They went in accordingly, and stood in the free space of that great

circle, around which are ranged the arched recesses and stately altars,

formerly dedicated to heathen gods, but Christianized through twelve

centuries gone by. The world has nothing else like the Pantheon. So

grand it is, that the pasteboard statues over the lofty cornice do not

disturb the effect, any more than the tin crowns and hearts, the dusty

artificial flowers, and all manner of trumpery gew-gaws, hanging at the

saintly shrines. The rust and dinginess that have dimmed the precious

marble on the walls; the pavement, with its great squares and rounds

of porphyry and granite, cracked crosswise and in a hundred directions,

showing how roughly the troublesome ages have trampled here; the gray

dome above, with its opening to the sky, as if heaven were looking down

into the interior of this place of worship, left unimpeded for prayers

to ascend the more freely; all these things make an impression of

solemnity, which St. Peter's itself fails to produce.

"I think," said the sculptor, "it is to the aperture in the dome--that

great Eye, gazing heavenward that the Pantheon owes the peculiarity of

its effect. It is so heathenish, as it were,--so unlike all the snugness

of our modern civilization! Look, too, at the pavement, directly beneath

the open space! So much rain has fallen there, in the last two thousand

years, that it is green with small, fine moss, such as grows over

tombstones in a damp English churchyard."

"I like better," replied Hilda, "to look at the bright, blue sky,

roofing the edifice where the builders left it open. It is very

delightful, in a breezy day, to see the masses of white cloud float over

the opening, and then the sunshine fall through it again, fitfully, as

it does now. Would it be any wonder if we were to see angels hovering

there, partly in and partly out, with genial, heavenly faces, not

intercepting the light, but only transmuting it into beautiful colors?

Look at that broad, golden beam--a sloping cataract of sunlight--which

comes down from the aperture and rests upon the shrine, at the right

hand of the entrance!"

"There is a dusky picture over that altar," observed the sculptor. "Let

us go and see if this strong illumination brings out any merit in it."

Approaching the shrine, they found the picture little worth looking at,

but could not forbear smiling, to see that a very plump and comfortable

tabby-cat--whom we ourselves have often observed haunting the

Pantheon--had established herself on the altar, in the genial sunbeam,

and was fast asleep among the holy tapers. Their footsteps disturbing

her, she awoke, raised herself, and sat blinking in the sun, yet with a

certain dignity and self-possession, as if conscious of representing a

saint.




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