﻿THE 
  SPLENDOR 
  OF 
  ROME 
  

  

  G0 
  r 
  

  

  cause 
  it 
  bore 
  Constantine's 
  name, 
  and 
  the 
  

   barbarians, 
  too, 
  respected 
  it, 
  none 
  knows 
  

   why. 
  

  

  The 
  Pantheon, 
  Hadrian's 
  tomb, 
  which 
  

   is 
  called 
  the 
  Castle 
  of 
  St. 
  Angelo 
  ; 
  the 
  

   Basilica 
  of 
  Constantine, 
  in 
  the 
  Forum; 
  

   the 
  columns 
  of 
  Trajan 
  and 
  of 
  Marcus 
  

   Aurelius 
  ; 
  fragments 
  of 
  city 
  walls, 
  of 
  

   great 
  baths, 
  of 
  tombs 
  and 
  columbaria, 
  

   huge 
  aqueducts 
  that 
  still 
  serve 
  Rome, 
  and 
  

   here 
  and 
  there 
  through 
  the 
  city 
  tall 
  shafts 
  

   and 
  columns, 
  fountains 
  and 
  statues, 
  re- 
  

   call 
  the 
  names 
  of 
  emperors. 
  

  

  THE 
  TRAGEDY 
  OF 
  THE 
  TEMPEE 
  ON 
  THE 
  

   CAPITOE 
  

  

  Of 
  that 
  last 
  wonderful 
  temple 
  on 
  the 
  

   Capitol 
  there 
  is 
  today 
  no 
  trace, 
  though 
  it 
  

   suffered 
  neither 
  fire 
  nor 
  thunderbolt. 
  Of 
  

   glistening 
  Pentelic 
  marble, 
  with 
  roof 
  and 
  

   doors 
  of 
  gold, 
  it 
  stood 
  from 
  the 
  time 
  of 
  

   Domitian 
  to 
  that 
  of 
  Charlemagne, 
  a 
  tem- 
  

   ple 
  so 
  rich 
  that 
  Martial 
  cried 
  gaily 
  that 
  

   Jupiter 
  himself 
  would 
  be 
  bankrupt 
  when 
  

   he 
  paid 
  for 
  his 
  new 
  house, 
  even 
  if 
  he 
  sold 
  

   all 
  Olympus. 
  Soon 
  after, 
  Jupiter 
  is 
  

   evicted, 
  his 
  day 
  is 
  done. 
  

  

  Through 
  the 
  centuries 
  the 
  temple 
  frit- 
  

   ters 
  away 
  pathetically, 
  a 
  bit 
  here, 
  a 
  bit 
  

   there. 
  A 
  needy 
  emperor 
  strips 
  the 
  gold 
  

   reliefs 
  from 
  its 
  doors, 
  a 
  Vandal 
  conqueror 
  

   steals 
  half 
  its 
  golden 
  tiles, 
  a 
  Pope 
  (Hono- 
  

   rius) 
  appropriates 
  the 
  rest 
  to 
  the 
  build- 
  

   ing 
  of 
  St. 
  Peter's 
  Church. 
  

  

  After 
  Charlemagne, 
  the 
  hill 
  becomes 
  a 
  

   fortress 
  for 
  warring 
  nobles, 
  the 
  nobles 
  

   who 
  raised 
  those 
  beautiful 
  towers 
  that 
  

   adorn 
  Rome 
  today. 
  The 
  stones 
  of 
  tem- 
  

   ple 
  and 
  citadel 
  make 
  its 
  defenses, 
  and 
  

   later 
  go 
  to 
  build 
  the 
  Villa 
  Medici 
  and 
  the 
  

   Church 
  of 
  Santa 
  Maria 
  dell' 
  Anima. 
  

  

  Under 
  the 
  Palazzo 
  Caffarelli, 
  on 
  the 
  

   southern 
  horn 
  of 
  the 
  hill, 
  the 
  stumps 
  of 
  

   huge 
  columns 
  and 
  a 
  bit 
  of 
  pavement 
  mark 
  

   the 
  temple's 
  site. 
  

  

  From 
  these 
  fragments 
  we 
  can 
  recon- 
  

   struct 
  it, 
  glistening 
  white 
  and 
  gold 
  against 
  

   the 
  sky 
  as 
  it 
  stood 
  some 
  fair 
  morning- 
  

   centuries 
  ago, 
  awaiting 
  the 
  coming 
  of 
  a 
  

   conqueror. 
  

