no transformation, but a mere
superstructure. The Roman house was left intact, with its spacious
halls, and classical decorations, to be used as a crypt, while the
basilica was raised to a much higher level. The murder of the saints
seems to have taken place in a narrow passage (_fauces_) not far from
the _tablinum_ or reception room. Here we see the _fenestella
confessionis_, by means of which pilgrims were allowed to behold and
touch the venerable grave. Two things strike the modern visitor: the
variety of the fresco decorations of the house, which begin with pagan
genii holding festoons, a tolerably good work of the third century,
and end with stiff, uncanny representations of the Passion, of the
ninth and tenth centuries; second, the fact that such an important
monument should have been buried and forgotten, so that its discovery
by Padre Germano took us by surprise. The upper church, the "beautiful
and great" Titulus Pammachii, was treated with almost equal contempt
by Cardinal Camillo Paolucci and his architect, Antonio Canevari, who
"modernized" it at the end of the seventeenth century. The "spirit of
the age" which lured these _seicento_ men into committing such
archaeological and artistic blunders, placed no boundary upon its evil
work. It attacked equally the great mediaeval structures and their
contents. To quote one instance: in the vestibule of this church was
the tomb of Luke, cardinal of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, the friend of S.
Bernard, the legate at the council of Clermont. It was composed of an
ancient sarcophagus, resting on two marble lions. During the
"modernization" of the seventeenth century, the coffin was turned into
a water-trough, and cut half-way across so as to make it fit the place
for which it was intended. Had it not happened that the inscription
was copied by Bruzio before the mutilation of the coffin, we should
have remained entirely ignorant of its connection with the illustrious
friend of S. Bernard. But let us forget these sad experiences, and
step into the beautiful garden of the convent, which, large as it is,
with its dreamy avenues of ilexes, its groves of cypress and laurel,
and its luxuriant vineyards, is all included within the limits of one
ancient temple, that of the Emperor Claudius (_Claudium_).

The view from the edge of the lofty platform over the Coliseum, the
Temple of Venus and Rome, and the slopes of the Palatine, is
fascinating beyond conception, and as beautiful as a