allowed to help themselves from the baker's basket; the law allows it.
All that is required of them is to be good Christians, to prostrate
themselves before the priests, to humble themselves before the rich,
and to abstain from revolutions. They are severely punished if they
refuse to take the Sacrament at Easter, or if they talk
disrespectfully of the Saints. The tribunal of the Vicariates listens
to no excuses on this head; but the police is enough as to everything
else. Crimes are forgiven them, they are encouraged in meanness; the
only offences for which there is no pardon are the cry for liberty,
revolt against an abuse, the assertion of manhood.

It is marvellous to me that with such an education there is any good
left in them at all. The worst half of the people is that which dwells
in the Monti district. If, in seeking the Convent of the Neophytes, or
the house of Lucrezia Borgia, you miss your way among those foul
narrow streets, you will find yourself in the midst of a strange
medley of thieves, sharpers, guitar-players, artists' models, beggars,
_ciceroni_, and _ruffiani_. If you speak to them, you may be sure they
will kiss your Excellency's hand, and pick your Excellency's pocket. I
do not think a worse breed is to be found in any city in Europe, not
even in London. All these people _practise_ religion, without the
least believing in God. The police does not meddle much with them. To
be sure they are sent to prison now and then, but thanks to a
favourable word in the right quarter, or to the want of prison
accommodation, they are soon set at liberty. Even the honest workmen
their neighbours occasionally get into scrapes. They have made plenty
of money in the winter, and spent it all in the Carnival--as is the
common custom. Summer comes, the foreign visitors depart; no more work
and no more money. Moral training, which might sustain them, is wholly
wanting. The love of show, that peculiar disease of Rome, is their