LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. %p — (iup^risi^i :f u Shelf ..X. J 6 3 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ?WLy 7 ONLY GLIMPSES. BY Mr L. McMURPHY, Go, untried Messenger, and win a we'come for yourself by bearing to each heart sonne fancy that shall waken pleasing memoriesi 1887. RACI]S^E, WISCOXSIX. «DVOGATE STEAM PRINT. .^^ THE LIBRARV or CONGRESS WASHINGTON ^Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, by Mrs. M. L. Mc- MiJRPHY, in the office o^ the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. TO Mrs. J. F. MINOR, Whose love for all that is beautiful and good, whose un- tiring interest in acquiring information and whose sunny, sympathetic nature made her a charming travelling companion, the author dedi- cates this little volume. CHAPTER I. Bon voyage ! Bon voyage ! The happy, good wish came from many lips as the steamer Noordland slowly left the dock, and with seeming reluctance turned her bows seaward. What a rush to gain a point of ad- vantage, to see the last fading lines of the native shore ! The heauty of our little band, generally bright and joyous, looked shoreward over the widening deep, with smiles and tears. "You have seen Sunshine and rain at once ; her smiles and tears Were like a better day ; those happy smilets, That played on her ripe lips, seemed not to Icnow What guests were in her eyes." Scott's sentiment, "This is my own, my native land," finds an echo in every heart, when one is about to place the stormy ocean between home and herself. We were, however, a merry company, full of happy anticipations to be realized in '4a belle France et la belle Italic aussi." A golden land of promise was before us and, with brave hearts, we began our "watery waiting." The arrangement of state rooms, the opening of packages to prepare for steamer liie, occupici our time and atten- tion until we took our places in the dining salon for the first dinner of our trip. One eagerly scans the faces of her companions, that she may determine something of the character of those who, like herself, are here for two weeks "for better or worse" — often times little of better and a great deal of worse. Among the faces of the eighty passengers, none attracted so much as the reverend and benign countenance of the "Author of the Old Roman World." It is a joy to find an author's appearance corresponding to his writings, or rather to your preconceived notion of him. This veteran writer of world-wide reputation perfectly combines simplicity and grandeur in his manner, and the merry twinkle of his keen, blue eyes shows a love of humor rich and inexhaustible. One first survey of our fellow travellers Avas very satisfactory, and it was with gladness that we felt ourselves to be a part of such distinguished company. The remembrance of the first meal taken on ship board, at the beginning of an ocean voyage, is dear to every traveller. It differs so entirely from those of succeeding days, that the law of contrast heightens the excellence of that initial repast. There are a few unfortunate beings who find great satisfaction in diff'ering from the mass : they enjoy equally all meals, and, like malicious fiends, smile with an air of irritating superiority as one atter another, with accelerated step, leaves the dining room, and seeks the state room or the deck. 3 Misery likes company and equally detests a happy spectator. The question, "Is it right for any sane person to have a happy face, to be agreeable, and to eat four meals during every day of a sea voyage ? " was ably discussed by the keen thinkers upon this voyage. It was decided,, by a large majority, in the negative, but unfortunately the minority were in much better physical condition, than the opposing party and numbered among them- selves the learned divine. The mass had to yield, in appearance, to great muscular force supported by the spiritual. The second day of our voyage was Sunday, and those, whose dizzy heads would permit, gathered in the dining salon to listen to a delightful sermon upon the text, "Ail is Vanity." It gladdened our hearts that our learned doctor's opinion was quite unlike that of Solomon, and that he attributed this expression to the wise old King in the least satisfactory period of his life. Discussion of the sermon, reading, strolling about the deck, filled the remaining hours of Sunday. We had begun to be interested in our travelling companions, to desire to know them and to enjoy their conversation. We formed a world by ourselves, borne through the waves as the planets above us through the air. A per- fect epitome of society upon terra firma is shown upon ship-board. As one sits dreamily watching the faces about him, observing the little things, which are of great importance upon a vessel, character unfolds before him and he weaves romances of certain persons around him. As the days sped on, we tested the patience of our escort by our repeated calls to be tucked in, for every lady, when she can not stroll about the deck, poses, as .one of our party suggested, like a "mummy." Resting in one's steamer chair, carefully wrapped in rugs and furs, with the "level brine" stretching far off to meet the blue dome above, with the graceful sea gulls darting hither and thither or poising on even wing above the masts, it is easy to slip away to realms of fancy. Far off a ripple breaks the calm surface and we almost see '''Sleek Panope" glide above the glistening water and with far reaching eye seek out her sisters wandering in their play over Neptune's plain. /\Ve listen to the breaking of the waves against the ship, and the sound to us is like the dropping of the water in Mor- pheus' cave far below where "mortals ken." The spirit of the drowsy god seemed creeping over us, when, on our left, a merry voice exclaimed, "Too quiet here, come try a hand at shuffle-board." Refusal not accepted, we were initiated into the mysteries of this gymnastic game. A spectator remarked, "Not very intoxicating sport, but enough to keep off sea-sickness." Some of our party became quite fascinated with this novel game, and proved themselves to be. experts in "long range shots." The morning following our first indulgence in shuffle-board found us all afflicted with rheumatism in the right arm and shoulder. From the upper berth, came a gentle voice with a faint note of complaint, — and rare it was to hear a querulous tone from her, whose ^'Manner modest, gentle, sweet, Bat shadows forth a life complete In goodness and eke virtue,"— ''I have rheumatism in my right shoulder ; there must be a draft here. It's horrid." A sympathetic voice replied, ''I have rheumatism too in my right shoulder and arm also." A third sleepy voice was heard saying, "I can't move my right arm without feeling a twinge of rheumat- ics." When we met later, on deck, the three remaining members of our party, and were discussing the peculiarity of ship rheumatism, which seemed to affect only the right biceps and its immediate neighbors, a veteran ocean- traveller standing near, politely, but with an air of conscious superiority, remarked, "Too much shuffle- board, ladies." Rheumatism ! Ah! well, we were novices and content that others should be merry over our blunders, making, however, the mental reservation that *"he laughs best who laughs last." Hardly were we "mummified" for the morning, ready to read our daily letters, which the thoughtfulness of kind home friends had prepared, when the bright, merry-making, mischief- loving Puck appeared. "A game of shuffle-board is wanted. We need two ladies. 'Two of both kinds make up four.' " "No, no," we replied, "we have already shuffle-board enough in the right arm !" Our ready- witted Puck exclairxicG, "Similia similibus curantur. 'Up and down, Up and down,' no excuses valid," and two of our party walked away with the indefatigable, happy Puck of the Noordland. The memory of this bright and winsome natur*^, whose joyous spirit made many a weary hour pass happily, and whose ever ready helpfulness- could always be trusted to assist one out of the little difficulties that will often arise, will remain with us a& long as aught of the past can be recalled. During the pleasant days, our ship presented a busy scene. Charming, graceful girls, playing shuffle board, or throwing grace-hoops, gray-haired gentlemen absorbed in chess, bright-faced misses running about the deck in un- conscious attractiveness, thoughtful matrons talking, read- ing, or indulging w^ith whist- loving gentlemen in a quiet game, scholars poring over German or French books, and "wee ones," creeping in and out among the chairs and wraps, the pets of all, these formed a perfect study for the artist who sees "poetry in motion." Over the ocean's broad expanse, the moonLght shed its silver radiance, making the scene at night like one from fairy land. Long we lingered reluctant to go below and leave a scene so witching in its soft and mellow light. The calm, mild days caused us to feel a trust that we had not felt before in the Old Ocean. A change came over the untroubled deep. No longer quiet reigned. The salt spray dashed across the deck, driving us to our state-room?, where we gladly ti ied to forget the wild con- flict of the elements. The following morning dawned clear, but the waves ran high and the boat lurched from side to side so that only the bravest of our party ventured upon deck. The deck steward arranged the chairs upon the leeward side of the vessel. A long line of patient waiters sat there in quiet mood, when suddenly the good ship rolled from side to side The chairs slid down the declivity ; their occupants, moving at a different velocity, described divers curves ending on the deck. One of our party, who had enthu- siastically admired the jumping of the porpoises, felt that the time had come when she could successfully imitate the leap of the fishy occupants of the sea. Springing lightly from the swiftly moving chair, she cut a graceful, porpoise-like curve above her less fortunate neighbors,, and sank beneath her wrap?, as sank the fish beneath the waves. The feat was perfect. Another member of our party, indulging in a lunch of eggs on toast, moved swiftly down the inclined plane, with plate grasped firmly high in air, and, when she stopped against the rail, sitting upon the deck, she held her lunch intact, ready to finish what had been begun in a higher circle. A German nobleman slid beneath the life boat, and rolled himself in his fur wrap so completely that, as he crept out into view, it was difficult to determine whether it was man or furry beast advancing. To avoid further 8 mishaps of a like kind, the chairs were tied firmly against the supporting rail. After eleven days of sailing over the sea, with no sight of land, the signal from south-western England was joyfully welcomed. In the early morning, we hastily threw ou our wraps and rushed to the north side port- holes. A glorious spectacle was there presented to us. The Lizard Islands, stretching from east to west, in long parallel lines, rise abruptly from the sea level. They had the appearance of lizards basking in the sunshine. On the eastern extremity of the most out- lying island were placed two red lights as a signal to our steamer. How we appreciated Columbus as we gazed upon the much desired land ! While we were enjoying the beautiful view, a prosaic traveller, disturbed by our little cries of enthusiasm, came from her state-room. She looked from the port-hole, and stolidly remarked, '-Is that all.'