e
floor, rang under my steps. The parched banks and strips of dry fields
showed through the fog (for its dampness did not cure the arid soil of
the Campagna). The sun rose and the vapour lifted. Then, indeed, I
peered through the thick air--but still I could see nothing of my
goal, only confused folds of brown earth and burnt-up grasses, and
farther off rare and un-northern trees.

I passed an old tower of the Middle Ages that was eaten away at its
base by time or the quarrying of men; I passed a divergent way on the
right where a wooden sign said 'The Triumphal Way', and I wondered
whether it could be the road where ritual had once ordained that
triumphs should go. It seemed lonely and lost, and divorced from any
approach to sacred hills.

The road fell into a hollow where soldiers were manoeuvring. Even
these could not arrest an attention that was fixed upon the
approaching revelation. The road climbed a little slope where a branch
went off to the left, and where there was a house and an arbour under
vines. It was now warm day; trees of great height stood shading the
sun; the place had taken on an appearance of wealth and care. The mist
had gone before I reached the summit of the rise.

There, from the summit, between the high villa walls on either
side--at my very feet I saw the City.

And now all you people whatsoever that are presently reading, may have
read, or shall in the future read, this my many-sided but now-ending
book; all you also that in the mysterious designs of Providence may
not be fated to read it for some very long time to come; you then I
say, entire, englobed, and universal race of men both in gross and
regardant, not only living and seeing the sunlight, but dead also
under the earth; shades, or to come in procession afterwards out of
the dark places into the day for a little, swarms of you, an army
without end; all you black and white, red, yellow and brown, men,
women, children and poets--all of you, wherever you are now, or have
been, or shall be in your myriads and deka myriads and hendeka
myriads, the time has come when I must bid you farewell--

_Ludisti satis, edisti satis, atque bibisti;
Tempus abire tibi est...._

Only Lector I keep by me for a very little while longer with a special
purpose, but even he must soon leave me; for all good things come to
an end, and this book is coming to an end--has come to an end. The
leaves fall, and they are renewed; the sun sets on the Vexin