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“Only a brass star.”—At Ford’s hotel. A DULL haze hangs over the city; St. Paul has put on his cap of clouds, and the great dome looms dimly on our sight; the mystery of twilight has taken possession of the city, and shrouds the streets in the open day. The fine old trees in the parks and in the squares are losing their green foliage, and stand half naked, shivering in the damp autumn air, while their yellow shrunken leaves are swept rustling along the ground, moaning their melancholy protest against the wandering wind, and even thus early in the season—for it is only late September—visions of…mehr
“Only a brass star.”—At Ford’s hotel. A DULL haze hangs over the city; St. Paul has put on his cap of clouds, and the great dome looms dimly on our sight; the mystery of twilight has taken possession of the city, and shrouds the streets in the open day. The fine old trees in the parks and in the squares are losing their green foliage, and stand half naked, shivering in the damp autumn air, while their yellow shrunken leaves are swept rustling along the ground, moaning their melancholy protest against the wandering wind, and even thus early in the season—for it is only late September—visions of November fogs are looming in the near future. But we turn our backs upon the dreary prospect, and send our thoughts onward towards the City of Rome whither we are fast journeying—not that ancient city which sits upon its seven hills, like a discrowned queen, still ruling the world of Art, swaying the minds of men, and, like a gigantic loadstone, drawing the heart of the world towards herself, grander in her age of ruin than her youthful pride; the glory of her dead days circles her with a halo of poetry and romance which renders her immortal. Her ruined palaces and temples lift their hoary heads and crumbling columns heavenward—impressive, awe-inspiring, and time-defying, showing only the footprints of the ages as they have passed solemnly onwards. The stir and bustle of every-day commonplace life, the cavalcade of nineteenth-century frivolities and fashions, have failed to drive the spirit of antiquity from the place; it still sits brooding in the air, permeating the souls and stirring the hearts of men with a passionate enthusiasm for the days that are gone.
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Autorenporträt
Lady Duffus Hardy was a British author known for her novels, travel writing, and memoirs. Her first significant novel, Paul Wynter's Sacrifice, was published in 1869 and became a success, even being translated into French. A new edition was released in 1881, further cementing her literary reputation. Her next novel, Daisy Nicholl (1870), also found considerable success, particularly in America, where it was well-received by readers. In the 1880s, Hardy traveled extensively, these travels inspired her to write two notable books: Through Cities and Prairie Lands: Sketches of an American Tour (1881), which documented her experiences across the U.S., and Down South (1883), a memoir of her travels in the southern parts of the world, particularly South Africa, Egypt, and the Mediterranean. Her writing is often marked by detailed observations of places and cultures. Hardy's works offer valuable insights into the social and cultural dynamics of the late 19th century.
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