* What a waste of enthusiasm!" How w^e pitied her ! What a travelling companion such person would be in a land full of artistic and natural beauties ! From this point we bore towards the south. We could hardly feel content, to leave south western England with this mere glimpse. To be so near St. Michael's chair, and not satisfy ourselves by sight that we might look from this holy seat, "towards Namancos' and Bayona's hold," was very difficult to bear with patience. During our second Sunday at sea, our revered Doctor of Divinity preached to us from trie life of Job. He said 9 that the lesson of Job comes to one with tremendous force, not on account of his patience but his perfect self control, perfect because self was subject to God. A beautiful thought, one that gives a hii^h ideal for human attainment. We heard a fellow passenger remark, "I fear that Job has been to me heretofore but a male Griseida. I am glad to have heard this sermon." Many hearts echoed this sentiment. Through the channel, we sailed on to the mouth of the Scheldt, passing fre- quently the Dutch fishing boats with their brightly colored sails. A whisper had been heard among the passengers, that the channel pilot had said that we should not arrive at Flushing early enough to "make the tide," and should be obliged to remain in the river until the following morning. When questioned, the Captain said that only the river pilot who would come on board at Flushing could decide. When the river pilot, whose coming was eagerly de- sired, arrived, we learned that we must stay on the boat^ within two and half hours of Antwerp, until high tide at half past six the next morning. We sailed a few miles up the river, anchored and tried with patience, akin to Job's, to be content. On our left, could be seen, a few rods distant, the green banks and brilliantly tiled roofs of Holland ; on our right, the rich farms of Brabant. Some of our party tried to gain permission to go on shore, but neither money nor flattery prevailed and we 10 were doomed to wait twenty hours, before we could again weigh anchor and approach Antwerp. The view of Flushing from the sea is very unique and charming. A grey fort guards the entrance and looks out some- what threateningly upon approaching vessels. The town lies very low. From the deck of the ship it seemed al- most below sea level. The black, protecting dykes give a somewhat formidable appearance to the city, while the «teep roofs, brightly colored, give a charming bit of color to the scene. A little removed from Flushing, very near the river, stands a little cottage with red roof, cream-colored sides and green blinds. With a bank of green before it, and the grey sky meeting the horizon at the back, it made a beautiful picture for eyes desirous of observing aught that would brighten the tedium of waiting. Far back from the river, by aid of a field glass, a beautiful white tower, rising above the well trimmed trees, was visible. The trees, planted in rows and carefully trimmed, lose their beautiful natural forms and give a formal as* pect to the landscape. Though restless and disappointed, each tried to help the others bear the weariness of the ^'longest day of the voyage." Our American Consul at Duesseldorf, a fellow voyager, by his rare conversational powders, quick wit and hearty sympathy, afforded us much pleasure in the hours of waiting. 11 A gifted lady, with a remarkable talent for cutting silhouettes, gave us profiles not unlike our own, and, at dinner, our Puck announced a grand concert for the last evening on board the Noordland. The actors in the entertainment were rapturously ap- applauded. A Sonata from Beethoven, and a Nocturne from Hoffman were exquisitely rendered by a professor of music en route for Leipsic. The recitation of The Polish Boy by one of our own party gave much enjoyment. After the concert, a little lunch, a short stroll on deck, and we separated for the night rather sorry to be obliged to say good by to those who had become our friends in crossing the Atlantic gulf, yet glad to know that we should soon be once more on terra firma. The morning broke clear and sunny, and hastily tak- ing our last ship-breakfast, packing our bags, trunks and boxes, we were ready to land as soon as the plank was placed which joined us to "the world beyond the sea." 12 CHAPTER II. We would fain have lingered long in the quaint city of Antwerp, full of historic interest. How impossible it is to stay in such place without repeopling it with those of the past ! The scenes and sight around one fade away and the streets are again filled '\ith the gorgeous trappings of the Spanish officers, and the processions of priests chanting as they filed to the Cathedral for celebration of High Mass, in honor of the safe return of Chas. V to his be- loved Netherlands. In imagination the scene changes, and the horrors of war devastate the land. Spanish rule yields, but through much suffering have the Neth- erlanders gained their independence. Antwerp is a peaceful, happy city now, a center of Art in the Netherlands, and a place of interest to all lovers of the Dutch School of Painting. In front of the Ca- thedral, the treasure-house of Rubens' Descent from the Cross, is a beautiful little piazza, in the center of which stands a bronze statue of the fine old Master. There is much enjoyment in an hour's stay in this open square of the cathedral. 13 The quaint costumes of the peasant women, selling flowers or driving the dogs, which draw the milk-carts, make a very unique picture as one looks across the beau- tiful green, toward the irregular facades of the opposite buildings. A long stay in Antwerp would repay the student of history and art. Every one knows how well Rubens and Vandyke may be studied in this charming old town, but few have told us of the exquisite work in distemper by Memling found here. This work is so perfectly finished, that the most rigid scrutiny shows only perfection in detail. We left Antwerp with reluctance, after a ^hort visit, and hurried to Brussels, the capital of the present Belgian Kingdom. Did we expect, as we entered, to hear the rushing to and fro of armed men? Did we expect to see the citizens gathering in groups at corners of the streets, waiting, with bated breath, the news from the troops outside th«.' town? Not in reality, but as we glanced down from the square in front of the Palais de Justice, upon the irregularly built old town, with its red tiled roofs, we saw in imagination the hurried pre- parations for Waterloo. We heard the call, "They come, they come ! The foe, the foe !" We saw the looks of dismay and grief upon the faces of the fair, young maidens and courtly dames who had come to do honor to their stranger guests. "For Belgium's capital had gathered then her beauty and her chivalry." All these events of a brilliant past had '^vanished like a fleet of 14 cloud," yet fancy readily recalled them. With the beautiful modern city of Brussels about us, teeming with life, it was impossible to remain long in the land of reverie. The Palais de Justice is a perfect architectural gem, a happy combination of the Greek and Roman forms with Egyptian ornamentation. The building covers eight acres of ground, is made from a grey stone which admits a very fine finish, and is so harmonious in its proportion that every part suggests the necessity of adjoining parts. In the main vestibule, a double flight of steps leads to the great council chamber. At the foot of each flight are two statues ; on the one side, two Greek orators, on the other, two Roman orators, thus happily suggesting the united architecture. Almost every street, every public building, every church suggests the rule of the Austrian House. Historic statues, such as those of Egmont and Horn, adorn the diff'erent squares and parks of the city ; beautiful stained glass windows relate in color, more striking than words, the history of Charles V., while the lion of Eurgundy stands m relievo or complete statue in num- berless corners of this charming town. Brussels is a delightful city, with its interesting old guild-houses, its old Palais Royal, its fine churches and its Musee Moderne. This Mus^e is very rich in historic pictures, most of which declare the glory of the Austrian House. 15 Among the historic pictures, The Battle of Lepanto, and The Signing of the Death Warrant of Egmont and Horn, are very fine. Both of these pictures are very naturalistic, as, to a great extent, historic pictures must be, but they are wonderfully executed. The figure of John of Austria, in The Battle of Lepanto, is that of a commanding, triumphant hero as he stands, somewhat apart, upon the deck of the principal ship. It is difficult to believe that the real, living Spanish hero is not present. Perhaps there is more exquisite finish in The Signing of the Death Warrant of Egmont and Horn, than in its companion piece. There are very powerful handling of light and shade, and remarkable delicacy of touch in the painting of the fabrics, — the laces and the velvets. The gem of the col- lection, in wonderful mingling of strong light and deep shade, is Judas Wandering, by Thomas. The picture represents a night scene, with deep, shadowy background in which a blazing fire is so placed that Judas, emerging from the darkness, receives the strong red glare, full upon the face. In some almost magical manner, the artist makes that light penetrate the very soul of the Betrayer of our Lord, and the beholder sees beneath the exterior, into a heart full of falsity and treachery. This picture is one that, like Salvator Rosa's, once studied becomes forever a part of one's memory. A delightful ramble through the cathedral of Saint Gudule, stopping here 16 and there to note details, waiting long before the ex- quisitely carved pulpit in oak, where every line is so beautiful that one recognizes the divinity in the nature of the master whose work it is, is taken by every traveller who loves beauty in form and color. Very ancient and exquisitely colored glass windows adorn the transepts, those giving the history of the Austrian House in Spain are extremely rich in deep, brilliant colors. Thoroughly absorbed in the study of this magnificent structure, we were hardly awake to the sights and sounds around us as we drove through the city to the Wiertz Museum, but having entered, a strange world of Art in Color was presented to us. Here are all of the works, except a few portraits, "pot- boilers," of this eccentric Belgian artist. He habitually refused to sell his pictures, on the ground that if he once sold them he should never be free. He would no more willingly sell his works to popes or sovereigns than he would sell them to private individuals. "Keep your gold," he said, "it is the murderer of art." He resisted every temptation that he might retain in his possession all the productions of his genius. The Belgian government, recognizing at last the gen- ius of this artist, built for him, "A long desired studio, on condition that the painter should give his works for ever to Belgium, to remain undisturbed on the wails of the building where they are now, on free exhibition to the end of time. Therefore was built the large Museum 17 on the outskirts of Brussels. It is built in brick, inex- pensively, but from the picturesque designs of Wiertz himself, in imitation of one of the ruined temples of Paestum. Time has covered the structure with a rich mantle of ivy, and, situated in the midst of lovely grounds, it is in itself a sight worth seeing. Before he died, Wiertz had completely covered the walls within with the works of his brush, and peopled it with a multitude of queer contrivances for the production of fmtastic effects in viewing some of his smaller works." In the delirium which preceded the hour of death, he raved but of one thing, his art. "Oh ! what beautiful horizons ! Oh ! what lovely faces ! Quick, quick ! My brushes ! My palette ! What a picture I shall make ! Oh ! I will surpass Raphael." In fantastic, genre pictures, Wiertz took great delight, but not in these is found that genius which, after years of unremitting toil, gained him renown and honor. Our limited time caused us to leave, regretfully, the capital of Belgium. No fountain of Trevi was here for us, so that a drink of its waters should make us re- turn, but we mentally resolved that, if the Fates should be propitious, we would again see this town of historic fame. We shall ever hold in pleasant memory of Brussels a conversation between an intellectual, keen Philadelphian Judge and an Englishman, who failed to recognize any good outside of the British character. The faults of 18 Americans and the excellencies of Englishmen seemed to be the topics suggested by the English gentleman. Every statement, made by the representative of the British Lion, was seized, torn into pieces and scattered into thin air by our compatriot. He was truly like our American Eagle, and we could not prevent showing our pride in his admirable handling of his English opponent. May a prolonged residence abroad not detract from his estimate of true American character. Sunday found us in Paris — gay, brilliant, bewitching Paris — a city in which one may walk for hours and see only apparent wealth and pleasure. To every thoughtful person, come the questions, Is there not another side to Paris ? Are there no poor here ? Can these smiling, happy people have been the terrible Communists of the late revolutionary times ? Are these the descendants of the Terrorists of 1793 ? In no brief stay, can one satis- factorily answer these inquiries. Let him remain long enough to visit the Quarter of St. Antoine, the lower part of the Quarter of St. GermaiLC, and he understands that Paris has an interior somewhat unlike its smiling exterior. He comes to feel, if not to know, that he is living upon a bubbling, seething volcano that may, at any moment, send forth its pent up fury, and engulf thousands beneath its lava of wrath. After a service in the Madeleine, where the beauty of the temple and the exquisite handling of the music preached a more effective sermon than that uttered by 19 the priest, we strolled into the Place de la Concorde. It is difficult to recall the terrible scenes enacted upon this spot, with the beauty of fountains, statues and Champs Elysees before one. But there is no time for dreaming, no time to people in imagination these places of historic interest. A brief afternoon for rest, and, with the number of our party complete, we shall leave the city of the Seine to seek the fair land of Italy, A few of us, determined to see all that our limited time would permit, enjoyed the unique experience of an evening drive upon the top of a Paris coach. From that elevated perch, one gets, indeed, a bird's eye view of the sights in the street of the city of Clovis. No one wishing to ''see Paris" should lose this drive in the evening. In the early morning, with cheerful, expectant hearts, we merrily left the city of perfect entertainment, and passed out over the broad plains of Champagne. 