"Why, they are here; not dead, like the rest, but alive, all
around us. Oh! Rome, Rome, forgive me!"
Now, this might have seemed absurd to the custode, or some other people,
if they had put their head in at the door just then. But they didn't;
and, really, it was not absurd. I cannot believe that this small Mae
Madden is the only being who has had a swift, brilliant awakening from
the first surface, depressing thoughts of Rome--an awakening to the
living spirits which float proudly over their vacant shells that lie
below the old pavements. Once you do feel the strong, rich Roman life
about you, the decay, the ruin float off on the dust of the ages, before
the glorified breath of proud matrons and stately warriors, who step
over the centuries to walk by your side. And the centuries have
improved them,--have left their grandeur, and nobility, and bravery,
and civilized them a bit. They form into pageants for you, and fill the
baths and the palaces, but never crowd the Coliseum for the dreadful
contests, unless, maybe, for an occasional bull-fight--some great,
horrid, big bull which would be killed at market to-morrow at any
rate--and even that is as you please.
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