  

  Shall 
  it 
  be 
  Julius 
  Caesar? 
  What 
  mat- 
  

   ters 
  it 
  ? 
  But 
  it 
  would 
  be 
  appropriate. 
  As 
  

   a 
  boy 
  of 
  seventeen, 
  he 
  served 
  it 
  as 
  a 
  

   priest, 
  his 
  thick, 
  dark 
  hair 
  curling 
  from 
  

   under 
  the 
  wreath 
  of 
  shining 
  green 
  leaves 
  

   he 
  wore, 
  as 
  he 
  mounted 
  its 
  steps 
  in 
  the 
  

   pride 
  and 
  vigor 
  of 
  youth. 
  As 
  a 
  man 
  of 
  

  

  forty, 
  wearv 
  and 
  worn, 
  his 
  head 
  quite 
  

   bald 
  from 
  long 
  wearing 
  of 
  heavy 
  helmet, 
  

   his 
  heart 
  aching 
  with 
  the 
  instability 
  of 
  

   friendships, 
  he 
  mounted 
  the 
  steps 
  slowly, 
  

   upon 
  his 
  knees, 
  while 
  slaves 
  held 
  above 
  

   him 
  the 
  golden 
  wreath 
  of 
  the 
  conqueror 
  

   and 
  from 
  far 
  below 
  came 
  the. 
  joyous 
  

   shouting 
  of 
  the 
  people 
  who 
  would 
  not 
  be 
  

   stilled. 
  

  

  Upon 
  the 
  northern 
  horn 
  of 
  the 
  hill, 
  

   where 
  the 
  Temple 
  of 
  Juno 
  used 
  to 
  stand, 
  

   is 
  the 
  Church 
  of 
  Santa 
  Maria 
  in 
  Aracoeli. 
  

   There 
  are 
  many 
  legends 
  connected 
  with 
  

   it, 
  but 
  people 
  go 
  there 
  primarily 
  to 
  see 
  

   the 
  "Santissimo 
  Bambino," 
  a 
  figure 
  of 
  

   the 
  Christ 
  Child 
  carved 
  from 
  wood 
  from 
  

   the 
  Mount 
  of 
  Olives 
  and 
  richly 
  adorned 
  

   with 
  jewels 
  of 
  every 
  conceivable 
  sort. 
  

  

  The 
  steps 
  which 
  lead 
  to 
  the 
  church 
  are 
  

   a 
  memorial, 
  like 
  the 
  archangel 
  on 
  St. 
  

   Angelo, 
  to 
  deliverance 
  from 
  a 
  plague 
  

   which 
  devastated 
  Rome, 
  and 
  people 
  used 
  

   to 
  mount 
  them 
  on 
  their 
  knees 
  as 
  they 
  do 
  

   today 
  the 
  Scala 
  Santa 
  (Pilate's 
  staircase) 
  

   over 
  by 
  the 
  Lateran. 
  

  

  There 
  are 
  many 
  who 
  claim 
  that 
  the 
  

   custom 
  is 
  but 
  a 
  survival 
  of 
  pagan 
  days, 
  

   of 
  Caesar's 
  example 
  at 
  the 
  Temple 
  of 
  

   Jupiter. 
  

  

  a 
  conqueror's 
  triumph 
  in 
  ancient 
  

  

  ROME 
  

  

  But 
  we 
  are 
  going 
  on 
  too 
  fast. 
  Let 
  

   Caesar 
  have 
  his 
  triumph 
  ; 
  no 
  more 
  daz- 
  

   zling 
  military 
  pageant 
  will 
  ever 
  be 
  seen 
  

   in 
  Rome. 
  

  

  From 
  earliest 
  dawn, 
  in 
  the 
  valleys 
  about 
  

   the 
  hill 
  there 
  has 
  been 
  confusion 
  and 
  

   hurrying. 
  The 
  victorious 
  army 
  had 
  spent 
  

   the 
  night 
  in 
  the 
  Campus 
  Martius 
  without 
  

   the 
  walls 
  and 
  at 
  sunrise 
  was 
  knocking 
  at 
  

   the 
  Porta 
  Triumphalis, 
  the 
  gate 
  that 
  

   opened 
  only 
  for 
  a 
  conqueror. 
  Here 
  again 
  

   historians 
  link 
  old 
  and 
  older. 
  The 
  Porta 
  

   Santa, 
  opened 
  by 
  the 
  Pope 
  in 
  years 
  of 
  

   Jubilee, 
  is 
  a 
  survival 
  of 
  this 
  triumphal 
  

   gate. 
  

  

  The 
  citizens, 
  clad 
  in 
  festal 
  garments, 
  

   are 
  crowding 
  the 
  hills 
  about 
  the 
  route 
  ; 
  

   the 
  priests 
  stand 
  waiting 
  at 
  their 
  temples, 
  

   garnished 
  for 
  the 
  day, 
  those 
  of 
  Janus 
  es- 
  

   pecially 
  jubilant. 
  

  

  The 
  sounds 
  of 
  shouting, 
  of 
  singing, 
  of 
  

   trumpets 
  and 
  lutes, 
  come 
  between 
  the 
  

   hills 
  ; 
  the 
  long 
  train 
  is 
  winding 
  its 
  way 
  

   along 
  the 
  river 
  and 
  around 
  through 
  the 
  

   great 
  Circus 
  Maximus, 
  there 
  where 
  un- 
  

  

  