20 CHAPTER III. We were a happy company. Each one intent upon seeing as few of the disagreeable things, attendant upon all travelling, as possible and of making his or her com- panions enjoy the trip. When tired of gazing over the rich fields of Burgundy, of catching a glimpse here and there of some picturesque old ruin, or some tower perched high in nir, we had recourse to story-telling, conumdr am .guessing, and various other amusements befitting a wise and gifted company. Our Doctor, possessing the rare gift of telling a story well, lent himself, with unparalleled generosity, to the romance loving section of our party. ''Go to Thunder" for dinner, sounded somewhat strange to our American ears, and we begged that Tonnere should be left untranslated. A perfect dinner is served the railway traveller at Tonnere. Unlike the custom of many places in America, where you are told that twenty minutes will be "allowed for refreshments," and you find yourself hurried into the car at the end of five, with your "relreshments" either left lor some other unfortunate, or borne by yourself 21 into the coach to be eaten at leisure, every moment of time advertised in France to be given at any station is always granted. Travelling is hunger-producing work, and we were not opposed to a second dinner at Macon, where we left the Marseilles train, and entered the cars for Aix les Bains. A quaint and interesting place is this town of baths in the mountains. It is believed to have been built by the Roman Consul, C. Sextius, (120 B. C.) on account of the mineral springs in the neighborhood, and originally called Aquie SextiiTe, hence its modern name. Know- ing that the springs of Aix have the reputation of improving the skin, we expected to see complexions of brilliant fairness possessed by the beautiful daughters of this little town. That we might not doubt the wonderful efficacy of the water of Aix, we were told, in reply to the query, '-Why do we see so few women with beautiful complexions here ?" that by repeated use of the spring water, their faces became so dazzling in clearness and purity, that they were taken away as brides by American gentlemen. To prevent this loss of the most desirable part of the population, the maidens of Aix are no longer permitted to bathe in this wonder-producing water. "Yet," con- tinued my informer, "some of the vain creatures will bathe secretly in the forbidden water, and those we 22 are obliged to shut up, during the stay of these all-con- quering American heroes." Our party numbered but one unmarried gentleman, and we were very careful not to let him roam away by himself, lest he might discover one of the hidden beauties. When we arranged our sitting in the car section, we shrewdly and wisely placed ourselves near the windows^ so that he should be out of any danger of possible glimpses from the coach. When he learns our reason for the seeming selfishness' of taking possession of the best seats for sight seeing, — for we dared not divulge the secret even when we had left Aix far away — he will no doubt feel a thrill of gratitude for our thoughtful care of him. Perhaps not ! For the male sex, even of the gods from the time of Jupiter himself, have preferred not to be ''in leading strings." Not an extremely happy life, did the Greeks give to Juno, svith her unending worry about the uncontrollable Jove. If we found no famous beauties at Aix, we found a very finely executed statue of the good King Ren^, at one of the public fountains. This statue is one of the best works of David. This town, a favorite residence of the counts of Provence, is filled with reminiscences of the music-loving king. From Aix, the journey through the Jura Alps is one of absorbing interest. The railway winds about through the valleys, rich in vegetation. The towering mountains, 23 crowned with crosses, or oftentimes monasteries, show slopes terraced with exquisite skill and fertile in abun- dant vineyards. Perched aloft upon some jutting crag, the mountain- eer's cottage rests, a bit of vivid red, surmounting the gray rock that buries its feet in a cushion of cool and luxurious green. Through the ravines, mountain tor- ents, tumbling down the narrow gorges, rush with im- petuous force. Occasionally as we stayed for a moment at some mountain town, we could hear the rushing of the water in the rock-bound course beneath us. It came to us like the sounds of many angry water-sprites urged on against their will to join other companies near old Neptune's domain. Had we possessed the magic slippers of Stella, we should not have hesitated to go down into the clear depths, in search of hidden treasures. Roman ruins throughout this part of France, the old Transalpina, prepare one for the glory shown in Rome to her first Caesar. Towers, arches, roadways through these valleys attest the greatness of the Romans as builders. They built for eternity, and almost attained their object. After a short stay at Modane, six thousand feet above the level of the sea, we entered Mt. Cenis' tunnel. A ride of thirty minutes through this tunneled mountain, enabled us to appreciate the great mechanical skill 24 exercised in the structure of this French and Italian railway. We joyfully hailed again the light of day. Little occurrences in travel sometimes assume large proportions. As we entered the Custom House in Modane, we left a basket of luscious pears in our compartment, assured by the guard that it was quite sate. After lunch, when we reentered the section, pears and basket had disappeared, as also the assuring guard. It added little to our comfort to be told that we were not permitted to take fruit into Italy. We should have liked to have the same opportunity granted us that Spurgeon, the learned divine, is said to have improved here. When told by the Custom House officer that the basket of fruit which he held in his hand could not be taken into Italy, he replied, ''Ah I wait a moment before examining that trunk," walkel to the opposite end of the platform, which is in France, slowly ate the forbidden fruit in the sight of the official, returned smiling and said, "Now I am quite ready that you should examine my baggage." Our much desired basket of fruit had disappeared, yet the magnificent and novel scenery about us soon made us forget slight annoyances. We passed on to the old capital of the Piedmontese, in eager expectancy of much enjoyment. Turin is a beautiful city. It has many handsome streets, fine buildings, well- arranged parks and charming promenades. 25 To an American, when first told that he is occupying a room in a ancient palace, there comes a feeling that he has been taken into the past — that the present he has left somewhere beyond the Atlantic. We were lodged in very pleasant rooms in an old Renaissance palace. The dining-room is extremely rich in basso relievo, in white, with the alternating, depressed surfaces brilliantly colored. We were not so artistic, nor so lost in admiration of the '^splendors of the past," but that a well served dinner found ample appreciation. Neither did ^ 'lords and ladies fair" come back to us in dreams. Alas ! what dreams will come I " Uncalled, unwished, wild fancies creep within one's weary brain." In this palace of exquisite beauty of form and ancient ornamentation, most plebeian dreams, let loose through the ivory door of Morpheus' sea-castle, haunted our pillow. In the realms of sleep, we tried to illuminate brilliantly the large room assigned us with the one candle granted for "sight seeing." We found ourselves in New England, in an old farm house at the base of the granite ridge of New Hampshire, watching our grandmother laboriously making tallow-dips. The childish question so often asked in years gone by, "What do you make them for, grandma?" we heard distinctly answered by the energetic, bustling daughter of the Puritans, ''To send to Italy, child, to light the haunted palaces so that the ghosts will roam in them no 26 longer." So vivid was our dream, that, when we woke, it was difficult to believe that only one candle was at our service. The ghosts had roamed at will, and we had caught no glimpse of "sprite or gnome or lordly fay" within these historic walls A visit to the Art Gallery of Turin gave much satis- faction. While this collection (compared with those of Florence and Rome,) is meagre, there are some very beautiful pictures among the many ordinary ones. Here is an exquisite bit of work on wood, in distemper, by Memling — subject, Sorrows of Mary. In the centre of the picture — for this is a very composite work, con- sisting of seven distinct parts — Christ is represented in the Garden of Gethsemane ; at the right, above. The Arrest of our Lord by the Roman Soldiers ; in the right center, Christ in Prison ; at the right, below. The Condemnation of Christ; The Journey to the Cross, at the left, above; in the left centre. The Crucifixion; at the left, below, The Burial. Though faulty in drawing, it is exceedingly interesting for its unique composition and for its extreme delicacy in execution. The face of Christ, in the central representation, is full of exceeding love- liness : it is the face of divinity. The Artist has placed there that indefinable something which Leonardo ex- pressed in the face of our Master, and which Raphael 27 showed in his wonderful creations of the Virgin, and Fra Angelico, in his Angelic Host. Ribiera has in this Gallery a gem, his St. Jerome. It is in his best style, handled vigorously, and with marvellous power, portraying the strong character of his subject. Turin has a very fine collection of antique armors in the Palace Madama. There may be seen a bronze shield by Cellini, of so delicate and perfect work, that its hundreds of figures in relief, though miniature in size, are distinct in outline and expression. The life of this irascible and fascinating artist is like a brilliant romance, and as one looks at his beautiful creations, they seem like work from fairy land and not of mortal's production. This is a rich repository for the student of mediaeval history, especially of that of France and Savoy. As we left Turin, and took our course over the plains of Lombardy, the scenes of Dante's Divina Commedia came to us with great vividness: "In the land owned by Po and Adige, Valor and courtesy used to be found." This is, indeed, an enchanted land; poets, artists and scholars have filled it with so rich stores of romance and song that he who loves may read without stint wherever he wanders. One is very forcibly reminded through the northern part of Italy, of the French rule that has controlled this 28 section at many periods. Historic relics at various points, monuments such as that which marks the victory of the French over the Austrians at Magenta, landmarks of many sorts, attest the former power of the French nation. In approaching Milan, there comes to one's mind the well-known play upon the name of the city, in Napo- leon's reply to the curious countess who asked him his age, the day before his siege of the town, ''Madame^ aujourd'huije suis tresjeune, mais demain f aurai Milan imille ans).'' We were satisfied to reverse the statement and let Milan have us for many days of study, Milan with its wonderful cathedral, its jeweled tomb of Carlo Borromeo, its modern architectural gem, the Arcade of Victor Emmanuel, its Brera, rich in many masterpieces, is a happy centre for all travellers, but, to us, the Milan of Leonardo da Vinci was a delight long expected. With poorly concealed impatience, we waited for arrangement of other work, to visit the old Dominican Refectory containing the perfection of his art. The Last Supper. No hasty glance suffices ; one must forget the marks of time, and try to catch the spirit of the artist whose masterly creation adorns the wall before him. We can not understand why any one can fail to see the power of this creation. What cares one that faded colors greet the eye ! There will arise a feeling of regret that any work, save that of the great master, has 29 been permitted here, but the grandeur of the composition, and the perfect head of Christ make one forget all minor accessories. The lofty conception of him who "could expect to find no face on earth so perfect that it could serve as a model for that of our Lord and Master," is such that the beholder feels himself to be in the very presence of Him who died that we might live. Go, unbeliever, and stand in front of this represen- tation of Christ. Study well the unparalleled sweetness of the expression, the character delineated so clearly that the passion of the cross, the mighty self-sacrifice, are suggested in all their entirety. If one can turn from this picture and not feel that there is a reality in that faith which could inspire a Leonardo to produce this work, he is not possessed of a "soul fit to enjoy the perfection of artistic beauty.'