elf in the
wrong century. In Rome everything turns out, on inquiry, to be something
else. There's something impressive about a relic if it's the relic of
one thing. But if it's the relic of a dozen different kinds of things
it's hard to pick out the appropriate emotion. I find it hard to adjust
my mind to these composite associations."

"Now just look at this," he said, opening his well-thumbed Baedeker:
"'Santa Maria Sopra Minerva (Pl. D. 4), erected on the ruins of
Domitian's temple of Minerva, the only mediaeval Gothic church in Rome.
Begun A.D., 1280; was restored and repainted in 1848-55. It contains
several admirable works of art, in particular Michelangelo's Christ.'"

"It's that sort of thing that gets on my nerves. The Virgin and Minerva
and Domitian and Michelangelo are all mixed together, and then
everything is restored and repainted in 1848. And just round the corner
from Santa Maria Sopra Minerva is the Pantheon. The inscription on the
porch says that it was built by Agrippa, the son-in-law of Augustus. I
try to take that in. But when I have partially done that, I learn that
the building was struck by lightning and entirely rebuilt by the Emperor
Hadrian.

"That information comes like the call of the conductor to change cars,
just as one has comfortably settled down on the train. We must forget
all about Agrippa and Augustus, and remember that this building was
built by Hadrian. But it turns out that in 609 Boniface turned it into a
Christian church. Which Boniface? The Pantheon was adorned with bronze
columns. If you wish to see them you must go to St. Peter's, where they
are a part of the high altar. So Baedeker says, but I'm told that isn't
correct either. When you go inside you see that you must let by-gones be
by-gones. You are confronted with the tomb of Victor Emmanuel and set to
thinking on the recent glories of the House of Savoy. Really to
appreciate the Pantheon you must be well-posted in nineteenth-century
history. You keep up this train of thought till you happen to stumble on
the tomb of Raphael. That, of course, is what you ought to have come to
see in the first place.

"When you look at the column of Trajan you naturally think of Trajan,
you follow the spiral which celebrates his victories, till you come to
the top of the column; and there stands St. Peter as if it were _his_
monument. You meditate on the column of Marcus Aurelius, and look up and
see St. Paul in the place of honor.

"