there was again an outbreak in Rome. The people, stimulated by some of the nobles, who thought themselves injured by the Papal sway, rose, broke open the prisons, and set free four hundred prisoners. They then attacked the Palace of the Inquisition, liberating also the prisoners confined there, a great number of whom had been long shut up without having been ever examined (moltissimi ve n'erano da lunghissimo tempo ne pure esaminati), and burned all the processes, as well as a portion of the Palace itself. Ghislieri, the Chief of the Inquisition, and afterwards Pope, narrowly escaped with his life. From here they rushed to the Capitol, overthrew the statue of the Pope, broke off its head, and dragged it through the streets. They then proceeded to the Convent of the Dominicans at the Minerva, threatening also to destroy that; but through the ef forts of Marc Antonio Colonna and Giuliano Cesarini they were finally restrained from carrying their threats into effect, and quiet was again restored. On the election of Cardi

nal de Medicis (Pius IV.), which occurred within a few days, he issued a pardon to all who were concerned in these proceedings.

Alarmed, however, at the temper of the people, he now determined to remodify and rearrange the Leonine City, so that the Pope as well as the prelates and Papal Court should, in case of necessity, have some other refuge of safety besides the Castle St Angelo. He accordingly refortified the whole of the Borgo, including within his fortifications the Castle St Angelo, the Vatican, and St Peter's, and a space sufficient to form squadrons of soldiers for their defence.

If we may trust Marlianus, the appearance of the Castle in 1588 must have been considerably changed from what it was in 1465, when it was drawn by San Gallo. He describes it as having "a double cincture of fortifications—a large round tower at the inner extremity of the bridge

two towers with high pinnacles surmounted by the cross-and surrounded by the river."

SERVANTS constitute one of those awkward topics of which nobody likes to talk which are alluded to because they force themselves obstinately upon our attention, but from which we all run away as fast as we can, without attempting to find a solution for the difficulties they present. Such cowardice does not help us, however, for servants and the worries they cause pursue us all over the world, unaffected by changes of latitude or of government. They are not imposed upon us by nature, we voluntarily subject ourselves to them, and of all the tyrannies to which civilisation and vanity have made us bow our heads, there is not one from which we suffer more, or which we are less able to resist. Even habit, that soother of discomforts-even time, that curer of sorrows-even reason, that guide which we consider so infallible in religion and politics, fail to reconcile us to servants: we continue to impatiently support them-we live side by side with them as with hereditary enemies; and the more advanced amongst us complain of the slow progress of mechanical invention, which has not yet discovered the secret of the automata who make the beds and wait at dinner in that privileged country, Vril-ya.

But, irritating as the topic may be -humiliating as it is to recognise that we are not masters in our own houses, and that one of the most evident results of the progress achieved during the nineteenth century is that, in fact, we have grown to be abject subjects where, in theory, we are supposed to be despotic rulers-surely there is no

wisdom in evading discussion on the matter. The evil has become wellnigh intolerable to most of us; it has assumed a development which encircles us day and night. We writhe, we moan, in a suffocated whisper, to our dearest friend; but, with all our energy, we dare not speak out, and we let the monster go on, growing bigger, crushing us under his nightmare-weight. And yet we have social science congresses, and we live in a country of public meetings and individual initiative, and we are a free people-at least we say so-and we are surrounded by reformers of all kinds, and we sing and conscientiously believe that "Britons never shall be slaves." The clearest fact which results from all this is, that the patriot who wrote "Rule Britannia" was a short-sighted man, who in no way foresaw the future destiny of the nation. Slaves we have become, and, to judge from present appearances, we seem likely to continue so. We clink our chains, and mourn, and own that they are cruelly heavy, and that they eat into our flesh, but there is not a man or a woman amongst us who has raised the cry of liberty. If ever the odious question is alluded to, it is only for an instant; no one dares to seriously take it up; and if, at any peculiarly bitter moment, the provocation should become insupportable, and some des perate sufferer writes wildly to the newspapers to say that he is going mad or dying from domestic difficulties, the only answer he gets is a wise and prudent leader, proving, by commanding logic, that the whole affair is one of proportion between