* Da Vinci's Study, The Head of Christ, in the Brera is one of the most satisfactory studies, that we have seen. The tenderness, the pathos, the gentleness and the un- speakable love suggested in every line of this wonderful sketch, hold the observer as if a voice issued from the beautiful mouth, saying, "Behold the Lamb of God," In the room of modern art, in this gallery, is a fine painting, rich in coloring and excellent in drawing,, showing Catherine de Medici inducing Charles IX. to- sign the paper authorizing the Massacre of St. Bar- tholomew. With one's mind filled with this beautiful 30 creation of Leonardo, there comes the question, could any person in the name of that Christ execute such an order as the command for the Massacre of St. Bar- tholomew ? The Library contains the rare manuscripts of this many sided genius, written from right to left, as if his very thoughts were too precious to be read without effort, as his pictures are too suggestive of thought to be appreciated without study. In a dimly lighted room of the Ambrosian library of Milan, are the reliefs of Nemesis and Jupiter, Hebe and Hercules, Venus and Cupid, Mercury giving Hebe to Bacchus, all the work of Thorwaldsen. Denmark may well be proud of her famous son. He has, indeed, the power of the Greek and perfect purity. The recently placed Dante-window in this library is magnificent in coloring. A figure of Dante, in the red robes of zeal, occupies the centre of the window ; at his left, Beatrice in heavenly blue ; at his right, Mathilde in the green of paradise. In the arched, highest section, Beatrice, in beatiful white robes, again appears beatified, with groups of Angels on either side knci'ling in adora- tion. Beneath the angels on the left, Francesca di Rimini and Paolo, borne by the winds, seem to move into a circle of clouds; opposite these is a view of the frozen circle. It is a superb work and to the traveller who knows not of its existence, it is a delightful surprise. 31 The old Romanesque church of St. Ambrose, with atrium, its Etruscan carvings and doors of cypress, that were once closed against the En'peror Theodosius, preaches a silent sermon to all who hesitate in presence of higher rank to acknowledge duty and do it. With reluctant step, we turned from this city of the Sforza family, and were again on the railway, en route for Venice. Before arriving at Verona, we crossed the Mincio. " Smooth sliding Mincius crowned with vocal reeds." We fancied that we saw the spirit of Virgil hovering over the water, and slowly moving down its gentle course. "You fondly dream," a companion said. Per- haps it was a dream, and yet, "Our lives are naught but dreams, some beautiful, some broken with strange sights and sounds." We could not pass Verona, the home of Juliet, with- out a short visit to her tomb. Very ancient vehicles, drawn by very ancient horses, and having very ancient drivers, were waiting for us at the station. Notwith- standing the forlorn appearance of our conveyances, we were driven very rapidly to the tomb of Juliet, a frag- ment in reddish stone of what may have been the tomb of some Capulet ; from the tomb to the house, where the disappearance of the garden and the balcony is some what depressing to one who wishes most earnestly to believe that this is the real house occupied by Juliet. 32 A short distance down the street, a dark- eyed maiden leaned over the balustrade of a second-floor balcony, calling to a dapper -looking youth beneath to bring up the polenta. Here were Juliet and Romeo ! Possibly Shakespeare's heroine did not expect her Romeo to bring the polenta, and yet, who knows ? Here, in the square, is a very striking statue of Dante, and, within an enclosure, at the left, are the tombs of the Scala family, one of whom was podesta when Dante, an exile, found refuge with him. "With him Shalt thoa see That mortal, who was at his birth impressed So strongly from this star, that ot his deeds The nations shall take note." Thus sings the divine poet of his great patron. The ladder and eagle, coat of arms of the Scala family, typifying their unb(.unded ambition and means of at- taining the height desired, are quaintly represented in the net-work surrounding the tombs. Shakespeare and Dante ! England and Italy's rarest sons, in this strongly fortified town of the Middle Ages, are held in greatest reverence. With a hasty glance at the well preserved amphi- theatre, we passed on to the Mistress of the Adriatic. 33 CHAPTER IV. Like a queen, with her blue mantle floating about her, beautiful Venice sits in royal state that all the world may come to do her homage. The Palace of the Doges, the Bridge of Sighs, the Cathedral of St. Mark, the home of Byron, the house of Desdemona, are all points of intense interest to the traveller, but the every day sights, the little things, are very amusing to the stranger. How quiet life seems here, if we listen ; how active, if we watch. Find a cosy nook, in the corner of some garden overlooking the Grand Canal; no sound comes to one, save the dipping of the oars as the gondolas glide swiftly by, or the merry notes of the gondoliers as they "troll the catches" in their labor, or perhaps the ugly shriek of the steamer, — for Venice has not escaped the modern boat with its unmusical engine. Let us look, "For whether we look or whether we listen, We hear life murmur or see it glisten," and we see life full of charming activity. The gondoliers bending in perfect rhythm to the motion of the boat, the beautiful costumes of the occupants of these fairy- 84 like vehicles, the graceful gestures of signer saluting signora, or of demure siguorina bestowing stolen glances, with coquettish air, upon some young cavalier, complete an idyllic scene. We are fascinated, content to remain idle and watch the gliding panorama before us. Life is throbbing with music and poetry in Venice. A witching spell seems around every one. It is very easy to believe that fairies and gnomes are real, that Puck and Ariel are not simply thoughts of the "myriad minded genius." We are quite certain that nothing in Venice can be more enjoyable than a quiet view like this. If mortal can never say, "This is the worst," he surely can never say,' "This is the best," at least in Venice. There is something new ever awaiting one, more beautiful, more unique than aught seen before. Imagine one in a lovely, moonlight evening, well wrapped and most comfortably and charmingly seated in a gondola, with interesting and agreeable companions ; along side of the "shell" another similarly freighted, and yet a third, while a fourth is filled with musicians who make rich with melody the soft air about. With the very poetry of motion, the boats glide on, the music changes from soft and low, to loud and strong and with a ''brava, brava,'' we pass under and moor be- neath the Rialto. Brilliant lights, blue, red, green and golden, are sent flashing from our gondolas by the merry gondoliers, while above, as if by magic, flash out replies 35 from the balustrade of the historic bridge. Was it fancy, or did we hear the rough tones of Shylock demanding why these Christians "be so merry ?" In the dim light, did we mistake a brave, young Italian signor for Bassanio? Did we not hear the clear, young tones of Portia bidding Nerissa hasten, and "Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed, and let him sign it?" To every English speaking tourist the Rialto is peopled again by the creative genius of him "to whom the mighty mother did unveil her awful face." We linger long beneath the shadow of the Rialto, and then, through his kindnes to whom we owe this pleasant surprise, we are borne away to the Bridge of Sighs. There, resting beneath the gloomy, frowning wall of the terrible prison, our music-makers, at our request, sing their merriest tunes. We hope some glad sound may soothe the troubled, sin-laden souls of the doomed men within. We like not to stay here. The air is full of sighs and mournful sounds. Through the gleaming moonlight, we see dark stains upon the wall beneath the cell where many men of renown, innocent of any crime, were beheaded. We are told that these are stains of blood that time will never efface. As we gaze earnestly at the bridge connecting the beautiful palace, once magnificent with splendor of the Doges, and the black towering walls of the prison, a white mist settles slowly down enveloping the bridge m its ghost like folds. Shadowy shapes glide beneath the high walls, threat- ening gestures seem to indicate that these airj tenants wish no mortals near this place full of sad recollections. We pass out from the narrow canal, into the merry crowd peopling the main, watery avenue. As we give a parting glance to this most sorrow-laden spot in Venice, we see the misty cloud has completely hidden it from our view. Phantom hands point to us bs if urging us on, away from this place of woe. We h.'id forgotton that this was the evening before All Saints, that spirits then return to their scenes of suffering, and mortals must not witness the coming nor the going, A lively rendering of Funiculi Fnnicula drives the visions of ghosts from our minds and we return to our Hotel, satisfied that this Venetian life is intoxicating. Here lived Titian, and here the spirit of Titian per- vades all art. Venetian Art seems to have imprisoned the sunlight and sent it through prismatic lenses upon its canvas, until the colors of the rainbow glow there with even more than natural brilliancy. The Venetian pictures are full of passion, life. Titian, in his wonderful masterpieces, loses not the life nor the vigor, but he adds that suggestion of a future filled with spiritual richness, that is often wanting in the other painters of his school. In Venice, one stands in the vestibule of eastern coloring. Every department of art, as here represented, suggests the glowing wealth of the 37 orient. St. Mark's is a receptacle, filled with magnifi- cent spoils from Eastern temples. There is a peculiar beauty in the "fitness of unfitness" of the various col- umns, bits of architraves, mosaics and relievos brought from temples dedicated to many forms of worship, and here consecrated anew to the service of the God of the Christians. St. Mark s seems to the beholder, as a whole and in detail, a rich offering to Him who asks from us the richest of our gifts in sacrifice. From the study of per- fect columns of alabaster, and delicate relief upon beauti- ful entablatures, w^e passed to the High Altar, and there, in the gorgeous Pala d'oro, found the perfection of color, in the harmonious arrangement of a superb collection of precious stones. In Venice, there comes an almost irresistible desire to stroll through its winding streets and to explore the darkened archways leading oftentimes to narrow bridges or ending abruptly in steps at which a gondola is moored, Sunday afternoon, a sweet-faced New England lady, an interesting member of our party, placed herself under our guidance, and we went in search of the little church of Santa Maria Formosa, a strange, old structure, a union of the Byzantine and Romanesque Architecture. We wound about through dark alleys, leading nowhere and ending everywhere, until, after long search, by acci- dent we entered the desired piazza. In the centre, 38 about the well, a very picturesque group of dark-eyed beauties laughingly talked in merry tones, as each, in turn, lowered the bucket to fill her waiting pails. We crossed the piazza and soon stood within the church, in front of Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara. Strangely impressive are these isolated master-pieces ! One often wishes that they could be placed in one grand gallery, the works of each artist classified by themselves. Yet the number would detract from the purest enjoyment. This beautiful Santa Barbara contains a suggestion of Raphael's St. Cecilia, and an indefinable likeness to his Galatea. We remained as long in the church, as the rapidly ad- vancing evening would permit, and then, with hasty steps, attempted our homeward way. We soon found it necessary to consult the map, to trace the desired streets. We leaned against the parapet of a little square near a bridge, intent upon making sure of the direction given by Baedeker, when we soon became conscious that we were the centre of an amused and curious crowd. Many guides pressed their offers of service upon us. How they had discovered that it ^as a case of the blind leading the blind, is still an unsolved problem. We had assumed, as we supposed, a very intelligent manner, and when we had refused the services of a guide, we had tried to impress upon him that