Rome is lovely, dark and de -- no, that's not right, although it does describe the catacombs. There's something queer about them which is both peculiar and fascinating, and of course very powerful. I'm drawn particularly to the moment of descent, to the down-going into the dust and the gloom. At first you can't see because your eyes are accustomed to the sun, and the cool air strikes you physically, like a blow to the gut. On s'habitue à tout, however. People lived there once. Their graves, too, attract me; they are smaller than ours, meant for an older race. Ages and ages ago somebody carefully scooped them out of the walls; they made neat little curved spaces, perhaps (certainly) with their hands. But if you put your own hand inside now they are empty. When it comes out there is dirt on it. It's like that for everyone someday.