﻿THE 
  SPLENDOR 
  OF 
  ROME 
  

  

  597 
  

  

  Far 
  across 
  the 
  city, 
  beyond 
  the 
  Tiber, 
  

   rises 
  a 
  commanding 
  ridge 
  or 
  hill, 
  once 
  

   Montorio, 
  from 
  its 
  golden 
  sands, 
  now 
  

   Monte 
  Gianicolo, 
  or 
  the 
  Janiculum. 
  At 
  

   its 
  southern 
  end 
  a 
  flat 
  terrace, 
  walled 
  

   comfortably 
  for 
  lounging, 
  shaded 
  with 
  

   thick-branched 
  trees, 
  bears 
  an 
  incon- 
  

   spicuous 
  church 
  and 
  monastery, 
  San 
  Pietro 
  

   in 
  Montorio, 
  the 
  tiny 
  "Tempietto" 
  in 
  the 
  

   monastery 
  court 
  marking 
  the 
  spot 
  where 
  

   St. 
  Peter 
  was 
  crucified. 
  

  

  The 
  church 
  has 
  a 
  double 
  claim 
  upon 
  

   Americans, 
  for 
  it 
  was 
  built 
  by 
  Ferdinand 
  

   and 
  Isabella 
  of 
  Spain, 
  and 
  is 
  consequently 
  

   just 
  as 
  old 
  as 
  we; 
  but 
  visitors 
  are 
  very 
  

   few 
  there, 
  for 
  St. 
  Peter's 
  huge 
  church 
  on 
  

   the 
  Vatican 
  attracts 
  them 
  all; 
  those 
  that 
  

   come 
  to 
  the 
  Janiculum 
  do 
  it 
  to 
  see 
  Rome. 
  

   It 
  was 
  never 
  one 
  of 
  "the 
  seven 
  hills," 
  but 
  

   it 
  is 
  a 
  good 
  place 
  to 
  look 
  over 
  at 
  them, 
  

   especially 
  toward 
  evening, 
  when 
  the 
  long 
  

   shadows 
  help 
  us 
  to 
  define 
  them 
  and 
  the 
  

   golden 
  light 
  reconstructs 
  for 
  us 
  an 
  older, 
  

   lovelier 
  Rome, 
  

  

  A 
  MODERN 
  CITY 
  OVER 
  A 
  GREATER 
  ANCIENT 
  

   ONE 
  

  

  East 
  of 
  the 
  river 
  is 
  all 
  the 
  Rome 
  of 
  

   the 
  ancients, 
  most 
  of 
  Rome 
  for 
  the 
  mod- 
  

   erns, 
  king, 
  court, 
  administrative 
  buildings, 
  

   palaces, 
  shops, 
  hotels 
  — 
  a 
  great, 
  busy 
  mod- 
  

   ern 
  city 
  overlaying 
  a 
  greater 
  ancient 
  one. 
  

  

  Even 
  from 
  here 
  the 
  city 
  looks 
  neither 
  

   lovely 
  nor 
  picturesque. 
  For 
  that 
  side 
  of 
  

   it 
  you 
  must 
  walk 
  some 
  moonlight 
  night 
  

   by 
  the 
  Colosseum, 
  loiter 
  on 
  the 
  Bridge 
  

   of 
  the 
  Angels 
  when 
  star-reflections 
  dim- 
  

   ple 
  the 
  sullen 
  river, 
  sit 
  silent 
  by 
  a 
  foun- 
  

   tain 
  in 
  a 
  rose-scented 
  garden 
  when 
  the 
  

   nightingales 
  are 
  in 
  song. 
  

  

  Now 
  we 
  see 
  a 
  yellow 
  and 
  gray 
  crowded 
  

   modern 
  city, 
  lightened 
  here 
  and 
  there 
  by 
  

   clustered 
  treetops 
  marking 
  a 
  garden, 
  

   pointed 
  with 
  stately 
  square 
  towers 
  and 
  

   here 
  and 
  there 
  a 
  dome. 
  

  

  There 
  are 
  no 
  "heaven-reaching 
  spires," 
  

   although 
  a 
  tower 
  or 
  two 
  bear 
  pointed 
  

   caps 
  ; 
  nor 
  can 
  we 
  make 
  out 
  clearly 
  the 
  

   undulations 
  of 
  those 
  seven 
  hills. 
  Time 
  

   and 
  engineers 
  have 
  done 
  their 
  work. 
  

   Hilltops 
  have 
  been 
  laid 
  low, 
  valleys 
  filled 
  

   in 
  to 
  suit 
  the 
  exigencies 
  of 
  trolley 
  cars. 
  

