The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-10-03

times when the Greeks went where they
chose 1t stirred my fancy to think of a
brave and beauty-loving people building
splendid city and then one day having to
turn away from it all. There, in a desolate
plain empty of worshipers, the fires on
the affairs dead, their great and beautiful
temples have stood for two thousand years
looking seward for the Greek galleys that
have never come again.
But if / did not see Paestum I did see
Amalf and Sorrento, and drove for miles
along that one of the three finest roads III
the world that skirts the Mediterranean
from Salerno to Castellamare. l did not
mind missing the ascent of Vesuvius. Vic
tor made il alone. and his interest in what
was to be seen and his pride in his achieve
ment reached their height when he found
that his shoes were really a little scorched
love color. l want it unstinted, in
masses Astounding. want not only enough,
L want too much. I love green; L love red
triumphant and the reminiscent violet.
love all the fall colors, the blended colors.
the gray greens, the old roses, dull ambers.
But most of all 1 love blue, and 1 never
had enough of it until 1 came to Italy.
Here I look up at a sky that is bluer than
the turquoise on my hand and as vast as
all space-a blue so dense, so brilliant that
a scrap of it at the end of a narrow street
hangs like a curtain of azure velvet,
and so vast that sight fails before it's linn
its. I have seen the Bay of Naples roll
up on its yellow sands pillows of sapphire
water melting into distances of strange
metallic sheen like the throat of wild
duck or like some strange gem. When I
turn my eyes inland 1 see the green and
gold Of orange groves, and up on the hills
the sky has split patches of blue forget-me-
nots. The roads where kings have passed
are Powered with purple anemones, and
streams of blood-red peoples spread them
selves over the fields where great armies
have striven.
In Italy nature is never sullen. She holds
herself simply and joyously. If in some
places she cannot clothe herself in stately
forests she does not NOPE in weeds, but
smiles through modest blossoms. The ugly
cicatrices left by excavations and embank-
ments are not taken by ragweed and dog
fennel. Nature shortly covers them with
green curves of acanthus leaves or with
long trails of thck-clustered ivy. She is al
ways charming, always ready to be looked
at. I must confess that at first l could
not get rid of the notion that nature was
just trife posed. Now l see that that was
not her fault, but mine. would not see
her as she is, but kept on looking at her
as she has been painted and written about
and it is not fair to judge even a human
being that way.
They have their faults in southern Italy,
no doubt. The common people are dirty,
lazy and crnging, when they are not in
solent. Even their physical elasticity and
softness offend Anglo-Saxon sturdiness. L
perceive that the American tourist can't get
over the notion that a boy who, for a pen
ny, losses himself into three kinds of SOM
ersault at once must be a thief or he
couldn't be so Timber But whatever they
are. or are not, they have, as a race, been
faithful to one kind of good taste. They
respect the landscape. What they erect
may not be pretentious, but it never, never
is ugly. The old castles are dreams of
fairy stories All buildings, great and
small, are dignified and harmonious, and
never once since have been in Italy have
l seen the face of nature disfgured by an
advertisement. The rocks and walks and
trees are as guiltless of the merits of soap
and sarsaparilla as they were in the days of
Caesar.
The travellers that met in Rome were
all bewailing the modernness of things; that
the Eternal City should be lighted every
where by electricity caused many a sigh,
and the trolley cars whizzing and sputter-
ing along parallel with the old city wall
was a matter for tears But, for my part,
1 was overwhelmed, crushed by the an
tiquity of it ALL The impression only grew.
no 70 oIo
tered in the stony street. In stately halls
and palaces the air was full of intrigue,
revenge, despair and every evil passion. The
foul luxury and hopeless misery of the old
days sifted their bitter ashes into every
breath drew. And to make it the more
horrible it was all so beautiful, so enthrall-
ing 1 verify believed that should die if
I had to stay in Rome, and yet such is the
enchantment of the place that would walk
many miles-would give up almost anything
for one-half hour in any one of hundred
spots in Rome. When I stood among the
antique statues in the Vatican it seemed
to me that / had come for the first time
into the highest possibilities of artistic en-
joyment
st. Peters in Rome is the very center of
the visible manifestation of the earthly
glory OF the great church-the place toward
which for centuries the hearts of great and
devout men have turned. What action,
what conflicts have circled around it! What
thoughts have turned this way! How many
pilgrimages have ended here! From the
middle ages down almost every great man,
every poet, prince and warrior has passed
through these doors. Columbus walked
along this very pavement and looked up at
these arches. In the far wilds Of both
Americas holy men planted the cross, their
thoughts directed hither amid scenes of in
credible hardship and danger. I have seen
people of all races, conditions and beliefs
moving at once in the dim and vaulted dis
taEces of this church. Before me have
passed now a band of scarlet-robed eclesias-
tics, now some beggars, or brown conta-
DIM come to say their prayers on the way
to market. an English nobleman, some art
students, some pilgrims stopping at each
shrine a mother who leaves her little ones
whispering together while she turns aside
to confession-Russians and priests of the
Greek Church. a Jewish rabbi soldiers.
sailors and gentle. fatherly, country priests.
So vast is the place that one sees it in
sort of isolation There is no nearness, no
intrusion in the scene. Altar there is the
music Of a solemn mass, faint, yet so
distinct that one feels rather than hears it.
We look up through the incense-laden air
to heights so remote that shadows and
lights merge into each other beyond
raooopifiop The statues NAV NOT he varxr