umns of cipollino; but, on the whole, little had been added under
the late and present emperors, and during fifty years of public quiet,
a sober brown and gray had grown apace on things. The gilding on the
roof of many a temple had lost its garishness: cornice and capital of
polished marble shone out with all the crisp freshness of real flowers,
amid the already mouldering travertine and brickwork, though the birds
had built freely among them. What Marius then saw was in many
respects, after all deduction of difference, more like the modern Rome
than the enumeration of particular losses [174] might lead us to
suppose; the Renaissance, in its most ambitious mood and with amplest
resources, having resumed the ancient classical tradition there, with
no break or obstruction, as it had happened, in any very considerable
work of the middle age. Immediately before him, on the square, steep
height, where the earliest little old Rome had huddled itself together,
arose the palace of the Caesars. Half-veiling the vast substruction of
rough, brown stone--line upon line of successive ages of builders--the
trim, old-fashioned garden walks, under their closely-woven walls of
dark glossy foliage, test of long and careful cultivation, wound
gradually, among choice trees, statues and fountains, distinct and
sparkling in the full morning sunlight, to the richly tinted mass of
pavilions and corridors above, centering in the lofty, white-marble
dwelling-place of Apollo himself.

How often had Marius looked forward to that first, free wandering
through Rome, to which he now went forth with a heat in the town
sunshine (like a mist of fine gold-dust spread through the air) to the
height of his desire, making the dun coolness of the narrow streets
welcome enough at intervals. He almost feared, descending the stair
hastily, lest some unforeseen accident should snatch the little cup of
enjoyment from him ere he passed the door. In such morning rambles in
places new to him, [175] life had always seemed to come at its fullest:
it was then he could feel his youth, that youth the days of which he
had already begun to count jealously, in entire possession. So the
grave, pensive figure, a figure, be it said nevertheless, fresher far
than often came across it now, moved through the old city towards the
lodgings of Cornelius, certainly not by the most direct course, however
eager to rejoin the friend of yesterday.

Bent as keenly on seeing as if