we knew perfectly all the ins and outs of Venice, 39 yet here they offered their assistance upon all sides. On the preceding evening, one of our party, a gentle- man of rare good sense, who instinctively seemed ta know his locality, had found it necessary to employ the services of a Venetian to find his way to the hotel. He had supposed himself to be a long distance from the desired locality, but was amused, as well as annoyed, to find that he was almost at the Piazza San Marco,, directly back of the hotel. We hoped to avoid a like experience. To scatter the crowd about us, we moved on, regardless of particular directions, making use of generalities simply. We were not in an Alpine village, but "the shades of night were falling" fast, and, in sheer desperation, we rushed to the door of a little shop, in which stood a smiling, black-eyed woman, and said, "Rialto." "Si, si, signora," was the reply, and, running on before us, she guided us to this ancient structure. She made earnest efforts to converse with us, but our Italian being in its most primitive state, the conversation seemed very one-sided. It would be difficult to decide whether the expression upon her face was one of pity for our help- less condition, or disgust at our ignorance. From the Rialto, we succeeded in exploring the way to San Marco, thence to the hotel. On the following day we left Venice, some of us to visit the quaint town of Bologna, others to go directly 40 to Florence to await there thv* arrival of the party from Bologna. To the lovers of Architecture, the church of San Dominique was a delightful study of the Romanesque. Here too was the tomb of Giotto, and that of Elizabetta, the "divine painter of Bologna," The plain, tunneled vaulting was restful after the heavily ornaTjcnted arches and panels of ceilings already studied. In the church yard, are several very quaint tombs, elevated upon columns so that one may readily pass beneath them. Bologna, with its leaning towers, rivals of Pisa, its arcaded streets, and the possession of the exquisite gem, St. Cecilia, affords the traveller many days of interest. While St. Cecilia is the most beautiful of the group of figures in this master-piece^ the face and figure of St. Paul are just what we would have them as idealized from his writing. The St. Paul of no other painter is to us The St. Paul of the Scriptures that Raphael's is. Even his cartoon of Paul Preaching at Athens, fails to give to this grand apostle, what is found in the St. Paul of St. Cecilia. It is here the face of one who had been a persecutor of the early Christians, who, with fine scholarship, great ability, exalted position, had given all to the glory of God. The face is full of suggestions. It is powerful yet gentle, stern yet winning, proud yet humble. Ar- 41 tistically, the arrangement of the figures in this picture is perfect. With this brief glimpse of St. Cecilia, this running as we read, we hurry on, over the Appenines, to the Tuscan Valley, to the home of the Medici, Savonarola, Michel- angelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the lovable Fra Angelico. The day was long, and, as the symptoms of irritating weariness appeared. La Petite, the merriest little body in our company, whose busy brain was ever fertile in happy plans for amusement, and whose charming simpli- city won all hearts, proposed that each in our compart- ment should, in common parlance, "Tell a story." Humorous anecdotes, thrilling tales of modern bur- glars, and blood-curdling scenes from " True Ghost Stories," followed in quick succession. In the land of Boccaccio, we had caught his spirit, and soared into realms untouched by his genius. It had become our custom to enliven our jonrneys by conundrums, and, on this occasion, we found they fitted in well, between the various romances. We shall always remember that, as we entered beautiful Florence, most of us were busy in tracing the likeness between "a cat in a garret window and a church"; a thoroughly realistic resemblance, but some- what concealed from ordinary eyes. The propounder of that conundrum found it safe to leave the car very abruptly, after confessing her knowl- 42 •edge ot the existing likeness to be the same as that of those attempting to discover it. We were weary, yet in happy mood, as we repaired to our rooms at the hotel for the rest necessary to enjoy this centre of Tuscan Art. 48 CHAPTER V. When we say beautiful Florence, we hardly realize how much of truth the expression contains. The city is beautifully situated in a valley surrounded by heights of historic interest; charming villas are scattered here and there upon the neighboring slopes ; fine, broad streets, making delightful drive-ways, are found in the modern parts of Florence ; aud a park of exquisite loveliness, affords a pleasant retreat from the noisy parts of the busy town. Beneath our window, the Arno, in its mantle of clear, shining green, chattered as it passed over the little fall on its way to the sea. We wondered whether its waters were ever ruffled, and why so deep embank- ments were placed along the sides. Before we left this city, favored by Americans as a place of residence, tfee heavy rains in the mountains caused the water in the river to rise rapidly and rush on tumultuously through the valley. Rivers, like people, show their character only when looked at under different conditions of various times. On the day following our arrival in Florence, we drove to the church of San Miniato in Monte, from the 44 piazza of which an enchanting view of the valley of the Arno is obtained. This wide piazza, opened just below the site of the church, is decorated with copies of several of the statues of Michelangelo, and is named the Piazza of Michelangelo in honor of this great master. From the balustrade surrounding this Piazza, "The Arno meets the eye, reflecting in its tranquil bosom a succession of terraces and bridges, edged by imposing streets and palaces, above Avhich are seen the stately cathedral, the church of Santa Croce, and the picturesque towers of the Piazza Vecchio." We descended the hill of Oltr' Arno, passed the Casa Guidi, where for many years lived the poetess whose works have indeed "become a golden link between Italy and England," re-crossed the Arno by way ot the Ponte Vecchio, which is to Florence what the Rialto is to Venice, and entered the square of Santa Croce. In the center of this piazza was placed in 1863 a statue of Dante. ' 'Tender Dante loved his Florence well While Florence now to love him is content." The church of Santa Croce has been named and, in a manner, appropriately, the Westminster of Italy. Ma- dame de Stael writes, "This church contains the most brilliant assembly of the Dead that may be perhaps in Europe." "In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie Ashes which make it holier." 45 Here are the tombs of Angelo, Machiavelli, Alfieri^ Prince Corsini find. Galileo. Here too is a monument to Dante, whose ashes lie at Ravenna where, ^ 'Florence^ greatest son found refuge in his exile." Among the many beautiful works in stone in this church, none excels, in gracefulness of pose, the fine relief in gray marble of The Annunciation, by Donatello. He who studies well this exquisite representation readily understands that Donatello may have been a worthy competitor of Ghiberti in the making of those gates, "fit for Paradise." "The Perfection of Gracefulness," remarked a friend who had studied this gem of the great master in years gone by, and we echoed the thought when we stood before it. Although the faces of the Virgin and Angel are very beautiful, they are hardly noticed except in detailed study. The relative position of the two, the receiver and the hearer of this good news to all mankind, is so full of suggestive thought that details are lost sight ot until after prolonged study. From the church of Santa Croce, we went to the Duomo. In and about the Cathedral, are found the most beautiful architectural products in Florence. The Duomo, with its fine choir and magnificent High Altar beneath the dome, its windows of glass glowing in colors rich and warm ; the Baptistery with Ghiberti's bronze 46 4oors, and the historic porphyry pillars showing the former ascendancy of Pisa over Florence ; the graceful, fdiry-like Campanile ; all stand in the square of the Cathedral. There is so much beauty centered in this spot, that it is difficult to realize that it has been produced by the genius of man. It seems as if we stand here on holy :ground, made sacred by the mighty power of anen like Savonarola, who preached here his wonderful sermons of the fifteenth century. * 'The people rose in the middle of the night to get place for the sermon, and came to the door of the Cathedral, waiting outside till it ■should be opened. Though many thousand people were thus collected, no sound was to be heard until the arrival •of the children, who sang hymns with so much sweetness that heaven seemed to have opened. Thus they waited until the Padre entered the pulpit and the attention of so great mass of people, all with eyes and ears intent upon the preacher, was wonderful ; they listened so, that when the sermon reached its end it seemed to them that it had scarcely begun." As we stand here four hundred years later, and listen for the echoes of that soul-stirring voice, the shrill clangor of metal pails on the pavement •of the square, the shouts and laughter of the ever-hurry- ing crowd, cause us to feel that, in the midst of strife and turmoil, this sacred edifice is like a poem, a prayer^ with myriads of brilliant thoughts enshrined within. 4T We entered the beautiful Baptistery of San Giovanni, beloved by Dante. We looked in vain for the fonts, of which he says, "To hold the pure baptismal streams, One of which I brake, some few years past, To save a whelming infant."' Only one small font is now in this building, and this stands somewhat removed to the left of the principal entrance. An inscription upon the grey marble of the central pavement indicates that, formerly, the great font, with its accessories, stood beneath the lantern of the dome. We passed from this beautiful structure, crossed to the opposite pavement and stood where the great poet often sat and gazed at the cathedral. "O, passionate, Poor Dante, who, a banished Florentine, Didst sit austere at banquets of the great." We turned toward the eastern part of the Piazza where stands a palace once occupied by Lorenzo de Medici. Here oftentimes met the brilliant court of him who held the liberty of Florence in golden chains. Here Politiano recited his graceful, flowing rhetoric; here Michelangelo began to show evidences of his masterly genius ; here scholars from all lands offered their tributes to the masters of the Renaissance. Thoughtfully we slowly returned to the hotel, con- vinced that this city is a treasury of history, art, litera- ture and science. 48 As we joyfully hastened toward the dining-room, in response to the welcome sound of the call to dinner (a good traveller is always a good eater), some one said, "Do you know that the Opera of Lucretia Borgia is here to-night?" *'Is the company first class?" "Are you going ?" ''Is there a ballet, too?" "No, I don't care for it," "Yes, yes, to hear this opera in Italy is an opportunity not to be lost," were some of the fragmentary remarks overheard in the reception of the announcement of this oper«.. After much discussion of the question, whether an opera, even in Italy, rested one more than it wearied, seven, who had decided in the affirmative, betook themselves to the House of Song, to hear again the tragedy of Pope Alexander's daughter. It was but an indifferent performance, and long will some of the seven remember how sadly their ideal pictures of Lucretia were destroyed by a prima donna, with a thin, high voice and an avoirdupois of two-hundred and fifty pounds. One of the seven unfortunates, a young lady who had become a msmber of our party for a brief time, "brilliant in word and quick to act, mistress of repartee," remarked that perhaps Lucretia, as Princess d'Este, may have taken life so easily that this repre- sentation upon the Florentine stage might not be un- true to Nature, but, she added, "In spite of the dictum, 'Art must be true to Nature,' a rather more diminutive and graceful figure for our heroine would be more ar- tistic." 