South Pasadena High School - Copa de Oro Yearbook (South Pasadena, CA)

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Christians really suffered. Below are passages with high walls, in which there are tiers upon tiers of shelves. Here the Christians would climb up and secret themselves, living so for months at a time. Numberless human bones are strewn about, and there are two skeletons whose long and silky hair is in perfect condition. Under a glass case is a wax figure of Saint Cecelia, showing how she was martyred. There she lies, face downward, her hands clutching a crucifix, while the cruel cuts of the axe show plainly where the blood seems to trickle slowly over the snowy neck. Just at this particular moment, when I was deeply impressed by the horror of this scene, as we were walking down a little incline, my foot slipped upon the damp soil and I arrived at the bottom a little more quickly than the others, minus my candle, and was assured by a ll I looked none the better for my hasty journey. The Catacombs are a perfect labyrinth and extend for miles. Should you lose your way, escape is impossible. The only chance is that a monk might be wandering through and therefore rescue you. These Trappist monks have a large factory where they manufacture the most deliciou- chocolate and butterscotch, and by selling this, together with many nov- elties, they are able to attain quite a nice amount of money. There is a saying that if you live in Rome three years, you will then desire to live ten, for only then does one realize what a tremendous amount there is to be seen and learned. The last place of mention, how- ever, that will undoubtedly interest all, is the little Chapel of Scala Santa. Here are the steps from the house of Pilate, which Jesus de- scended after His terrible scourging. Great blood stains mar them badly, but they are now covered in wood, in order that they may be well pre- served. Anyone who wishes to ascend these stairs must do so upon his knees, saying a prayer at each step; when the altar which is at the sum- mit is reached, he must remain there some time, saying over several prayers; then the descent is made in the same way—of course, being still upon the knees. Throughout the world there are numberless places of interest and beauty, each seeming to surpass the other, and well it has been said, “See Naples and die,” but my choice, as is the choice of many others, would be the “Eternal City.” | Echoes of Description From the Class Room | TSU NAMI—A TIDAL WAVE SHIGEYOSHI FUKASAWA, 712 The day is cold and cloudy with the continuous wind blowing from the snow-covered ice-land of northern Siberia; all the fishermen’s wives, with their children, are thinking deeply about their fathers’ fates on the

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The day after we arrived in Rome we enjoyed a visit to that world- famed Amphitheater, the Coliseum. After viewing the exterior, and ex- hausting every exclamation in the English language, we strolled inside. There the proportions are so gigantic that nobody, I care not who he be, can truly realize the enormity of it until he views it for himself. As our guide explained its appearance at the time of Nero, with its gorgeous scarlet velvet and gold curtains, I became so carried away with it all, that it evidently was quite noticeable. So our guide, with one pitying glance, turned to me and said, “What a pity you didn’t live at the time of Nero!” But no less was I impressed with Saint Peter’s at Rome, the largest and most imposing cathedral in the world. Within the interior of the Cathedral there is not one painting to be seen, each work of art being a fresco, the entire number of which were nearly all painted by Michael Angelo alone. The choicest fresco, however, is by Bellini, which consists of the magnificent canopy beneath the dome. This exquisite masterpiece is carried out in the rarest of tints and is encircled by a design of en- crusted gold. There is a little chapel in Saint Peter’s of marvelous workmanship, a rare jewel, which is a perfect miniature of Saint Peter himself. The dome, facade, surrounding columns and, to the most minute details, all are copied in perfect exactness. In the center of this Cathedral is an enormous canopy of gold and malakite, beneath which are steps of precious stone, with a hand railing also of gold, which lead down to the vault where lie, in a golden casket, the will and ashes of Saint Peter. Here one of the most exquisite pieces of workmanship is displayed, which consists of a mosaic of the Head of Christ, completed in the fourth century. The background of the picture is nothing but tiny squares of gold, and to this fact is due the cause for its splendid preservation. It seems almost impossible to realize that the people of the fourth century possessed such remarkable genius, for, at the present day, a more perfect fresco could not be produced. We will now journey to the Vatican, which, of course, is noteworthy for its richly embellished interior, as well as artistic and literary treasures stored within. One of the finest parts is the Sistine Chapel, the crowning beauty of which is the wonderfully painted ceiling and “Last Judgement” on the altar-wall. This is Michael Angelo’s greatest work, for here his magnificent genius shines forth brilliantly. As space is fast filled, and mine is limited, we must journey to the Catacombs. The use of the Catacombs as a place of refuge during the periods of the Christian persecution is only too well-known, and these wonderfully devised secret passages form a link between the classical and Christian periods. Trappist Monks now guide you through, first supplying each one with a candle about four inches long. The descent into the Catacombs themselves is by a great number of stone steps, and, as you leave the hot Itailan weather below, you receive your first realization of what the

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far-off sea where their small sailing boats, loaded with fishes, are tossing over the angry waves of the roughest northern water just as leaves dance on the brook. A sound, not very distinct at first but that grows louder every mo- ment, bringing fear and dread to the already sunken-hearted villager of the windy coast, begins, gradually, to approach the desolate coast. Whence it comes no one knows, but every one is strangely informed, by nature, of some dreadful thing that this well-known sound prophesies. The wind is faster than the most apprehensive thoughts of the fisher- men’s wives; the mountain-like tide with an incredible force and speed assails the low coast as a vast army attacks an unfortified castle; it now reaches the nearest cottages. Then the eries of children and women shrill loudly against the rush- ing water, calling for unobtainable rescue, but these prayers of the poor peasants do not appease the anger fo the North Sea: it chases the inno- cents, who run for their lives, mercilessly and soon overtakes them, cover- ing their feet and heads with its freezing mantle. So on savagely marches the envious assailant as if it were his intention to conquer all. MRS. BLOX ETHEL WALKER, 712 Mrs. Blox was an exceedingly thin and wiry woman,—indeed, her whole being bespoke the wiriness of a spring. Her small. thin face was aided considerably toward still further thinness by the quite novel arrangement of her sparce, iron-gray hair—at least novel beside the present-day styles of hairdressing. What little she owned was drawn back tightly from all sides and secured with a monstrous back-comb. One could never imagine a single lock of her hair ever escaping from the grip of that comb. It stood up straight at the back of her head, bright with fantastic gilt figures, and with a ridge of spikes along the top as straight and sharp and elongated as the woman herself. Beyond this comb hung a few little corkscrew curls, freshly made over each morning and strangely stiff and unnatural; under the tenacious hold of the comb, they bobbed and danced with every move of her head. Her eyes, too, were small, sharp, and steel-gray in color, and further accentuated by spectacles. The eyes had also a wiry look in them which pierced into and through whomsoever or whatsoever she regarded. She was continually pursing her lips into a long, straight line, and her nose, thin and pointed, bespoke an ever-ready tendency to reach out into the world. Her spare and spiral form was clothed in a remarkable costume, remarkable in its fit and pattern. As to the first, she was not to blame for the manner in which it fitted: no one could have taken away the appearance of its being loosely hung from her shoulders, as though it would fall off any minute. The pattern was the most hideous procurable for money, but happily, was partly covered by a white apron. Lastly, her blue stockings and rather