The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1909-08-07


the spell OF the clolsters, thought had never
seen anything more mpressvely beautiful.
In Rome one is receiving impressions from all
sides and at all times, so the effect is, perhaps.
kaleldoscoplc; but the fragments of pictures
one carries away are worth it. One does not soon
forget the plazzas, most of them bearing names
reminiscent of Romes better days; the religious
statutes in public places, the quaint little shrnes
some only metal bracket, holding a statue or pic
ture, before which tiny lamp fickers; the
mopital street crowds, among them priests in
tanes and monks wearing their religious habits:
the names of the parts of the city, recalling
the Apostle Peter, a second the maiden Tarpeia
another Pancratius still another Rienza The very
streets are alive with memories. Along some of.
the old winding, narrow WAYS every though is of
the long ago; and one feels that today will never
dispossess the yesterday that owns the dark stone
buildings, with their fOrtress-ikc fronts small win
dows set high above the streets, and metabound
doors that look if made to resist even the at
tacks of Time
One doesn't get very far from the Tiber in
Rome and while as a river it was distinctly dis
appointing to us, a stream out of the history
and romance of the past, it full of charm.
Leaning its yellow waters ore afternoon. Mary
in mild Macaulay fashion, recalled our eocution
days by reciting:
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed We may;
|, with two more to help me,
VIII hold the foe in play
In Won straight path, thousand
May well be stopped by three:
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?
And never to had the old ballad seemed so
stirring there on the bridge, while automobiles
and carriages were passing in unbroken procession.
We did not see them. We thought only of
How we'll Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old
There is a charm about even the beggars and
street-venders in Rome. We found II necessary to
provide ourselves with an amount of small change
before venturing out each day; the demands
many. and one is alarmed to see how soon hand
full of coins are spent. But five big centimes mean
only penny; so ones caution off.
and ones stock of souvenirs, canoes, mosaics and
post cards. etc. increases.
Speaking of post cards. we had amusing
scene the day before we left Rome We were goirg
to drive to the Colosseum in order to see it by
moonlight. and stopped at desk to stamp some
post cards. 1t was busy moment. and of the
clerks hurredly took up box from behind the
desk, opened it, put the cover on hastily and was
about to return it to its recess, when Catherine.
who had caught glimpse of her own unmistak
able writing, took the box and exposed its con-
tents-at least sixty post cards which we had hand
ed IN for mailing at different times, and for the
stamps of which we had paidl There followed
dramatic scene in English and Italian; and before
it closed bell boys, porters, guides and the pro-
prietor we're on the stage, when, to the sound of
apologies and explanations, the Americans with
drew in triumph 1t was a funny scene, and en-
joyed it to the full as we drove to the Colosseum:
but there were only grave thoughts and feelings
of awe when we stepped into the shadows of the
archways and on into the arena flooded with silver
light
There was a witchery about the play of lights
and shadows. High up to the east lowered the
walls, and against the tiers and ruins of the
cades the moon shone white. Standing there in
the stiffness of the summer night, it was easy to
conjure up a scene from the long ago We could
see emperors senators, vesta virgins and the multi
tude round about; and there, the stand, the
Christian martyrs waiting the signal which would
open on of the great doorways from which Death
ready to spring upon them.
An early Mass at S. Andrea the next morning.
a last prayer at the Confession in St. Peters and
we turned toward the station. Somehow, it was not
with Sadness of farewell" that we left Rome; for
part of its charm is the hope that it wakens in
the hearts of its lovers to come back once moro to
this Niobe of Nations, this City of the soul But
should we never again walk its streets in reality
Rome is ours forever, all best things are, in the
memory of the heart