49 The disappointment in our musical expectations for the evening was followed in the morning by a perfect realization of our dreams of Fra Angelico. There is no other artist, in our opinion, r^ho has caught for his Madonna the heavenly radiance in her face that becomes the fascinating attraction in a Madonna by the hand of this wonderful master. As one looks upon his masterpiece in easel work, The Madonna of the Star, it seems as if the Holy Mother had passed into the Holy of Holies, and there had seen that which took from her all earthly passion and left a wondrous divinity in her face. Unlike Prometheus, Fra Angelico stole not the spark from Heaven ; unlike Franklin, he wooed it not, but to him it came as a gift from the Almighty. The grandest work of this painter was the rich, golden completion of a life, that rendered unto God all that be- longed to God. Six exquisite works of Fra Angelico adorn the cloister ; The Chapter House has his Grand Crucifix- ion ; at the head of the stairs is a beautiful Annunciation by him ; opposite this is his Saint Dominic Embracing the Cross. In the Dormitory, all of the cells, on the left, have frescoes by Fra Angelico. In one of the cells is found the Madonna of the Star, brought here from Santa Maria Novella. While one may regret that the beautiful gardens and cloisters of San Marco are now given to the use of the Italian soldiers, one rejoices that 50 the Italian Government has preserved here And protects the works of this great master. The cell of St. Anthony is interesting with a portrait of the Saint by Fra Bartolommeo. Here, too, is the cell of Savonarola, with his portrait and many relics belonging to the brave spirit who dared resist Lorenzo, the Magnificent. Within the church, are the tombs of Politiano and Pico Mirandola, scholars of the brilliant Renaissance, deserving burial within the walls of San Marco. A somewhat hurried visit to the academy of Beaux Arts for a view of Michelangelo's David, gave time for a brief study of Giotto's Life of St. Francis ; though brief yet it was thoroughly enjoyed, because one of our party, a charming lady from the state of Jersey Blues, who had the rare faculty of finding little details of interest and a rich sympathy to give to all deserving, examined with us, in minute particulars, this series of pictures in distemper by Giotto. An appreciative companion doubles one's enjoyment in studying any beautiful creation. "Man is a sociable animal," sings our modern sage, and woman is doubly so ; hence, to make her en- joyment complete, she must have companions in her happiness. In the afternoon, two of us strolled through the old Market Place, into the narrow streets where are now shops filled with everything desirable and undesirable; 51 restaurants next to blacksmith's forges; donkeys, hens and children sharing equally and happily small rooms lighted only from the doorway. "Whatever brawls disturbed the streets," there seemed to be none at home, all — donkeys, hens and babies — were content, and therefore happy. In this locality, we found the work-shop of Cellini^ where, perchance, came to him those ingenious devices that suggested the wings of escape from the Roman prison or the more artistic designs upon the shields and helmets that, like fairy work, are due to his unique skilL Here, on a street corner, glared down upon us The- Devil by John of Bologna, marking the site of a pulpit from which the Evil One was exorcised. This is the spot where the real, peasant life of Florence ig found,, where one can readily see the elements that may be roused to a fury of excitement by some trivial cause. People here are so closely packed, that excited feelings like disease, is readily communicated to the mass. We strolled across the Ponte Vecchio, west to the- church of Santa Maria del Carmine, where are the- finest works of Masaccio. The church was free from visitors, and readily finding^ our way to the chapel decorated by Masaccio, we became so absorbed in study of The Expulsion that we did not notice the approach of a priest until chairs were politely offered. Unfortunately, the priest knew only Italian,. 52 and we knew no Italian. These frescoes show admira- bly the advance in art during the first century of The Tuscan revival. As we left the chapel, our friendly priest beckoned us to follow him through a narrow doorway at the back of the chancel. We hesitated as we approached and saw a dark, narrow passage leading to depths below. Memories of living entombments, of wierd romances read in years gone by, of horrible monsters in priestly vestments, came thronging into our minds, but curiosity, that best inheritance of womankind, mastered our fears, and we bravely followed our leader of the unknown tongue. Descending a few steps, our guide opened a small door, disclosing a long, narrow room, lighted from a narrow window placed high in the opposite wall. He quickly stepped to the wall, on our right hand, touched what seemed to be a fixed panel which yielded easily to slight pressure. This he noiselessly slipped aside. A small niche, containing several shelves on which were two quaint iron-pots and a few iron instru- ments somewhat like spoons, was seen. In vain he gesticulated with hands, arms, head and shoulders, we could not understand what might be the use of the greenish liquid contained in the iron vehicle. At last he led us to a small room opening upon the corridor of the old cloister, and showed us where 53 frescoes were being uncovered after many years of burial beneath a coat of white-Tvash. A ray of understanding, at last, entered our minds and we saw that he wished to show us by what means these ancient frescoes are freed from their white coating. It is a somewhat laborious task and requires great care in its execution. Many of the most beautiful wall-paint- ings suffered during the decline of art, from this white- wash mania, and would have been lost to the present age if this method of restoration had not been invented. With many thanks from our intelligent guide, who had been made extremely happy in his success in con- quering our stupidity, we stepped from the quiet church to the street filled with people hurrying in one direction. We remembered then the expected arrival of King Hum- bert and Queen Marguerite. We joined the ever-moving crowd, and aimlessly went with the others, until we found a pleasant halting place on the approach to the Ponte Santa Trinita. Here we waited the arrival of royalty, and watched the people about us. Human nature is the same throughout the world, and a crowd of people in Florence is not, save in minor de- tails, unlike a crowd in any city of America. We were surprised that so great degree of quiet pre- vailed, for we had had ample proof that the Italians can make twice the amount of sound that an equal member of Americans can produce. In short, we are sure that 54 no other people can yell with the vigor and continuance of the Italians. Without any sound of music, the royal carriages, with their outriders and gorgeously apparelled drivers, and mounted attendants, appeared. One burst of ap- plause broke, like a sudden peal of thunder, from that vast concourse of human beings, startling in its sudden- ness and intensity. ''Viva, Viva,'' passed from mouth to mouth, as the beautiful queen bowed gracefully from side to side, and King Humbert, with uncovered head, looking a little bored, acknowledged the offered homage. "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," must be the comfort to those who are not born to royal station. A visit to the Palazzo Vecchio, aside from its historic interest, affords ample study in architecture. Guelf and Ghibelline have both left their distinctive architectural works upon this Romanesque building. A ramble through the Bargello, where is found the beautiful portrait of Dante by his friend, Giotto, gives one perfect enjoyment. The magnificent Bust of Brutus, by Angelo and the realistic yet ideal Singing Boys by Luca della Robbia are the finest examples of plastic art in the Bargello. Among all the art treasures of Florence, we did not forget the spot dear to every student of literature, the Protestant Cemeterv. Here lie Theodore Parker, 55 whose life, like the little flower that now covers his grave, yielded a fragrance perfect in its delicate sweetness ; Walter Savage Landor, one ol the greatest masters of the English Language ; Arthur Hugh Clough, whose early death shortened a career brilliant in its promise ; and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, equally loved by her countrymen and those of her adopted land, fair Italy. The Ufizzi and the Pitti, with their rambling, covered gallery connecting th^m, are so replete with the richest gems, both in sculpture and painting, that no brief de- scription can give any satisfaction. They are the glory and pride of Florence. In the Tribune of the Ufizzi, a wealth of beauty in form and coloring meets the eye from very point. Before the perfect embodiment of grace, as shown in the Venus de Medici, of "grief too deep for tears," as portrayed in the Niobe, of divine sweetness as indicated in the little Christ of the Madonna del Cardellino, of "majesty blended with inexpressible beauty," as repre- sented in the Vision of Ezekiel, of simplicity and grandeur as presented in The Salutation, no one can doubt the divine inspiration of the artist creators. "They are but the works of man," some one of our party exclaimed, yet how great must have been the mind of the mighty genius that produced each masterpiece, 56 and how much more glorious the power of Him who created for man, the greatest of all things in man, mind. From the enjoyable yet somewhat exhausting study of the artistic beauties of the art museums, we drove through the Cascine, the charming, characteristic park of Florence, along the northern bank of the Arno. Here is the beautiful ilex tree in perfection. This is truly a park that gives highest enjoyment; in that Nature is permitted to show her beauties without man's inter- ference. Art is employed only so far as she may assist Nature. No trees, cut into ugly, unnatural forms, meet the eye; no regular, geometric figures limit the extent of the part given to the 'phaeywgams. The work of Art can not be separated from the work of Nature in this ideally beautiful retreat. After a visit to Cimabue's Madonna in Santa Maria Novella, a stroll through the rooms filled with works of modern Artists was refreshing. It was like coming from the remote past to the vigorous, living present. As one stands in front of the Modern Art Museum and looks off toward Fiesole, near the close of a clear, sunny day, the purple and golden lights, wrapping the mountains in soft folds, give an unreal aspect to the scene. How difficult it is to leave this beautiful Florence, to take one's self away from the sight of the Arno, Giotto's Tower, ruined hall and monastery crowning almost every mount on either side of the river ! But Rome, the 57 Mistress of the World, is before us. Joyfully, yet re- gretfully, we left the Val d' Arno in the early morning, en route for the city of the Caesars. 58 CHAPTER VI. To the question often proposed, "Did you not find the railway travel tedious?" the reply, ''Not in the least, on the contrary very enjoyable," may be truthfully given. There is so much of interest in any new country to a good observer, that a journey is robbed of its weari- ness, and in so beautiful country as that about the Appenines there is no room for aught but pleasure. To watch the picturesque groups at the different stations is great amusement. A ready knowledge of the Italian language, though very useful, would detract much from the real pleasure of travel in Italy. Half of the unique satisfaction in watching the earnest manner in which the Italians talk, would be lost, if the observer understood what was said. They converse with so much vehemence, accompanied with rapid and violent gesticula- tion, that it is easy to imagine them upon the edge of some precipice of tragic action, when only ordinary affairs of every day life are receiving their attention. The children in this land of Beauty are very graceful, every motion of the lithe figures is as if in rhythm with a harmonious whole. Gracefulness is an inheritance of 59 the modern Italian from the ages replete with beauty of form and position. Their costumes are very picturesque, and worn with so much skill that what seems in itself very uncomfortable is strikingly imposing upon the Italian. At last we approached the long desired city. '*Who first spies St. Peter's Dome shall have a treat of sweet chocolate," said the matron, who was ever alert in discovering new points of interest, and ever ready to administer some welcome "treat" from a very tempting hand-satchel. Do you wonder, gentle reader, that one could enjoy chocolate in sight of St. Peter's ! We were, in some respects, a very prosaic company, but capable of reaching the highest degree of enthusiasm. Was it the offered bribe alone that caused our merry travellers to gaze earnestly from the compartment windows toward the dimly outlined city ? As seven pairs of eyes scanned eagerly the landscape upon the left side (we had been told that from that side St. Peter's would be first seen), a quiet voice said, ^'Here is St. Peter's Dome at the right." Seven disap- pointed ladies I Yet he, who had won, was always so willing to yield his own pleasure to others, that we were quite content that he should enjoy the honor of first seeing the unequalled dome. It was not until after a night's rest, and, refreshed, we started for St. Peter's, that we fully comprehended that 60 this was the