demand and supply. He is told that, in consequence of the general increase of wealth, more people are able to pay for servants on the one hand, while fewer people are willing to become servants on the other; that our wants are growing, while the means of supplying them are diminishing; and that, some day or other, there will be no more servants to be found-just as we are assured that in 1934 there will be no more coal. Of a possible solution of the difficulty, in part at least, not one word will be said; to a possible modification of the existing relations between masters and servants not an allusion will be made; and to the experience of foreign countries in the matter, in order to consider whether it offers any teaching to ourselves, not a reference will be suggested; the latter notice, indeed, would be beneath the dignity of a true-born Englishman, who knows, of course, that however bad things may be in his own land, they are necessarily worse abroad. Let us, however, sacrifice our dignity for a few minutes, and see what we can discover across the Channel: if, after all, we should learn something there, perhaps we may decide to condescend to see what use we can make of it at home. Our malady is so grave that it really is worth while to inquire if it exists elsewhere; if so, what are its symptoms, its causes, and its consequences, and what are the remedies prescribed for it in other cases than our own.

We all of us remember our first impression of French servants: it was that both men and women wear white aprons which cover up their bodies, and that the sexes are mainly distinguished by pumps and white stockings which come out under the apron in the case of a man, and by the crispest of white caps which comes out above it in

the case of a woman; we further recollect that both men and women seemed to chatter with prodigious rapidity, and that they laughed most disrespectfully while they were talking to us. It must be owned that a good many British travellers never get beyond this first impression, and that their view of the domestics of France is limited to the details just indicated. It may be said without exaggeration that this view is superficial and incomplete, and that the subject includes something more than aprons, pumps, caps, volubility, and hilarity. Furthermore, the ordinary voyager, however far he may attempt to carry his investigations of the inner nature of hotel and café servants, has no opportunity of extending his studies into private houses, where the true interest of the matter lies; he is forcedly restricted to a narrow and inferior range of observation, which offers the special disadvantage of including only individuals who, by constant contact with the public, have acquired the special habits and the special manners which belong to their particular class, and which are very different from those of their colleagues in private service. The natural result is, that the traveller who has no other means of judging, arrives at an opinion which, even if it be correct in itself, refers only to a limited and exceptional category of domestics. That opinion generally is that French servants, of both sexes, are clean, active, cheery, and willing; but that they are utterly disrespectful, and are generally of doubtful honesty, and of still more doubtful morality. This description is approximately exact. There are, of course, numerous exceptions to it in all its elements, and it allows no margin for the infinite varieties and shades of character which are so abundantly developed

amongst waiters and chambermaids by the mere effect of the life they lead; but, with these reserves, the opinion may be said to be, on the whole, a true one. It represents the maximum of experience acquired on the subject by the infinite majority of our countrymen; and it may perhaps be fair to own at once that in itself it is not of a nature to dispose them to recognise any superiority of French servants over English. It must, however, be observed, that English people unconsciously compare the hotel waiters they meet with across the Channel to their own servants at home; and that if the decision is, not unnaturally, in favour of the latter, it is because they have at all events the merit of knowing the delicate details of their trade better than the dish-carriers and floor - scrubbers who cumulate so many varied functions in most French inns. But if, instead of putting the latter into scale against British butlers, we honestly weigh them out with their parallels in England-with the greasy-coated, dough-faced, perspiringly important, pretentious "parties" who serve us in the hotels of the United Kingdomwe must acknowledge, if we tell the truth, that the advantage lies with the supple Gaul, who has no pride, is rarely out of temper, is everywhere at once, can do thirteen things at the same time, and looks clean even if he is not so. Solemn respectability, massive inactivity, and grubby dirt, cannot be said to really constitute a smart servant; ubiquity, indefatigable zeal, and a cheery laugh, are higher qualities, even if they be accompanied by the sauciness and familiarity which Englishmen so ruthlessly resent.

