design of demonstrating the superiority of Cathol- 
 icism that they have cultivated, for so many centuries, a wretched 
 handfull of IsraeUties in . 
 
 The pohtical constitution of San Marino has been very much 
 praised in our time ; the even average of its receipts and expen- 
 ditures ; the disinterestedness of its citizens, of whom not one in 
 a period of fourteen centuries, has endeavored to usurp a tyran- 
 nical power. I have no wish to throw my paving-stone upon a 
 small nation, interesting, if not from its virtues at least from its 
 weakness. But I will truly state, as is my custom, what I have 
 seen and heard upon the territory of San Marino. 
 
 I had letl Rimini in a pouring rain, in a little wagon, built 
 something in the style of a dog-cart, and hung as well as it could be 
 to break every bone in my body. My driver was the son of the 
 inn-keeper, a boy fourteen years old or more, and as atheist- 
 ical as a viper. On the route I endeavored to probe tlie depth 
 of his philosophy, when he dropped the following astounding 
 aphorism : 
 
 " God ! Yes ; but I beUeve if there is one, he is a priest like 
 all the others." 
 
 Tliis amiable child pointed out to me the boundary between 
 the Pontifical States and the republican territory. It did not 
 appear to me that the sun was more brilliant, nor the earth 
 more bloom incr, nor the rain less tasteless. For all that I am 
 well pleased with the air which is inspired in republics. The 
 country was rather ugly, and the syst«iu of cultivation in no wise 
 remarkable. A small village which I passed at about half my 
 journey, seemed to me gloomy and dirty. The city and the 
 town are situated upon a steep mountain, from which a beauti- 
 
 THE VKTTimiXO. 
 
 245 
 
 ful prospect can be had over a wide extent of country, that is. 
 when IS is not raming in torrents. ^ 
 
 The town is at the foot of the mountain, the city occupies the 
 summ.t; the town is badly built, badly paved, and hjykllt 
 Thepnncpal busmess cultivated, and probably the only one is 
 he manufacture of playing-cards, which are smuggled abroad ' I 
 
 tlt« 1 '"fiT "^ " ^'^'' '""^ *'"'^'"S '' ^°"'J be best to 
 take the first poor person I happened to meet, entered the 
 
 house of a workman and offered to pay him the value of a d.w's 
 labor If ho would consent to show me about for a few hours. I 
 d.d not have to beg him long, and after the lapse of a few min- 
 utes, I saw that I might have fallen into worse hands The 
 worthy man was good-natured and loquacious. The first story 
 
 Z^ iT '""f ''^°"' *'"' P''y''''''° °'" '^^ commune, who had 
 been shot m the mam square of the town. 
 
 ^nn?'" ^f, ^'"PP^"*"! two years before; the assassin had been 
 sentenced to two years of exile. The organization of the judi- 
 cial system of San Marino b entirely in an elementary condi- 
 t^n; there are no laws, nor courts, but, when needed, a magis- 
 trate, attended by four gensd'armes, is summoned from Rome or 
 Florence. This functionary, paid from the revenue of the repub- 
 lic, judges, just as he hears, any criminal or civil cases brought 
 before him The death penalty is never indicted, but inste°ad 
 the criminal is sent to tlie galleys. Whenever any one is con- 
 demned to hard labor, he is sent to some prison of the pope, or 
 of the grand duke of Tuscany, and the republic pays his board 
 From the consideration of the judiciary, we pass, quite natu^ 
 rally, to political affairs. A sovereign council of sixty persons 
 direcu the affairs of the Sute; twenty councilorB are chosen 
 from the nobility, twenty from the middle class, and the other 
 twenty from the peasantry. It is apparent from this that the 
 republic of San Marino is but in a .slight degree aristocratic. 
 
 W ould you believe it ? That there is a nobility at San Mari- 
 no ? In this republic, founded by a mason who had turned her- 
 mit, I have proved the existence of a privileged class. I had 
 tome curiosity to discover the source from which emanated this 
 nobihty of the country. My guide assured me that the nobles 
 of San Manno adopt, from time to time into their ranks, some 
 of the middle class. 
 
