Rome

The face of the morning star is dimmed by speckled marks, the Stygian owl is hooting its sinister omens and ivory statues weep, their voices chanting dirges of misery and doom.

The event is foreshadowed by clashing arms in black clouds and by trumpets awesomely blaring in heaven. The sun’s face is gloomy, steeping the uneasy earth in a ghostly pallor.