Here, however, arises a second difficulty in the way of our just appreciation of French servants. We are so accustomed to sham in this

island-realm, that we insist upon it in every detail of our existence. We do not permit our servitors to manifest an opinion before us; we extort from them simulated respect; we impose upon them the obligation of utter silence in our redoubtable presence; we forbid them to be men or women with hearts and feelings, and only accept them as machines because we are too superb to do anything whatever for ourselves. It never occurs to us that we may perchance be rousing bitter hate in the minds we crush; that we may be piling up unpardoning enmities against ourselves and our class; that we may, each of us in our sphere of action, be fomenting social divisions which will some day bring about the revolution which all Europe says we shall have to support in our turn. We laugh contemptuously at Europe-of course we know our own affairs better than ignorant foreigners-and we go on sternly keeping up our dignity and grinding down our servants. It is useless to argue from exceptions, and to talk about "faithful retainers who have been in the family for forty years." Faithful retainers no longer constitute the mass of English households, though there are still many of them in Scotland; and we are so thoroughly accustomed, south of the Tweed, to treat our men and maids as our inferiors before God and man, and to the prostrate servility which we wring from them, that the audacious freedom of the French seems to us to be contrary to the highest and noblest laws of nature. Of course this is not true of every one of us; there are kind masters and gentle mistresses in England: but who will deny that the rule is the other way, and that nearly all of us are necessarily influenced in our judgment of foreign servants by the habits which we have formed for

ourselves at home? Still we are a tolerably well-intentioned race; some of us really want to be fair and honest, and, despite our prejudices and our ignorance, we do not always refuse to give our attention to new arguments, because the facts on which they are based shock our sentiments of propriety. It may not, therefore, be altogether useless to attempt to show, that possibly the Frenchman may be right and the Englishman wrong in this grave question; that a certain liberty of attitude, a certain sincerity of speech, a certain recognition of mutual equality, may not only induce a higher moral tone in the relations between masters and servants, but may, incredible as it sounds to English ears, actually improve the value and utility of the servant.

And there is another reason for considering this element of the question. It is difficult to critically appreciate the French servant in his various aspects, without first defining the political conditions under which he lives. Since 1789 he has legally been the equal of his master; since 1830 he has slowly grown to a distinct consciousness of the theoretical equality which exists between himself and the family he serves; since 1851 he has become an elector like his master and his master's son, and has as much action as they have on the destinies of France. In the consequences they produce, these conditions apply as thoroughly to women - servants as to men; and though the greater subtleness and tact of the female mind render their manifestation more difficult to seize with precision, the sentiment of non-inferiority to her mistress is as really embedded in the heart of a cook or a femme de chambre, as in the brain of a Radical footman or a Communist groom. The difference is, that the woman feels it and the

man thinks it; with one it is an instinct, with the other it is a conviction; but in both cases it lifts up the level of personal dignity, it generally softens manners, and renders the heart more capable of good feeling towards a master whose superiority is only admitted as an accident, and in no way as an inherent right. This, however, is but the ideal view of the case; this is the aspect which it ought to present if everybody were good-the aspect which it really does offer in a great many cases, but not in all. There are numerous examples of a diametrically opposite result, where the sentiment of equality raises hatred instead of sympathy in the servant's mind, on the ground that it is but a name and a delusion, and that the rights and duties which equality is supposed to imply are realised on neither side. Still, looking at the question as a whole, throughout all France, it is incontestable, allowing largely for exceptions, that the levelling of classes has done vast good; it has helped to raise the moral and political value of each individual affected by it, and has certainly contributed to the consolidation of the conservative principles which are now so widely spread amongst French servants. The material effect of the idea of equality—that is to say, its influence on the personal relations between master and servant-naturally varies with character and temperament; but there is no exaggeration in saying that, as a rule, it makes home-life more agreeable.

At first sight it is difficult for an Englishman even to conceive that a servant can, in any shape or way, be on a par with his master; the mere fact that one serves the other is, according to the prejudices in which we are brought up, an ab