 The executive power is intrusted to two captains. The time 
 
 
246 
 
 EOMK OF TO-DAY. 
 
 of their holding office is limited to six months, and they can not 
 be elected again until after an interval of three years. They 
 receive a salary of twenty-five Roman crowns, a little more 
 than one hundred and twenty-five francs,* for their six months' 
 service. The currency in vogue in the country is of the papal 
 coinage. The armed force consists of sixty national guards. By 
 the hberality of some foreigner they are enabled to have uniforms, 
 but the man who commands at the present time trains in his or- 
 dinary clothes. Thirty musicians make up the whole effective 
 force. In case of necessity, the republic could muster five or six 
 hundred men in arms. The treasury is never in arrears, because 
 there is not, to speak truly, such a thing as a revenue. The peo- 
 ple do not pay direct taxes. The principal revenue of tlie State 
 comes from the salt and tobacco which the pope permits it to 
 import free from duty. In consequence, it is not only protected 
 by Saint Peter, but is actually dependent upon him. To this 
 revenue is to be added a sum from the duty on meat The con- 
 sumer pays two crowns and a half on a carcase of beef, twenty- 
 five cents for a pig, seven cents and a half for a sheep. All kinds 
 of food necessary for life are quite cheap. Meat costs eight cents 
 a pound, a htre of wine is sold for from tliree to five cents, and 
 for a single cent you can buy eight ounces of bread. The public 
 education amounts to notliing ; about twenty young republicans 
 go to school to the priests, and that is all. The public works 
 are a fortress in ruins and an ugly church, which, however, is 
 in a good state of preservation. Four prisoners are confined in 
 the fortress. I passed a half hour with them. They were con- 
 victed of robbery, a crime as frequent here as in the villages of 
 the Papal States. The unhappy wretches were impatiently wait- 
 ing to be sent to the galleys. But time was needed ; tho judge 
 was dead, and his successor had not been named. One of the 
 poor devils had a leg broken, and was suffering terribly upon his 
 miserable mattress. In the church is shown you the tomb of 
 Saint Marino, cut by liiraself, and the slab of marble consecrated 
 by the republic to Antonio Onuphno, patri patriai, as the inscrip- 
 tion reads : '' This Onuphrio was ambassador from the republic 
 near the Emperor of the French." My guide had tears in his 
 eyes when passing his eulogy upon this great man. "He 
 spoke to Napoleon as I talk to you ; he paid his court to tho 
 empress ; he ought by all means to be the father of the country." 
 
 THE VETTURINO. 
 
 247 
 
 and then got drunk* B.if T nm ^ 7,^ supper-time, 
 cicerone calu.niiuhf oal/gLrrS L?! "'! ''■''I'y 
 cunnin. fHlow was very JocllZ co a eTe': T' ' fr 
 knew, as well as every one else in Italy In ig in f T, ^ 
 
 San Marino T^nf m . i ". r ^ ''^ ^^'*^ inhabitants of 
 
 m some great monarchy, political areheologist. wouuTv olt 
 ^vlnle sl.e,ldmg bitter tears : " It remains to be seTn if a 7eoZ 
 
 !!! .• ? ""^ ""'^'•csted in statistics of commerce 
 
 have noueed that the little trades diminish from day Tod y 
 Formerly our c,t.es were full of small stores, wholesale and ret!u' 
 
 they d,e,l Ihe system of partnchips has altered this state of 
 affairs. The small capitals have been united to form millions • 
 enormous houses are now leased; loads of goods are bouZ' 
 and trade .3 conducted on a large scale. The whole has been 
 changed, by reason of which the capitalist increases, even doubles 
 h,s fortune, the clerks, without risking a cent, pocket good sal- 
 anes and the public buys more cheaply. I fed by no means 
 sure that some day a similar change will not take place in poll- 
 tics^ ihe small States are doomed to vegetate like little shops. 
 If 1 was kmg of Piedmont or king of Prussia, I would found 
 some vast esublishment with a capital of twenty or twenty-five 
 milhons of men, and in a short time I should be prepared to ex- 
 tend peace, security, affluence, and public education to thirty in 
 each hundred below the privileged class. 
 
 The Romagna ;-but I beg your pardon, it is a long time since 
 wo left tho States of tho Pope. 
 
I 
 
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 ;jt3fl!*vSfp3^S^'?:' 
 
DUE DATE 
 
 JsITFIbTTD 
 
 201-6503 
 
 Printed 
 in USA 
 
 946R66 
 Ab7 
 
 I m35331ft I 
 
 COtUilBIA UmVCRSlTY LWRAmCt 
 
 »0 1 14 3533 18 
 
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 V 1 9 1958 
 
 JUN 2 7 1968 
 
 

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