(It is now called Constantine's Basilica.) I have climbed
the Capitoline and stood before the Capitol, by the side of the
equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius,--the finest in the world [my
father calls it "the most majestic representation of kingly character
that ever the world has seen "],--once in front' of the Arch of
Septimius Severus. I have been into the Pantheon, whose sublime
portico quietly rises out of the region of criticism into its own
sphere,--a fit entrance to the temple of all the gods. How wise was
the wise and tact-gifted Augustus to reject the homage of Agrippa, who
built it for his apotheosis, and to dedicate it to the immortal gods!
It is now dedicated to the Immortal God.
And I have been to St. Peter's! There alone in Rome is perpetual
summer. You have heard of the wonderful atmosphere of this world of a
basilica. It would seem to be warmed by the ardent soul of Peter, or
by the breath of prayer from innumerable saints. One drops the
hermetical seal of a curtain behind, upon entering, and behold, with
the world is also shut out the bitter cold, and one is folded, as it
were, in a soft mantle of down, as if angels wrapped their wings about
us. I expanded at once under the invisible sun. There have been
moments when I have felt the spell of Rome, but every one says here
that it dawns gradually upon the mind. It would not have been so with
me, I am convinced, if I had been warm. Who ever heard of an icicle
glowing with emotion? What is Rome to a frozen clod? .
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