  

  After 
  a 
  while, 
  however, 
  details 
  com- 
  

   mence 
  to 
  emerge 
  in 
  the 
  even 
  light. 
  The 
  

   Aventine 
  is 
  readily 
  marked, 
  the 
  southern- 
  

   most 
  hill, 
  that 
  of 
  the 
  "opposition" 
  ever 
  

   since 
  Remus 
  fled 
  there 
  from 
  his 
  brother; 
  

  

  the 
  next 
  northward, 
  the 
  Palatine, 
  with 
  its 
  

   ruins 
  of 
  imperial 
  palaces, 
  its 
  cypresses 
  

   and 
  ilex 
  and 
  pine; 
  beyond 
  it, 
  just 
  visible, 
  

   the 
  tall 
  statues 
  in 
  the 
  fagade 
  of 
  San 
  

   Giovanni 
  in 
  Laterano 
  marking 
  the 
  farther 
  

   side 
  of 
  Monte 
  Celio, 
  the 
  third 
  of 
  the 
  hills 
  

   of 
  Rome. 
  It 
  was 
  never 
  high 
  (none 
  

   were 
  — 
  160 
  to 
  180 
  feet), 
  and 
  from 
  here 
  

   we 
  can 
  make 
  out 
  no 
  slope, 
  nor 
  on 
  the 
  

   Esquiline 
  beyond, 
  where 
  rise 
  the 
  two 
  

   great 
  domes 
  of 
  Santa 
  Maria 
  Maggiore. 
  

   But 
  between 
  the 
  Esquiline 
  and 
  us, 
  north 
  

   of 
  the 
  Palatine, 
  the 
  Capitoline 
  Hill 
  rises 
  

   abruptly, 
  crowned 
  with 
  church 
  and 
  pal- 
  

   aces. 
  

  

  Here 
  we 
  get 
  glimpses 
  of 
  the 
  ancient 
  

   Rome 
  we 
  are 
  seeking, 
  not 
  on 
  the 
  hill 
  

   itself, 
  but 
  between 
  it 
  and 
  the 
  Palatine 
  — 
  

   great 
  arches, 
  a 
  column 
  or 
  two, 
  and 
  the 
  

   huge 
  bulk 
  of 
  the 
  Colosseum. 
  

  

  Of 
  Monte 
  Viminale 
  we 
  can 
  make 
  noth- 
  

   ing, 
  but 
  Monte 
  Quirinale 
  is 
  marked 
  by 
  

   the 
  royal 
  palace 
  and 
  Trajan's 
  beautiful 
  

   column, 
  while 
  Monte 
  Pincio, 
  to 
  the 
  north, 
  

   flanks 
  the 
  white 
  Villa 
  Medici 
  with 
  rich 
  

   green. 
  

  

  St. 
  Peter's 
  and 
  the 
  Vatican 
  are 
  hidden 
  

   from 
  us 
  by 
  our 
  own 
  hill, 
  but 
  all 
  the 
  rest 
  

   of 
  tourist 
  Rome 
  lies 
  like 
  a 
  map 
  before 
  us, 
  

   ringed 
  by 
  the 
  glowing 
  Campagna 
  and 
  

   lovely, 
  snow-patched 
  mountains. 
  

  

  The 
  city 
  glows 
  ever 
  more 
  golden 
  as 
  the 
  

   sun 
  sinks 
  behind 
  our 
  hill, 
  the 
  shadows 
  

   creep 
  in 
  closer 
  and 
  ever 
  closer 
  from 
  the 
  

   east, 
  the 
  land 
  fades 
  into 
  mistiness, 
  yet 
  the 
  

   mountain-tops 
  are 
  light. 
  The 
  last 
  direct 
  

   beam 
  touches 
  a 
  dome, 
  flashes 
  gold, 
  and 
  is 
  

   gone. 
  The 
  Colosseum 
  flushes 
  soft 
  rose, 
  

   then 
  dims, 
  and 
  suddenly 
  all 
  is 
  purple 
  

   dusk, 
  through 
  which 
  a 
  myriad 
  twinkling 
  

   lights 
  burn 
  vividly. 
  

  

  RECALLING 
  THE 
  HIGH 
  EIGHTS 
  OE 
  ROME'S 
  

   PAST 
  

  

  Here 
  in 
  the 
  dusk 
  let 
  us 
  recall 
  Rome's 
  

   history 
  or 
  such 
  fragments 
  of 
  it 
  as 
  we 
  

   may, 
  suiting 
  our 
  mood 
  and 
  time. 
  

  

  Legendary 
  are 
  most 
  of 
  its 
  earliest 
  pages, 
  

   not 
  fitted 
  for 
  the 
  glare 
  of 
  day; 
  yet 
  how 
  

   much 
  the 
  poorer 
  we 
  should 
  be 
  without 
  

   those 
  many 
  legends, 
  pagan 
  and 
  Christian, 
  

   which 
  illuminate 
  early 
  Rome 
  as 
  no 
  chro- 
  

   nology 
  can. 
  Rome 
  the 
  Kingdom 
  is 
  all 
  

   legend, 
  chroniclers 
  say 
  ; 
  yet 
  very 
  real, 
  

   very 
  virile, 
  were 
  the 
  men 
  who 
  built 
  that 
  

   mile-long 
  wall 
  about 
  the 
  summit 
  of 
  the 
  

   Palatine, 
  who 
  reared 
  and 
  trained 
  a 
  race 
  

  

  