e secured by a great
financial and labour crisis. And yet, at bottom, it was solely for the
people, the populace, that Rome was being cleansed and rebuilt with the
idea of making it a great modern capital, for democracy lies at the end
of these present day transformations; it is the people who will inherit
the cities whence dirt and disease are being expelled, and where the law
of labour will end by prevailing and killing want. And so, though one may
curse the dusting and repairing of the ruins and the stripping of all the
wild flora from the Colosseum, though one may wax indignant at sight of
the hideous fortress like ramparts which imprison the Tiber, and bewail
the old romantic banks with their greenery and their antique dwellings
dipping into the stream, one must at the same time acknowledge that life
springs from death, and that to-morrow must perforce blossom in the dust
of the past.

While thinking of all these things Pierre had reached the deserted,
stern-looking Piazza Farnese, and for a moment he looked up at the bare
monumental facade of the heavy square Palazzo, its lofty entrance where
hung the tricolour, its rows of windows and its famous cornice sculptured
with such marvellous art. Then he went in. A friend of Narcisse Habert,
one of the _attaches_ of the embassy to the King of Italy, was waiting
for him, having offered to show him over the huge pile, the finest palace
in Rome, which France had leased as a lodging for her ambassador.* Ah!
that colossal, sumptuous, deadly dwelling, with its vast court whose
porticus is so dark and damp, its giant staircase with low steps, its
endless corridors, its immense galleries and halls. All was sovereign
pomp blended with death. An icy, penetrating chill fell from the walls.
With a discreet smile the _attache_ owned that the embassy was frozen in
winter and baked in summer. The only part of the building which was at
all lively and pleasant was the first storey, overlooking the Tiber,
which the ambassador himself occupied. From the gallery there, containing
the famous frescoes of Annibale Caracci, one can see the Janiculum, the
Corsini gardens, and the Acqua Paola above San Pietro in Montorio. Then,
after a vast drawing-room comes the study, peaceful and pleasant, and
enlivened by sunshine. But the dining-room, the bed-chambers, and other
apartments occupied by the _personnel_ look out on to the mournful gloom
of a side street. All these vast rooms, twenty and four-an