THE FAMINE.
The end of November is approaching. Nearly a month has elapsed since
the occurrence of the events mentioned in the last chapter, yet still
the Gothic lines stretch round the city walls. Rome, that we left
haughty and luxurious even while ruin threatened her at her gates, has
now suffered a terrible and warning change. As we approach her again,
woe, horror, and desolation have already gone forth to shadow her lofty
palaces and to darken her brilliant streets.
Over Pomp that spurned it, over Pleasure that defied it, over Plenty
that scared it in its secret rounds, the spectre Hunger has now risen
triumphant at last. Day by day has the city's insufficient allowance of
food been more and more sparingly doled out; higher and higher has risen
the value of the coarsest and simplest provision; the hoarded supplies
that pity and charity have already bestowed to cheer the sinking people
have reached their utmost limits. For the rich, there is still corn in
the city--treasure of food to be bartered for treasure of gold.
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