On one of these strolls I saw what seemed to me a curious funeral. There were six horses with nodding plumes, hung with black robes, and driven in three spans by a coachman who was a wonder in himself. He wore a hat with an enormous yellow cockade; a purple coat; patent leather Hessian boots, with tassels; green tights showing the shape of his fine calves (of which he was evidently very proud), and on his whip he carried many silk ribbon bows. "Beau Brummel" might have had a coachman like him—but I doubt it. Through a pane of glass might have been seen, thoroughly ornamented and painted for public inspection, the face of the principal whom these proceedings interested no more. The hearse sported a forest of plumes also, and behind it stalked six stalwart, high-class, professional mourners, likewise in green tights and Tower-of-London hats, all members of the Pallbearers' International Union (purple card), with flowing beards and curling moustaches—probably the only men on earth whom money causes to weep and pluck their beards in pretended sorrow when in the throes of their commercial emotion. If paid enough money they do not hesitate to use the onion freely to produce the real thing in tears. Next followed a dozen of mere puling mutes, of no caste or distinction whatever but that lent by a big brass badge on the breast of each. Then came four rickety carriages of the Columbus era; they hadn't a soul in them, but their cloth upholstered seats had been whitewashed with white lead and showed by many cracks the risk any live human would take in entering the vehicles. There were no relatives of the dead present—and you could not blame them. The question arose, What is the meaning of it all? It seemed as though they had consigned the man to the grave at the least expense with no bother—a curious form of burial from our standpoint; it was strictly professional.
ROME
Rome has been so thoroughly exploited that perhaps the writing of a layman on the subject would not interest the reader, so I shall not attempt to go into details, for they would fill a very large book. Since I last visited it the city had grown to be large, clean and prosperous, under the careful and serious management of the king, whose business in life seems to be the welfare of his people and the advancement of their best interests. I met him and the queen at the Arch of Constantine; he saluted, as he does to every one he meets when walking alone in the suburbs of the city.
The three things that I remembered with the greatest interest on leaving Rome—and I still admire them most of all—were Caracalla's Baths, the Coliseum and the Forum. Perhaps no purely secular work of man has ever approached the Baths of Caracalla in sumptuous, artistic magnificence and splendor. They were more than a mile long and a little less than that in width. They consisted of three vast baths, marble lined, with rare mosaic floors: one for cold water, one for tepid and a third for hot water. There were dressing rooms, refectories, lounging gardens, schools of art, a court for athletes, another court for gladiators. Highly carved marble columns supported the roofs and the rarest statues stood in niches. The bathing capacity was the largest ever planned. To sit there alone and people it, as when it was at its best, with all the glory of the emperor, the court ladies, the vestal virgins, senators, warriors, artists, men of letters and the rest, is a treat to the imagination that cannot be realized on any other spot.
THE ARCH OF CONSTANTINE, ROME—ONE OF THE FINEST EXTANT. THE EMPEROR THOUGHT IT ALL OUT AND PLANNED IT TO ASTONISH POSTERITY, AND INCIDENTALLY TO RECORD HIS OWN GREATNESS
The Coliseum is the largest amphitheatre ever built: it is more than a third of a mile in circumference; it had seats for fifty thousand and standing room for thousands more. The arena was two hundred and seventy-three by one hundred and twenty feet. Beneath it were the dens for lions, tigers, bears and bulls, with rooms for the gladiators and the human victims. It was opened by Titus with a festival lasting over three months in 80 A.D., and five thousand wild animals were killed during the festivities. It was the place where the Christian martyrs met their deaths under the persecuting emperors. The imagination runs riot while trying to picture the tragic scenes that took place within its walls in the presence of multitudes. It had a "bad eminence" all its own.
The Forum was in the early days the very heart of Rome, and all that was great in it. It contained over sixty temples, public buildings, tombs, triumphal arches, columns and great statues. Here Cicero and other orators spoke to the people, and famous teachers made it their resort; its name represented the thought and refinement of the age of which it was the glory.