In return for the great benefit of his presence, they pay taxes on a tolerably extensive scale: so much for the house, so much for the livestock, so much for the privilege of lighting a fire, so much on the wine, and so much on the meat--when they are able to enjoy that luxury.

They grumble, though not very bitterly, regarding the taxes as a sort of periodical hailstorm falling on their year's harvest.

If they were to learn that Rome had been swallowed up by an earthquake, they certainly would not put on mourning.

They would go forth to their fields as usual, they would sell their crops for the usual price, and they would pay less taxes.

This is what all towns inhabited by peasants think of the metropolis.