Vainly do Codrus and his wife complain to the bailiff that the roof is collapsing over them. He merely laughs and bids them “sleep at ease,” although a deadly crash is threatened any night. They have another peril, because fire may at any time break out in Ucalegon’s flat below and leave them cut off, possibly while in their beds, and with no chance of escape after the alarm spreads. Such poor tenants never stay in one place long. Rome is a city of inveterate flat-hunters. The first of July (the Calends) is the regular moving day. Every tenant who cannot or will not pay his rent, has to go forth seeking even cheaper and more squalid quarters. There are endless family processions bearing off the few poor chattels. The satirists make ungenerous fun of their plight, telling how a wretched man has to march away followed by “his carroty-headed wife, his white-haired mother and his giantess of a sister.” Between them they carry off “a three-legged bed, a two-footed table, a lamp, a horn-cup, a rusty brazier, some cracked dishes, some jars of very stale pickled fish,” also a supply of cheese and onions, and “a pot of resin belonging to the poor fellow’s mother and used by the beldame for anointing herself.” [Illustration: TENANTS PAYING RENT TO A LANDLORD’S AGENT.] Such luckless plebeians, of course, may delude some house agent in a distant part of the city into giving them a dark garret in the vain hope that they can pay their rent; “but really,”--says the bailiff with a shrug, “they belong at the Aricine bridge--the haunt of the beggars.” Unfortunately a large fraction of Rome is little better off than this. Poverty stalks everywhere. There are plenty of fetid insulæ which do not contain a single family that can be sure of next week’s dinners. Nevertheless there are mitigations; as will be seen, the government takes great pains that in Rome nobody will actually starve; and again, there are so many free circuses and gladiatorial shows that a man has abundant diversion from his troubles. There is a magnificent water supply, and the kind Italian sun prevents heavy fuel bills. Poverty, therefore, does not imply the acute misery which it does in the North. Nevertheless, the most fortunate insula dweller probably dreams of the day when he can crown his inevitable ambition. “When can I cease to live in a _cenacula_ (flat) and live in a _domus_?”[17] =30. A Senatorial “Mansion” (_Domus_).=--Publius Junius Calvus is a senator of ancient lineage, whose domus lifts itself arrogantly near the summit of the Esquiline, at the head of Mercury Street, looking down upon the tiles of the humble insula _Flavia Victoria_.