Rome 

   The Roman Empire was reborn that night. Later it was named, "L'Impero Italiano," yet Romans rule it as surely as their fathers from the near-by Forum ruled most of the world they knew.

   Empires have fallen. This one-and this one alone-has risen again.

   More than 26 centuries ago the wolf-suckled twins quarreled and Remus was slain for leaping scornfully over the wall of Romulus' new town. Far from having been "built in a day," the Eternal City is unfinished even now; and to her seven hills more and finer roads than ever lead from far places.

   One day I had been with newspaper folk in the reclaimed Pontine Marshes near Rome. As we lunched informally with II Duce in a little Littoria restaurant, I learned upon what meat this modern Caesar feeds.

   Mussolini talked some, listened most, and smiled often, rolling his eyes so much that my strongest memory now is a continual sight of their whites.

   Above one close-clipped, iron-gray temple a large mole added homely character to his nearly bald head. Tucking a napkin protectively beneath his black collar, he ate with quick, nervous motions-bread, noodles, cheese, pork-and-peas, an orange, and drank a little Frascati wine.

   Tell us about the auto horns, someone asked.

   "One day," replied II Duce in Italian, of which I caught an occasional word, "Rome seemed too noisy. I called the police chief. 'Make no decree, but when you hear a horn and catch the driver's eye, do this'

   Finger to lips, II Duce said, "S-s-sh!" "In two hours the city was silent," he added, like a proud father of obedient children.

   Motorists in Rome may lean from car windows and shout or whistle at unwary pedestrians. Taxi men have encouraged brakes to squeal. Automobile horn-blowing is forbidden.

   He shook hands genially with us, and then, seeing the crowd in Littoria's public square, gave us more showmanship. He threw back his shoulders, lifted his chin, and strode between police lines so rapidly that followers trotted.

   Had there been in Littoria the gay girls in bright provincial costume who had waited on the site of Aprilia, newest of the Pontine towns, he would have paused to kiss them.

   Anciently, many of these marshes were farmed. Through them, over the Appian Way to Rome, came loads of grain to be distributed by Caesar's lavish hand.

   Circe's mountain-visible from its top is St. Peter's in Rome-still stands southern sentinel over the former home of ducks, wild pigs, and malarial mosquitoes…”