In the evening, we beheld from the balcony of Rudolf Lehman, on La Ripetta, a peculiar and never-to-be-forgotten sight. At our feet lay the Tiber, in the calm waters of which the stars were reflected. From the opposite bank, extended the open plain, without houses or trees which could impede the view; on the left rose a dark shadow,—the gloomy fortress of St. Angelo, the ancient mausoleum of Hadrian,—whose red light gleamed, and instrumental music sounded in the air. But the eye did not linger on the Tiber, or the fortress of St. Angelo; it was occupied from the first moment by a wonderful, enchanting sight. In the distance, rose up from the desolate Campagna,—which, in the darkness of evening, resembled an immense vacuum,—a gigantic monument,—so, at least, it appeared to me,—the whole circumference of which, colonnade, façade, and giant dome, were traced out in bright silver flames. The harmony and regularity of these silver lines was perfect. Quietly burning with the softest light, the beautiful temple, standing on the dark earth, and seen against the dark blue sky background, produced an indescribable effect, beautiful and solemn at the same time. It was a sight which drew tears from eyes, I know not whether more of joy or of emotion but even this emotion had its pleasure.
vered with a frugal meal. Young ladies, in a somewhat showy costume, which, however, was very becoming, waited upon them—as if for sport. Things were more serious in the feet-washing room. Handsome signoras were there, tending, with affectionate care, coarse, ill-clad women. “Is it the proper warmth, my sister?” inquired a young “princessa” of an old woman, before whom she knelt whilst she washed her feet.—Author's Note.
