On one side of the piazza is the Church of St. Agnes, traditionally said
to stand on the site of the house where that holy maiden was exposed to
infamy by the Roman soldiers, and where her modesty and innocence were
saved by miracle. I went into the church, and found it very splendid,
with rich marble columns, all as brilliant as if just built; a frescoed
dome above; beneath, a range of chapels all round the church, ornamented
not with pictures but bas-reliefs, the figures of which almost step and
struggle out of the marble. They did not seem very admirable as works of
art, none of them explaining themselves or attracting me long enough to
study out their meaning; but, as part of the architecture of the church,
they had a good effect. Out of the busy square two or three persons had
stepped into this bright and calm seclusion to pray and be devout, for a
little while; and, between sunrise and sunset of the bustling market-day,
many doubtless snatch a moment to refresh their souls.
In the Pantheon (to-day) it was pleasant looking up to the circular
opening, to see the clouds flitting across it, sometimes covering it
quite over, then permitting a glimpse of sky, then showing all the circle
of sunny blue.
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