No, no! did not my
Parisian acquaintance the other day assure me very gravely, after
lamenting the absurdity of the Italians' not speaking French instead of
their own language,--"But, Sir, what is this Italian? nothing but bad
French!"--and did not another of that same polished nation, in
describing his travels to Naples, say, in answer to the question,
whether he had seen the grand old temples of Paestum,--"Ah, yes, I have
seen Paestum; 'tis a detestable country!--like the Campagna of Rome"? I
am perfectly aware that there are differences of opinion.
Let me, then, beg you to remain in Rome during the mouth of May, if
you can possibly make your arrangements to do so.
May is the month of the Madonna, and on every _festa_-day you will see
at the corners of the streets a little improvised shrine, or it may be
only a festooned print of the Madonna hung against the walls of some
house or against the back of a chair, and tended by two or three
children, who hold out to you a plate, as you pass, and beg for
charity, sometimes, I confess, in the most pertinacious way,--the money
thus raised to be expended in oil for the lamps before the Madonna
shrines in the streets. The monasteries of nuns are also busy with
processions and celebrations in honor of "the Mother of God," which are
carried on pleasantly within their precincts and seen only of female
friends.
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