The sun., 1908-05-17


above 70 something that you can bear better
" you lTe not very worthy or have not the
conceit W feeling yourself 80. Il 10 charm
that imparts itself more In detail and is less
exclusively the effect OF perpetual sunset.
From tho parapet against which you lean
You have q perfecter conception OF the
architectural form than you get from below.
and you are never tired OF seeing the suc-
cessive falls Of the Steps dividing themselves
and then coming together on tho broad
landings and again parting and coming
together.
II there were once many models. male,
female and infent, brigands, peasanta,
sases and martyrs, lounging on the Span
ish Steps, 40 It Seems 10 me there used to be,
and as every one has heard say waiting there
for the artists TO come and carry them of
to their studios and transfer them to their
canvases, they are now no longer there In
noticeable number. saw some small boys
in steeple crowned soft hats and short jack
cts with their little legs wound around with
the favorite bandaging Of brigands; and
some mothers suitable FOR Madonnas, per-
haps, with babes at the breast; there was a
patrlarohal old man or two. ready, no doubt,
TO pooe for the prophets, or. at a pinch, for yet
diviner persons; but for the rest the Steps
were rather given up to flower girls, fruit
pedlers and beggars pure and simple, on
levels distinctly below those infested by the
post card youths. The whole neighbor-
hood abounds In opportunities for charity.
and ut the corner Of the Via Sistina there
IL a one legged beggar who Processes to
black shoes In the intervals Of aims taking
and who early made me his prey. II some
times fanoied escaping by him to my
lounge against the parapet Of the steps, he
joyously overlook mo with swiftness Of
which few two legged men are capable;
he wore soldiers cap, and hoped, for
his leg in battle, but I do not know.
One Sunday evening hung there long
time, Watching with one eye the people
who were coming back from their PRONE
made on the Pincian Hill, and with the other
the groups descending and ascending the
steps. On the first landing below me there
was boy who gratiied me, dare say
unoonsoiously, by trying to stand on bis
hands; and little dramatic spectacle
added itself 10 this feat of the CIRCUS. Two
pretty girls smartly dressed in hats and
gowns exactly alike. and doubtless sisters
II not twins, passed down to the same level.
One was with a handsome young officer
and walked staidly beside him. as il content
with her quality of captive or captor. The
other was with O civilian, of whom she
was apparently not sure. Suddenly she
ran away from him to the verge of the next
fall Of steps. possibly to show him how
charmingly she was dressed. possibly to
tempt him by her grace in fight to follow
her madly. But he followed sanely and
slowly. and she waited for him to come
up, in q caprioious quiet. as IL she had not
done anything or meant anything. That
was all; but ] am not hard to suit; and
It was richly enough for me.
Her little comedy came to its denoue-
ment just under the shoulder OF the rose-
rooted terrace jutting from a lowish plain
ish house on the left. beyond certain palms
and eucalyptus trees. 1t is one OF the
most sacred shrines in Rome. foI'it was in
this house that the young English poet
whose name was writ in water died to ever
increasing fame three or four score years
ago. It is the Keats house, which when
he died in it was the house Of Severn the
painter. his host and friend. had visited
IL for tho kind sake Of the one and the dear
sake Of the other, when first visited Rome
in 1864; and it was one of the earliest sta
tions Of my second pilgrimage. 1t is now in
form for any and all visitors. but the day
went 1t had not yet bee put in it's pres
ent simple and tasteful keeping. A some
what ahrill and soraping voiced matron in
quired my pleasure when she followed me
into the ground floor entrance from some-
where without, and then, understanding,
called her young daughter, who led me up
to the room where Keats unused his last
verse and breathed his last sigh. It is very
little room, looking down over the Spanish
Steps. with their dixie OF bloom, across the
piazza to the narrow stretch Of the Via del
Babuino. must have stood In it with
Severn and heard him talk OF Keats and
his ultimate days and hours; for I remem-
ber some such talk but not the details OF it.
He was q very gentle old man and fondly
proud Of his goodness to the poor dying
poet, as he we'll might be. and was glad
to be one of the many Americans who,
he said, came to grieve with him for the
dead poet.
Now. on my later visit, it was a cold.
rainy day, and 1t was chill within the house
and without. and I attributed my weather
to the time OF Keats's sojourn. and thought
OF him sitting by his table there in that bare.
narrow. stony room and coughing at the
dismal outlook. Afterward I saw the
whole place put in order and warmed by
generous stove. for people who came to see
the Keats and Shelley collections OF books
and pictures; but still the sense OF that day
remains. The young girl sympathized with
my sympathy, and wished to find rose for
me in the trellis through which the rain
dripped. She could not. and I suggested
that there would be roses In the spring.
NO. she persisted, sometimes it makes
them in the winter but / had to come
away without one through the reeking
streets. ..
When 1t rains. It rains easy in Rome. But
the weather was divine that evening when
I looked one of,my latest looks down on the
Spanish Steps. The sun had sunk rather
wanly beyond the city. but cheerful light
OF electrics shone up ut me from the Via del
Condott. l stood and thought Of as much
az could summon from the past. and
was strongest. I do not know why. with the
Of the early Christians. Pres.
emily q smell Of dinner came from the hotels
around and the houses below. and was
reminded to 60 home to my own table d'hote.
NJ <,,n Ia ho00ar aaauned IN ha va roma