CHAPTER VIII.
FOREIGNERS.
Permit me to open this chapter by recalling some recollections of the golden age.
A century or two ago, when old aristocracies, old royalties, and old religions imagined themselves eternal; when Popes innocently assured the fortunes of their nephews, and the welfare of their mistresses; when the simplicity of Catholic countries regilt annually the pontifical idol; when Europe contained some half-million of individuals who deemed themselves created for mutual understanding and amusement, without any thought of the classes beneath them, Rome was the Paradise of foreigners, and foreigners were the Providence of Rome.
A gentleman of birth took it into his head to visit Italy, for the sake of kissing the Pope's toe, and perhaps other local curiosities.
He managed to have a couple of years of leisure,--put three letters of introduction into one pocket, and 50,000 crowns into the other, and stepped into his travelling carriage.
In those days people did not go to Rome to spend a week there and away again; for it was a month or two's journey from France.

The crack of the postilions' whips used to announce to the Eternal City in general the arrival of a distinguished guest.

_Domestiques de place_ flocked to the call.

The luckiest of them took possession of the new comer by entering his service.

In a few days he provided his master with a palace, furniture, footmen, carriages, and horses.