city of Romulus — Heathen and Christian Rome. One begins and one ends a visit in Rome with St. Peter's. Be a person Romanist or Protestant, this church must have for him a great attraction. Its per- fect harmony of proportion, its grandeur, its richness, all give it a dignity worthy the noblest basilica in the world. Very fascinating is the vesper service in the choir chapel. This chapel is gorgeously decorated in stucco and gilding, and has two fine organs, and the choir contains many voices belonging to the renowned papal choir. With the music, the incense and the soft intonations of the officiating priests, a luxurious sense of content- ment steals over one. "Is this Rome?" "Is this St. Peter's, for the completion of which the steps were taken which led to the Reformation ?" "It is so beautiful^ so beautiful," runs the mental refrain, that we almost forget aught save that around us. When at a later date, six of us climbed into the ball surmounting the lantern, looking down, from various points in our ascent, upon the church pavement and the surrounding country, we realized how perfect and mighty was the structure be- neath us. In Rome, no one ever loses sight of St. Peter's, save, temporarily, by the obstruction of some other building ; from almost every part of the city, Michelangelo's 61 "Pantheon in the Air" is plainly visible. How fitting that in this city of buried greatness, should be the works of the Master, who, in spirit, was an ancient Roman ; in art, a warrior against all that did not ennoble ! Stand before the fa§ade of the Capitol, or go into the Piazza delf Popolo, where may be seen the design of the gate, or study the exquisite statue, Domiae Quo Vadis, or rest in front of The Mighty Law Giver of the Chosen People, or enter the Sistine Chapel and look with reverence upon that mighty creation adorning the ceiling and altar wall, or pass to the Pauline Chapel where the strong frescoes of St. Peter and St. Paul mark a mighty genius, or turn to the basilica of St. Peter and look upon the tender and divine sympathy of La Pieta, and in- voluntaiily your steps are led beneath the Dome which not only crowns this grand Cathedral but is a fitting memorial to Michelangelo. It is suitable that Florence should possess the tombs of Lorenzo and Ginliano de Medici, yet it is Rome that should claim them as masterpieces of him whom she so fully honors. It gives pleasure to find Raphael's pictures anywhere, it seems as if they should be universal, but Angelo's works, wherever seen, call forth the remark, '-They ought to be in Rome." It will be contrary to the general opinion, to say that we like the Vatican Palace. It is unlike any other 62 building, it is full of irregularities which spoil its ar- chitecture, but suggest character. It has charming in- consistencies as a whole, but they seem to portray the thoughts of the many who have enlarged or modified the building to suit their purpose. A building after any set form of architecture, tells nothing of its founder save his wealth, except in the furnishing and ornamentation. The Vatican shows the character of each of its builders better than any biographer can do. Here i^ Raphael's exquisite grace in the Stanze and Loggia, or in the Gallery of masterpieces, where stand the Transfiguration and Madonna di Foligno. Rome still admires and reverences its Angelo, but loves its Raphael. Lovable must have been the artist, who made such exquisite figures of childhood as are found in almost all of Raphael's creations. A short stay in Rome implies that the traveller must work, if he desire to carry away any defi- nite notion of what he has come to study. The members of our party were very industrious and enthusiastic. Rome afforded study for all. Lovers of Architecture found ample material for their investigation, while those interested in painting, sculpture, libraries or the modern collections of "lovely wares" were equally happy in what they desired. There are now two Romes, the Old and the New. The one, with narrow streets, filled with ancient buildings and ruins of temples and palaces ; the other, with broad avenues, modern, ugly houses and an air of the nineteenth century ''push." 63 While the visitor in Rome prefers his lodgings in the modern part of the city, his interest is centered in the ancient. "O'er steps of broken thrones and temples," will his footsteps more frequently and lingeringly pass than over the freshly laid pavements of the newly made streets. On the second morning after our arrival, we went to the Palatine, and spent nearly all of the day in exploring the ruins of the palace of the Csesars. A bit of the original wall of Romulus and of his supposed house built of stone without cement, shows the strength of the early Roman structures. The conglomerate and reticulated stone-work of the republic, the brick covered with cement and marble, the work of the empire, are here in close relation. One age built upon another, so that it is beneath the present surface of the Palatine Hill that we descend to the rooms of the early palaces. The well preserved rooms of the palace of Livia give an excellent plan of the early Roman building. As we gathered within the dining room of this beautiful ruin, still adorned with graceful frescoes and finely executed mosaics, we tried to fancy it as it may have been during a magnificent banquet of the haughty empress. Luxurious, proud and elegant in bearing were the richly robed guests, but, vv'e flattered ourselves, no more distinguished in appearance than the sixteen Americans who, with 64 characteristic freedom, discussed the superiority of the modern dining-room. Youth and beauty were not wanting in our company of merry travellers, for seven of us were young and each, in her own way, beautiful. One, Minerva- like in figure, bore herself in queenly manner, and to her had been given the power to sketch the forms and imitate the tints of Nature with great skill. A second, bright and winning, with much histrionic ability, in appearance not unlike a Roman maiden, Apollo had endowed with the gift of song. "What passion can not music raise or quell ?'' A third, much loved and loving, possessed that most de- sired trait in woman, sympathy. With a sweet, intelli- gent face, and girlish impulsiveness, many a sympathetic word was offered by her which gave happiness to those about her. "A well trained daughter of a charming mother." A fourth, like all precious things, small in size, had a northern type of face combined with the quick, facial expression of the south. She was a delightful com- panion, responsive to all that was best in every one's character. A fifth was charming from her frankness that brooked no deceit and "would that all life should be as clear as is the crystal drop of the sparkling fountain." A sixth, with Grecian face, stately figure and color that comes and goes, leaving 65 "The tint that Neptune loves within the linins: of his shell," must have excelled any maidens of royal grace who, in the early days of the Empire, made radiant this antique banquet-hall. A seventh, modest, gentle, with quiet content and ready tact, was loved by all. A rare, sweet character, dearest to those who know her best. Our six matrons were distinguished for much intelli- gence, tact, ready wit, energy, unflagging interest and general "charmingness." Our three gentlemen had that quality rare in man, and delightful when possessed by him, of doing exactly what the ladies wished. In appearance they were n Coriolanus, an Antonio and a Menenius. No three more courtly gentlemen ever graced the receptions of the pleasure-loving Livia. Pleasing fancies, *'airy nothings," could not restore the lost grandeur of Livia's household. We passed through the covered way connecting her house to that of Augustus, we entered the excavated halls of Caligula's palace, we saw the glory of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, we passed into the imperial basilica fr'^m which could be readily seen the extent of Nero's gold- covered palace, w^e examined the remains of the royal Tablinum, turning to the left, we crossed the race-course and ascended to the level of the extensive palace of Septimius Severus. From the third story of this palace, a very fine view of the hills of Rome and of the 66 Campagna is obtained. St Paul's is distinctly visible on the horizon, and the Claudian Aqueduct creeping over the plains, looks like a huge serpent, with fold upon fold, seeking to enter the city. Descending from this plat- form, we arrived at the ruins of the Pedagogium or school for the education of the imperial slaves. As 've slowly returned to the point of entrance, and noticed, on our left, the Villa Mills, on our right, the Convent of St. Bonaventura, both covering unexcavated parts of the Palatine, and thought how vast are the edifices uncovered, we were ready to accept the state- ment as true, that the Romans were the finest builders that the world has ever known. As we stood for a moment before leaving the Palatine, regarding the wall of Romulus, and saw the cave where the wolf is said to have nourished the twins, it was difficult to believe that more than two thousand years had passed into eternity of time since the beginning of this city. The work of this day was pleasantly ended by a charming drive through the Pincio, the park of Rome^ to the Borghese Axilla in which is the far famed statue of Pauline Bonaparte, as Venus Victrix, by Canova ; across the Piazza Del Popolo, through the Corso, and the Via Ripetta to the church of Santa Maria della Pace where are Raphael's Sibyls, thence to the Pantheon. Here, directly across the pavement from Raphael's tomb, is building the tomb of Victor Emmanuel. That 67 this structure was ever but the entrance hall to the baths of Agrippa does not seem probable, but rather that it was part of an extensive building dedicated to universal worship. Thence we drove to the Propaganda, passed beyond to the Quirinal, where is now the Imperial Palace, formerly the Palace of the Pope, in which, on account, of its healthful situation, the Pope resided during the summer. In the centre of the piazza, adjacent to the fountain, are the famous bronze statues of Castor and Pollux, long supposed to be the work of Phidias and Praxiteles. Time never rests in his changes. The temporal power of the pope has given place, step by step, to the secular government, until now only the Vatican, the Lateran and the Papal Villa at Castel Gandolfo are under his direct control. It was well that this day's work was succeeded by a day of rest, and yet Sunday in Rome affords to the mind little time for relaxation. It was restful, however, to attend the beautiful service of the American Church, in a perfect Gothic edifice within the walls of Rome. Vesper service at Trinita di Monte gave to us, who bravely walked through a heavy shower to attend it, a rare treat in n usic rendered by the nuns. The music was composed for their use by Mendelssohn, and is executed with wonderful skill. A screen separates 68 the pupils and teachers of the school connected with this church from the congregation. As the nuns, with their pupils, all wearing white veils, slowly enter and take their places, they appear through the dim light like white robed angels. What a mighty contrast between the buried glories of the heathen Rome of the Palatine and the quiet rap- ture of this scene in the church of Trinita di Monte I Day follows day in quick succession in Rome, it is the land of tempus fugit. A morning in the Villa Farnesina, with Raphael's story of Cupid and Psyche charmingly arranged on the ceiling of the principal hall, and his incomparable Galatea on the wall of an adjoining room ; a short time in the Corsini palace for a brief study of Carlo Dolce's Madonna and Child, and of Salvator Rosa's magnificently realistic Prometheus Bound ; an afternoon's stroll over the Esquiline to Santa Maria Maggiore and beyond, through streets once full of life, now bounded by vine- yards on either side, to Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, and the day was ended. The church, Santa Croce, is situated in the most southeistern part of Rome, now a ver}^ desolate section. The pavement of the vestibule is partly covered with clinging bits of moss that has attached itself to the little earth between the stones. Few foot- steps now are made upon the pavement which formerly was covered with crowds of worshippers. The monasteries 69 are now occupied by Italian soldiers, and through the church echo the military commands, where once re- sounded the voices of those priests that made this sacred building renowned for the oratory of its preachers. To the west, extending near the wall of the city, is the covered archway connecting Santa Croce with San Giovanni in Laterano. This archway is now in partial ruins, and as we walked in front of its numerous niches for shrines, where in days now passed, burned lamps with holy oil, and devotees repeated their earnest prayers, it seemed as if we were walking