ition, beside which, considering the means at their disposal, the
projects of Alexander, Caesar and Napoleon sink into comparative
insignificance. At all events, the worldly, modern, outward Italian
Rome is very far behind the great European capitals in development, not
to say wealth and magnificence. 'Lay' Rome, if one may use the
expression, is not in the least a remarkable city. 'Ecclesiastic' Rome
is the stronghold of a most tremendous fact, from whatever point of view
Christianity may be considered. If one could, in imagination, detach the
head of the Catholic Church from the Church, one would be obliged to
admit that no single living man possesses the far-reaching and lasting
power which in each succeeding papal reign belongs to the Pope. Behind
the Pope stands the fact which confers, maintains and extends that power
from century to century; a power which is one of the hugest elements of
the world's moral activity, both in its own direct action and in the
counteraction and antagonism which it calls forth continually.

It is the all-pervading presence of this greatest fact in Christendom
which has carried on Rome's importance from the days of the Caesars,
across the chasm of the dark ages, to the days of the modern popes; and
its really enormous importance continually throws forward into cruel
relief the puerilities and inanities of the daily outward world. It is
the consciousness of that importance which makes old Roman society what
it is, with its virtues, its vices, its prejudices and its strange,
old-fashioned, close-fisted kindliness; which makes the contrast between
the Saturnalia of Shrove Tuesday night and the cross signed with ashes
upon the forehead on Ash Wednesday morning, between the careless
laughter of the Roman beauty in Carnival, and the tragic earnestness of
the same lovely face when the great lady kneels in Lent, before the
confessional, to receive upon her bent head the light touch of the
penitentiary's wand, taking her turn, perhaps, with a score of women of
the people. It is the knowledge of an always present power, active
throughout the whole world, which throws deep, straight shadows, as it
were, through the Roman character, just as in certain ancient families
there is a secret that makes grave the lives of those who know it.

The Roman Forum and the land between it and the Colosseum, though
strictly within the limits of Monti, were in reality a neutral ground,
the chosen place for all strug