BOOK THE FIRST

CHAPTER I. THE THIEVES' CORNER

At the foot of the hill on which stands the Campidoglio at Rome, and
close beneath the ruins that now encumber the Tarpeian rock, runs a
mean-looking alley, called the Viccolo D'Orsi, but better known to the
police as the 'Viccolo dei Ladri,' or 'Thieves' Corner'--the epithet
being, it is said, conferred in a spirit the very reverse of calumnious.

Long and straggling, and too narrow to admit of any but foot-passengers,
its dwellings are marked by a degree of poverty and destitution even
greater than such quarters usually exhibit. Rudely constructed of
fragments taken from ancient temples and monuments, richly carved
architraves and finely cut friezes are to be seen embedded amid
masses of crumbling masonry, and all the evidences of a cultivated and
enlightened age mingled up with the squalor and misery of present want.

Not less suggestive than the homes themselves are the population of this
dreary district; and despite rags, and dirt, and debasement, there they
are--the true descendants of those who once, with such terrible truth,
called themselves 'Masters of the World.' Well set-on heads of massive
mould, bold and prominent features, finely fashioned jaws, and lips
full of vigour and sensual meaning, are but the base counterfeits of
the traits that meet the eye in the Vatican. No effort of imagination
is needed to trace the kindred. In every gesture, in their gait, even in
the careless ease of their ragged drapery, you can mark the traditionary
signs of the once haughty citizen.

With a remnant of their ancient pride, these people reject all hired
occupation, and would scorn, as an act of slavery, the idea of labour;
and, as neither trade nor calling prevails among them, their existence
would seem an inscrutable problem, save on the hypothesis which dictated
the popular title of this district. But without calling to our aid this
explanation, it must be remembered how easily life is supported by those
satisfied with its meanest requirements, and especially in a land so
teeming with abundance. A few roots, a handful of chestnuts, a piece
of black bread, a cup of wine, scarcely more costly than so much water,
these are enough to maintain existence; and in their gaunt and famished
faces you can see that little beyond this is accomplished.

About the middle of the alley, and over a doorway of sculptured marble,
stands a small statue of Vesta, which, by the aid