I am weary of Rome, without having seen and known it
as I ought, and I shall be glad to get away from it, though no doubt
there will be many yearnings to return hereafter, and many regrets that I
did not make better use of the opportunities within my grasp. Still, I
have been in Rome long enough to be imbued with its atmosphere, and this
is the essential condition of knowing a place; for such knowledge does
not consist in having seen every particular object it contains. In the
state of mind in which I now stand towards Rome, there is very little
advantage to be gained by staying here longer.
And yet I had a pleasant stroll enough yesterday afternoon, all by
myself, from the Corso down past the Church of St. Andrea della Valle,--
the site where Caesar was murdered,--and thence to the Farnese Palace,
the noble court of which I entered; thence to the Piazza Cenci, where I
looked at one or two ugly old palaces, and fixed on one of them as the
residence of Beatrice's father; then past the Temple of Vesta, and
skirting along the Tiler, and beneath the Aventine, till I somewhat
unexpectedly came in sight of the gray pyramid of Caius Cestius.
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