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Updated: June 1, 2025
Before me was a long low cabin, with a row of four or five windows and no upper storey; a miserable hut of rubble and plaster, stained with ancient dirt and, at this moment, looking soaked with moisture. Above the doorway I read "Osteria Centrale"; on the bare end of the house was the prouder inscription, "Albergo Nazionale" the National Hotel.
Next morning it fell about that Stella Rawson was allowed to go into the Musso Nazionale in the Diocletian baths, accompanied only by Martha, her uncle and aunt having decided they would take a rest and write their English letters. The museum was so near, a mere hundred yards, there could be no impropriety in their niece's going there with Martha, even in an exhibition year in Rome.
Of some of the older men I cannot recall the faces, not even the names; some of the younger I remember better, partly I suppose because they were young and starting out in life with us, partly because one or two later on made their names heard of by many people outside of the Nazionale and far beyond Rome.
The house exists still, though somewhat modernised in outward appearance, and is, I think, the second, after one going towards Santa Maria Maggiore has crossed the new Via Nazionale. But the grand question was, whether it could be brought about that Theodosia Garrow should be permitted to be my mother's guest during that winter.
There are afternoon hours that can be passed pleasantly amidst the endless halls and galleries of the great Museo Nazionale, where the antiquities of Pompeii and Herculaneum may be studied in advance, for the wise traveller will not rush headlong into the sacred precincts of the buried cities on the Vesuvian shore, before he has first made himself thoroughly acquainted with the wonderful collections preserved in the Museum.
Preciozi got out at the Piazza Venezia and Caesar went on to the end of the Via Nazionale. "Where have you been?" asked Laura, on seeing him. "I've been taking a walk with the abbe." "It's evident that you find him more interesting than us women." "Preciozi is very interesting. He is a Machiavellian. He has a candour that is assumed and a dulness that is assumed.
Then, as the cab at a slower pace began to climb the ascent of the Via Nazionale, Pierre's reverie continued. Was not Rome also stricken, had not the hour come for her to disappear amidst that destruction which the nations on the march invariably left behind them? Greece, Athens, and Sparta slumbered beneath their glorious memories, and were of no account in the world of to-day.
He began to fumble at his rifle in ominous fashion. Nice, kindly people! I said: "It is hard to die so young. And I particularly dislike the looks of that bayonet, which is half a yard longer than it need be. But if you want to shoot me, go ahead. Do it now. It is too cold to argue." "Your papers! Ha, a foreigner. Hotel Nazionale? Very good.
The Press gradually adopted their point of view, the Idea Nazionale published Corradini's vivid letters from Tripoli, and even Ministerial organs like the Tribuna of Rome and the Stampa of Turin, following the lead of their correspondents who visited Tripolitaine during the past spring and summer and wrote of its resources and possibilities with enthusiasm, were soon converted.
Colonna held for the Emperor the Lateran, Santa Maria Maggiore, the Colosseum, the Torre delle Milizie, the brick tower on the lower part of the modern Via Nazionale, the Pantheon, as an advanced post in one direction, and Santa Sabina, a church that was almost a fortress, on the south, by the Tiber, a chain of fortresses which would be formidable in any modern revolution.
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