Inside
were many fine pictures, not in the niminy-piminy manner, but strong,
full-coloured, and just.
To my chagrin, Mass was ending. I approached a priest and said to him:
_'Pater, quando vel a quella hora e la prossimma Missa?'_
_'Ad nonas,'_ said he.
_'Pol! Hercle!'_ (thought I), 'I have yet twenty minutes to wait!
Well, as a pilgrimage cannot be said to be over till the first Mass is
heard in Rome, I have twenty minutes to add to my book.'
So, passing an Egyptian obelisk which the great Augustus had nobly
dedicated to the Sun, I entered....
LECTOR. But do you intend to tell us nothing of Rome?
AUCTOR. Nothing, dear Lector.
LECTOR. Tell me at least one thing; did you see the Coliseum?
AUCTOR. ... I entered a cafe at the right hand of a very long,
straight street, called for bread, coffee, and brandy, and
contemplating my books and worshipping my staff that had been friends
of mine so long, and friends like all true friends inanimate, I spent
the few minutes remaining to my happy, common, unshriven, exterior,
and natural life, in writing down this
DITHYRAMBIC
EPITHALAMIUM OR THRENODY
In these boots, and with this staff
Two hundred leaguers and a half -
(That means, two and a half hundred leagues. You follow? Not two
hundred and one half league.... Well - )
Two hundred leaguers and a half
Walked I, went I, paced I, tripped I,
Marched I, held I, skelped I, slipped I,
Pushed I, panted, swung and dashed I;
Picked I, forded, swam and splashed I,
Strolled I, climbed I, crawled and scrambled,
Dropped and dipped I, ranged and rambled;
Plodded I, hobbled I, trudged and tramped I,
And in lonely spinnies camped I,
And in haunted pinewoods slept I,
Lingered, loitered, limped and crept I,
Clambered, halted, stepped and leapt I;
Slowly sauntered, roundly strode I,
_And_ ... (Oh! Patron saints and Angels
That protect the four evangels!
And you Prophets vel majores
Vel incerti, vel minores,
Virgines ac confessores
Chief of whose peculiar glories
Est in Aula Regis stare
Atque orare et exorare
Et clamare et conclamare
Clamantes cum clamoribus
Pro nobis peccatoribus.)
_Let me not conceal it... Rode I. _
(For who but critics could complain
Of 'riding' in a railway train?)
_Across the valleys and the high-land,
With all the world on either hand.
Drinking when I had a mind to,
Singing when I felt inclined to;
Nor ever turned my face to home
Till I had slaked my heart at Rome._
THE END AGAIN
LECTOR. But this is dogg -
AUCTOR. Not a word!
FINIS
*** END OF THE PATH TO ROME by Hilaire Belloc***
