The Kinsley graphic. [volume] (Kinsley, Kan.) 1890-1940, 1899-12-08
CHAPTER XIII.
ROME.

ROME.
Az we rode up to the ruinous stretch of
the battered wall, and saw before US the
gate, lying open against the notified green
and gray background of the Aventine, that
old hill, covered with struggling and un-
kempt vineyards, and studded with the
walls of monasteries, was moved more
than can tell, for was about to realize
a dream of my life, and put my foot once
again in the place of my birth, spot not
only bound to me by that tie, but sacred
with the hundred legends of my. forefa-
Tiers history. men who had for centuries
played SO great part in its fate, until our
house was cast forth by the mother city,
to wander as exiles over the land. 1t is
true that since the days of my childhood
l had not seen Rome, it is true that such
memories of it as had were dim and misty,
and that to recall them was like trying to
bring back before ones eyes, when awake,
the vague but pleasant visions of a delight
full dream; nevertheless my heart filled
with strange JOY, and my pulse began to
beat more rapidly, as each stride OF my horse
brought me nearer home. In short, l was
a Roman come back to Rome, and in these
words sum up my feelings.
Filled with such thoughts, / frightened the
reins half unconsciously, and my horse,
doubtless upset by his voyage, and the hard
going from Ostia, very willingly slackened
his pace to walk. Jacopo, as in duty bound,
followed my example, and Immediately be-
gan. to buzz into speech.
In short time we come opposite the
Monte Testaccio. that curious mound made
Of old pottery, which lies towards the river,
southwest of the Ostian gate, and 80 en-
crossed were we in our talk that we did
not observe large party of riders of both
sexes, with an escort of men-at-arms, COM
ing at hand gallop from our right, straight
in our direction. Our attention was how
ever sharply drawn to the fact by the cry
of an equerry who was riding well in ad-
vance of the others, and this man shouted:
"The road! The road! Way for his holi
ness! Way! Way!"
We drew off ut once to the side, Jacopo
dismounting and sinking to his knees. I
however contented myself with uncovering,
and watching with no little establishment
the party as they came up. They were evil
IDENTIFY returning from hawking, and at the
head of the column of riders were two men
in full Turkish costume.
"Who are those Turks?" l asked Jacopo,
and the knave, still kneeling, and holding
his hands up in supplication, answered hur-
riedly:
Zone is the Soldam Diem, excellency-
O, Lord, trust we may not be hanged as
all afternoons amusement-the other, the
fair one, old Alexander vi. himself - o
Lord! What cursed luck! Kneel, excel
lency; it is our only chance"
"Tush!" replied, and remembered at
once that the brother of Bajazet, the Great
Turk, was a hostage in Rome, practically
a prisoner in the hands of Alexander, a
legacy he had inherited from the Cibo, and
which brought him 10000 ducats annually.
could understand Diem in eastern costume,
but the pope masquerading in broad day
light as a Moor! It was as wonderful as
it was disgusting to me. And then the re-
membrance of Corte's daughter came to my
mind, and as they approached, could hard
ly refrain from making dash to rid the
world of the monster who sat in st. Peters
chair.
When they had gone, Jacopo arose from
his knees, and busting them with his hands
whilst he looked up at me, said: "Corpo di
Bacco! But gave up all for lost. vow a
candle to st. Mary of forget where-but
to the shrine nearest to the place we dine,
for this lucky escape"
"Come, sirrah!" / said, q little annoyed,
mount. There never was any danger"
Every we'll, your worship!" and Jacopo
drew little to the front. "There they 60"
he said, shading his eyes with his hands,
and turning to the left, where dun cloud of
dust on the Via della Marmorata marked
the progress of the Borgia. t'The best way,
signore," he continued, els over the hill;
we will get view from there, and then
passing by the places you want to see, make
for quiet hostel I know of in the Strangers
Quarters"
Following him, we rode up the Aventine,
until we reached the old wall of Servius
Julius. Here we stopped to observe the
view. To the west and southwest we could
see the green of the Campagna merging into
the distant gray of the Roman Maremma,
whilst beyond that clear blue line, below
the flush of the coming sunset, marked the
sea. Beneath us lay the Tiber and the is
land, the yellow water of the river stirred
into ripples by the breeze, and looking from
the distance like hammered brass. BEYOND
the Tiber rose Monte Gianicolo, beyond
which the top of the Vatican hill was just
visible. To the north the view was little
shut in by the Palatine and the church of
st. Prisca above N, and far of rose the
cone of Soratte. Northeast and east lay the