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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 re