But from
the point where Gilbert halted, Rome seemed but a long brown ruin, with
portions standing whole, as brown as the rest under the bright depths
of vaulted blue, unflecked by the least fleece of cloud, in the
matchless clearness of the winter's morning. Profound disappointment
came upon him as he looked. With little knowledge and hardly any
information from others who had journeyed by the same road, he had
built himself an imaginary city of unspeakable beauty, wherein graceful
churches rose out of sunlit streets and fair open places planted with
lordly avenues of trees. There, in his thoughts, walked companies of
men with faces like the face of the great Bernard, splendid with
innocence, radiant with the hope of life. Thither, in his fancy, came
the true knights of the earth, purified of sin by vigils in the holy
places of the East, to renew unbroken vows of chastity and charity and
faith. There, in his dream, dwelt the venerable Father of Bishops, the
Vicar of Christ, the successor of Peter, the Servant of the servants of
God, the spotless head of the Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church.
There, in his heart, he had made the dwelling of whatsoever things are
upright and just and perfect in heaven, and pure and beautiful on
earth. That was the city of God, of which his soul was the architect,
and in which he was to be a dweller, in peace that should pass
understanding.
He had left behind him in Paris another vision and one that might well
have dazzled him--such favour as falls to few; such hopes as few can
plant in their lives and still fewer can rear to maturity; such love as
few indeed could hope for--the love of supreme and royal beauty.
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