them, fortified themselves in the piazzas.  Next day the French troops were marched to and fro through Rome, to inspire awe in the people; but it has only created a disgust amounting to loathing, to see that, with such an imposing force, and in great part fresh, the French were not ashamed to use bombs also, and kill women and children in their beds.  Oudinot then, seeing the feeling of the people, and finding they pursued as a spy any man who so much as showed the way to his soldiers,—­that the Italians went out of the cafes if Frenchmen entered,—­in short, that the people regarded him and his followers in the same light as the Austrians,—­has declared martial law in Rome; the press is stifled; everybody is to be in the house at half past nine o’clock in the evening, and whoever in any way insults his men, or puts any obstacle in their way, is to be shot.

The fruits of all this will be the same as elsewhere; temporary repression will sow the seeds of perpetual resistance; and never was Rome in so fair a way to be educated for a republican form of government as now.

Especially could nothing be more irritating to an Italian population, in the month of July, than to drive them to their homes at half past nine.  After the insupportable heat of the day, their only enjoyment and refreshment are found in evening walks, and chats together as they sit before their cafes, or in groups outside some friendly door.  Now they must hurry home when the drum beats at nine o’clock.  They are forbidden to stand or sit in groups, and this by their bombarding protector! Comment is unnecessary.

French soldiers are daily missing; of some it is known that they have been killed by the Trasteverini for daring to make court to their women.  Of more than a hundred and fifty, it is only known that they cannot he found; and in two days of French “order” more acts of violence have been committed, than in two months under the Triumvirate.

The French have taken up their quarters in the court-yards of the Quirinal and Venetian palaces, which are full of the wounded, many of whom have been driven well-nigh mad, and their burning wounds exasperated, by the sound of the drums and trumpets,—­the constant sense of an insulting presence.  The wounded have been warned to leave the Quirinal at the end of eight days, though there are many who cannot be moved from bed to bed without causing them great anguish and peril; nor is it known that any other place has been provided as a hospital for them.  At the Palazzo di Venezia the French have searched for three emigrants whom they wished to imprison, even in the apartments where the wounded were lying, running their bayonets into the mattresses.  They have taken for themselves beds given by the Romans to the hospital,—­not public property, but private gift.  The hospital of Santo Spirito was a governmental establishment, and, in using a part of it for the wounded, its director had been retained, because he had the reputation of being honest and not illiberal.  But as soon as the French entered, he, with true priestly baseness, sent away the women nurses, saying he had no longer money to pay them, transported the wounded into a miserable, airless basement, that had before been used as a granary, and appropriated the good apartments to the use of the French!