Saracinesca
CHAPTER I.In the year 1865 Rome was still in a great measure its old self. It had not thenacquired that modern air which is now beginning to pervade it. The Corso had notbeen widened and whitewashed; the Villa Aldobrandini had not been cut through tomake the Via Nazionale; the south wing of the Palazzo Colonna still looked upon anarrow lane through which men hesitated to pass after dark; the Tiber's course hadnot then been corrected below the Farnesina; the Farnesina itself was but justunder repair; the iron bridge at the Ripetta was not dreamed of; and the Prati diCastello were still, as their name implies, a series of waste meadows. At thesouthern extremity of the city, the space between the fountain of Moses and thenewly erected railway station, running past the Baths of Diocletian, was still anexercising-ground for the French cavalry. Even the people in the streets thenpresented an appearance very different from that which is now observed by thevisitors and foreigners who come to Rome in the winter. French dragoons andhussars, French infantry and French officers, were everywhere to be seen in greatnumbers, mingled with a goodly sprinkling of the Papal Zouaves, whose grey Turcouniforms with bright red facings, red sashes, and short yellow gaiters, gave colourto any crowd. A fine corps of men they were, too; counting hundreds of gentlemenin their ranks, and officered by some of the best blood in France and Austria. Inthose days also were to be seen the great coaches of the cardinals, with theirgorgeous footmen and magnificent black horses, the huge red umbrellas lyingupon the top, while from the open windows the stately princes of the Church fromtime to time returned the salutations of the pedestrians in the street. And often inthe afternoon there was heard the tramp of horse as a detachment of the nobleguards trotted down the Corso on their great chargers, escorting the holy Fatherhimself, while all who met him dropped upon one knee and uncovered their headsto receive the benediction of the mild-eyed old man with the beautiful features, thehead of Church and State. Many a time, too, Pius IX. would descend from hiscoach and walk upon the Pincio, all clothed in white, stopping sometimes to talkwith those who accompanied him, or to lay his gentle hand on the fair curls of somelittle English child that paused from its play in awe and admiration as the Pope wentby. For he loved children well, and most of all, children with golden hair-angels,not Angles, as Gregory said.As for the fashions of those days, it is probable that most of us would suffersevere penalties rather than return to them, beautiful as they then appeared to usby contrast with the exaggerated crinoline and flower-garden bonnet, which hadgiven way to the somewhat milder form of hoop-skirt madness, but had not yetflown to the opposite extreme in the invention of the close-fitting princessegarments of 1868. But, to each other, people looked then as they look now.Fashion in dress, concerning which nine-tenths of society gives itself so muchtrouble, appears to exercise less influence upon men and women in their relationstowards each other than does any other product of human ingenuity. Providedevery one is in the fashion, everything goes on in the age of high heels and gownstied back precisely as it did five-and-twenty years ago, when people wore flatshoes, and when gloves with three buttons had not been dreamed of-when awoman of most moderate dimensions occupied three or four square yards of spaceupon a ball-room floor, and men wore peg-top trousers. Human beings since thedays of Adam seem to have retired like caterpillars into cocoons of dress,expecting constantly the wondrous hour when they shall emerge from their selfwovenprison in the garb of the angelic butterfly, having entered into the chrysalisstate as mere human grubs.