On the Palatine, when we were looking at the site of the Palace of Elagabalus, he told how that weird worthy had a certain well, paved at the bottom with beautiful mosaic, in order that he might leap down upon it and thus commit suicide, but how he afterwards changed his mind--which won a humorous smile from some of those present and from others a blank look of astonishment. In the House of Nero, in one of those dark underhill chambers, which was once out in the clear sunlight, but now, because of the lapse of time and the crumbling of other structures reared above it, is deep under ground, he told how once, according to an idle legend, Nero had invited some of his friends to dine and when they were well along in their feast, and somewhat intoxicated, no doubt, it began to rain rose leaves from the ceiling. Nothing but delighted cries of approval was heard for this artistic thought until the rose leaves became an inch thick on the floor and then two and three, and four and five inches thick, when the guests tried the doors. They were locked and sealed. Then the shower continued until the rose leaves were a foot deep, two feet deep, three feet deep, and the tables were covered. Later the guests had to climb on tables and chairs to save themselves from their rosy bath; but when they had climbed this high they could climb no higher, for the walls were smooth and the room was thirty feet deep. By the time the leaves were ten feet deep the guests were completely covered; but the shower continued until the smothering weight of them ended all life.--An ingenious but improbable story.
No one of Signor Tanni’s wide-mouthed company seemed to question whether this was plausible or not; and one American standing next to me exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be switched!” My doubting mind set to work to figure out how I could have overcome this difficulty if I had been in the room; and in my mind I had all the associated guests busy tramping down rose leaves in order to make the quantity required as large as possible. My idea was that I could tire Nero out on this rose-leaf proposition. The picture of these noble Romans feverishly trampling down the fall of rose leaves cheered me greatly.