I was delighted to see the other day in a blog post that Mr. Charles Atkinson had so far taken our ten days together in Rome last summer to heart that he was exploring Rome’s churches this summer in precisely the way that we had then: with eyes and ears open to the Latin all over the City. He writes:
Yes, Rome can seem a mute pile of incomprehensible ruins, maybe softened by nostalgia’s rose colored glasses (and at the end of the day are we really content with this view?). But if you look and listen closer (and perhaps borrow a Latin dictionary) Rome begins speaking with you: caesars, saints, polemics, popes, even the obelisks themselves. And what she says often runs deeper than just another species of historical artifact. What these Rovere brothers, buried here in the same tomb, want to tell us is an excellent example: the tenderness and concord that unites them cannot be communicated through a historical point on a timeline, but only through the form of this poem and its timeless beauty.