But from a
fine military tradition, he said nothing of his actions, nor even of
his shrine in Normandy, of which he is naturally extremely proud: and
well he may be. What a hill!
'I really beg your pardon,' said the Padre Eterno, when he saw the
importance attached to these little creatures. 'I am sure they are
worthy of the very fullest attention, and' (he added, for he was sorry
to have offended) 'how sensible they seem, Michael! There they go,
buying and selling, and sailing, driving, and wiving, and riding, and
dancing, and singing, and the rest of it; indeed, they are most
practical, business-like, and satisfactory little beings. But I notice
one odd thing. Here and there are some not doing as the rest, or
attending to their business, but throwing themselves into all manner
of attitudes, making the most extraordinary sounds, and clothing
themselves in the quaintest of garments. What is the meaning of that?'
'Sire!' cried St Michael, in a voice that shook the architraves of
heaven, 'they are worshipping You!'
'Oh! they are worshipping _me!_ Well, that is the most sensible thing
I have heard of them yet, and I altogether commend them. _Continuez,'_
said the Padre Eterno, _'continuez!'_
And since then all has been well with the world; at least where _Us
continuent._
And so, carissimi, multitudes, all of you good-bye; the day has long
dawned on the Via Cassia, this dense mist has risen, the city is
before me, and I am on the threshold of a great experience; I would
rather be alone. Good-bye my readers; good-bye the world.
At the foot of the hill I prepared to enter the city, and I lifted up
my heart.
There was an open space; a tramway: a tram upon it about to be drawn
by two lean and tired horses whom in the heat many flies disturbed.
There was dust on everything around.
A bridge was immediately in front. It was adorned with statues in soft
stone, half-eaten away, but still gesticulating in corruption, after
the manner of the seventeenth century. Beneath the bridge there
tumbled and swelled and ran fast a great confusion of yellow water: it
was the Tiber. Far on the right were white barracks of huge and of
hideous appearance; over these the Dome of St Peter's rose and looked
like something newly built. It was of a delicate blue, but made a
metallic contrast against the sky.
Then (along a road perfectly straight and bounded by factories, mean
houses and distempered walls: a road littered with many scraps of
paper, bones, dirt, and refuse) I went on for several hundred yards,
having the old wall of Rome before me all this time, till I came right
under it at last; and with the hesitation that befits all great
actions I entered, putting the right foot first lest I should bring
further misfortune upon that capital of all our fortunes.