where desolation reigned alone. "W here the pilgrims with their prayers '?" The basilica of San Giovanni rises just north of the Porta San Giovanni. From the steps of the facade, is gained one of the most magnificent views in Rome. Far to the east, rise the snow capped Appenines, with beautiful, shifting lights of gold and purple; to the south, extends the broad Campagna to the bounding horizon; to the north, stretches the city, with its domes, steeples and embattled roofs. Within the Piazza, there is so much of historic worth, that selection seems impossible. Within the basilica, have been held five of the most important General Councils of the Church. Students of French History are reminded of the Oecumenical council which here abolished the Pragmatic Sanction and concluded the 70 Concordat between the Pope and Francis I. by which the liberties of the Gallican Church were sacrificed. Here the popes have been crowned, and, from this piazza, have passed the magnificent papal processions to the Vatican and St. Peter's. The new tribune, recently completed by Leo. XIII., is very beautiful, but that which to us was of greatest interest was a small picture in distemper by Giotto. It is placed upon one of the columns separating the nave from the right aisle, and represents BonifiCe VIII. announcing the first Jubilee. The year of the first Jubilee was the year of Dante's sublime vision of the descent to the Inferno. This picture suggests Dante's intense dislike of the character of Boniface, "the new Pharisee. " It suggests also the tender affection that existed between the artist and the poet. The Porta Santa owes its origin to the Jubilee, and as one turns to the Porta Santa of this church, one wonders whether the year nineteen hundred will open this fast closed portal. Across the nave, from Giotto's picture, is the magnifi- cent chapel of the Corsini. ''The richest marbles, the most elaborateornaments and gilding, columns of precious stone, bas reliefs, and even gems have been lavished on its decorations with a profusion quite without a parallel in any other chapel in Rome. Notwithstanding this excess of ornament, the whole has been controlled and subdued by a correct taste." Near the basilica, stands 71 the Baptistery, where is the immease porphyry vase in which Rienzi bathed, the night before he appeared with his insignia of knight-hood. At the left is the chapel of the Sc«ila Santa. As we entered the building, many penitents were laboriously ascending the steps upon their knees. Fair, young maidens, elegantly dressed matrons, peasants, in picturesque costumes from the Campagna, and beggars in filth and rags were engaged in like devo- tion. Thus shall they be in the presence of God, who sees not the external, but judges only from the motive. "As He pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed." The palace adjoining the basilica is of interest to the visitors, who enjoy antique statues and mosaics. In the centre of the piazza, stands the first obelisk brought to Rome from Egypt, and it is also the largest obelisk in the Eternal City. With reluctance, we left San Giovanni and turned toward the Esquiline Hill, on the summit of which, stands the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. This church has two beautiful facades ; one faces the north piazza, in the centre of which stands an obelisk, the other faces the south piazza in which is a beautiful, white column surmounted by a statue of the Virgin, represented as standing upon snow balls. The rich mosaics and fine sculptures in the Borghese chapel rencer this church very worthy of earnest study. 72- The ceiling of the nave, we were told, is gilded with gold brought from America, an offering of the King of Spain to the Roman Pontiff. In Santa Croce in Geru- salemme, we stood upon earth from Holy Land, in Santa Maria Maggiore we stood beneath gold from our own Continent. Here the East and the West have met to do honor to His Name to whom all nations shall be subject. 73 CHAPTER Vir. Early one morning, we drove out over the Appian way, to the Columbaria. Almost all of our party de- scended the steep stairway into the square vault, filled with niches, ilke pigeon-holes, containing urns with the ashes of the dead. It was not a pleasant place for pro- longed stay, and we were very glad to return to the bright sun light shining outside. This Columbarium is situated in the center of a rose garden, just in the rear of a vineyard. The beautiful^ pink roses, covering the bushes with masses of fragrance, w^ere too great temptation to be quite resisted, and our grave gentlemen and happy young ladies were, in ex- change for a few centesimi, the possessors of bunches of perfect blossoms. The drive along the Appian Way is disappointing, in that monotonous walls shut from view the Campagna. Many donkey carts, heavily ladened with articles of farm produce, passed us on their way to market. The Italian, seemingly a lazy fellow to Americans, is not quite justly rated by us. He rises early, completes the greater part of his day's work at the time when Americans are beginning to shake off the 74 weariness of Morpheus. We then see him resting and, before we pronounce him indolent, let us question him in respect to what he has already accomplished. We often condemn him because he permits the wife to do what seems to be the greater and heavier part of the work. It is not because he is unkind, or is lacking in affection for her, but it is the result of ignorance and habic. Habit long continued is an ungovernable tyrant, and, when passed from one generation to another, it becomes a monster not to be overcome save by the spirit born of many generations of enlightenment. Generally, in meeting the peasants returning from their work on the Campagna, the man, with the implements of toil, is on the donkey's back, while the woman slowly and labori- ously walks by the side of the rider, oftentimes carrying an infant in her arms. Occasionally she spurs the donkey on to greater speed, as her lordly husband may require. Yet she seems content, — content because she knows no better life, and for comfort seeks the solace of the church. It seems quite necessary that this passionate, music-loving people should have a service with much ritual ; they would find no enjoyment in a service less typical than that which gives them many symbols. At the church of St. Sebastian, we entered the Catacombs. Each provided with a taper, took her place in the procession, with a priest at the head. We 75 passed slowly through the narrow passages, stopping now and then to examine a nichu containing a few bones of some Christian martyr, or a recess still sealed, or the ceiling of some vaulted opening. The few frescoes w^hich remain are very dim in color- ing, and are left to show how the early Christians dec- orated these prison houses. To be a Christian in those days meant a perfect sacri- fice. It was not enough to confess oneself a follower of Christ in secret, one's faith declared itself because the Christian could not participate in the heathen worship of the Romans. We can not honor too highly that noble army of n:artyrs to the early faith of Christ. How we cringe and bow to the world, at the present day, because we fear some sarcasm from the lips of the powerful ! How we accept a faith easy in its require- ments, because the flesh is master of us ! Stand where those early Christians lived as moles beneath the soil, shut off from God's beautiful sunlight, obliged to give up homes, dear associations and all that made life happy upon the earth, and see if the excuses, that we often make for leading selfish lives, do not seem too petty and contemptible for beings of intellect to entertain. There must come then to the mind of every thought- ful person of whatever creed, a belief in a power above mankind, and the question, " What am 7, 'and what is 76 man that Thou art mindful of him T " 11- unspoken in every heart. A half hour's wandering through these blind alleys, found us (juite ready to breathe the thinner air upon the surface, and we brought, from that brief journey, a greater degree of charity than we had had, for those who seemingly adore all that pertains to the early per- secuted Christians. From the catacombs, go to the Coliseum, at once the fride and shame of Rome. Carry with you, in memory, Dore's Christian Martyrs, and ask yourself which commands the greater admiration from you, the builders of this magnificent pile for the gratifi- cation of a selfish, cruel people, or the brave spirits that unflinchingly endured the most cruel tortures in this blood stained arena. We welcomed gladly a resfe for quiet thought, before turning to other scenes of different interest. An excursion from Rome to Tivoli called us all out at an early hour. A few minutes drive by carriage and we were transferred to the tramway which bore us rapidly out over the Campagna, past the church of San Lorenzo, to the slopes of Monte Ripoli, on which is situated Tivoli, the ancient Tibur, eight hundred and thirty feet above the level of the sea. The ascent to the town, through a grove of olives, is very steep but picturesque. 77 "Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind." As we left the car to enter a carriage, a drizzling, dismal rain somewhat lessened the ardor of our spirits, but we were in Tivoli, a place renowned for its important influence in the many wars of Rome, and the residence of men distinguished as warriors, statesmen and scholars. This had been an objective point for many years of study, and preparation for travel. Existing conditions when disagreeable are often so strong, that true appreciation of the existing beauty is not obtained. We drove to the hotel. La Sibilla, through a very narrow street. It was filled with such odors as Psyche discovered when she opened the false beauty-box of Venus. "Shut your eyes," said one of our party, "until you have arrived at the Temple of the Sibyl. "^ "Better say, shut your nose," added another somewhat susceptible to unsavory smells. When we had at last entered the hotel, a quaint, rambling structure, we rapidly equipped ourselves for a visit to the Cascades. Upon a terrace, at the rear of the hotel, stands a beauti- ful circular temple, twenty- one and one-half feet in diameter, surrounded by an open portico of eighteen columns, ten of which are perfect. They are in the Corinthian order, having beautiful capitals ornamented with lilies. The entablature bears very fine sculptures of flowers and heads of oxen. 78 This charming temple stands upon the overhanging rock of the valley of the Anio and the beautiful Cascades. The view from this point is very fine. Landscape painters raay well linger in a spot so full of subjects, that none selected could be without beauty. The scenery of Tivoli is well known to all people through the many repro- ductions by difi'erent artists. No artist, save Poussin, has, in our opinion, caught the weird suggestions of this landscape. Beautiful pictures, very true to nature, in which the color has been skilfully handled, have been made, the subjects of which lie in this deep, irregular valley, but Poussin alone throws over these landscape paintings a veil of mystery. His dark, rich coloring, with deep shadows, gives oftentimes an unlimited depth to the recesses in the background, and the Sirens of the caves and the Sibyl of the Temple are ever near, if not present, in his masterly creations. We crossed to the opposite bank of the ravine, from wbich a very extensive view of the valley could be ob- tained. The cascades, falling into the valley at the height of more than a hundred feet, contrasted with the brilliant vegetation and the rich coloring of massive brick- work, produce a scene of striking interest. Many of us descended by a narrow foot-path, winding down by the side of the large cascade, to Neptune's Grotto. Graceful ferns overhang the rocky sides of the 79 path which in many places is cut from the jutting cliffs. Above this zigzag way, the dark cypresses stand like mournful sentinels over the wild, tumultuous water sprites below. Across the valley are the deserted grottoes of the Sirens. The legend runs that, in olden times, when Italy was in her golden age, the sirens, under Neptune's sway, inhabited the now forsaken caves and, oftentimes, as shades of evening settled down upon the vale, in the open doorways of their grottoes, they sang such entrancing songs that mortals were allured into their treacherous domains and sank, forever, beneath the waters of the Anio. For in the years of sprite and gnome, The witching sirens had their home In charming Tivoli. Up from the spray of the lowest fall, we clambered, with our hands filled with the graceful fronds of many varieties of ferns, and our minds busy with recalling legends of mythic days of gods and goddesses, sea nymphs and bewitching sirens. When we arrived at the highest terrace, we found ourselves in the prosaic condi- tion of being very hungry ; poetry and mythic romance speedily vanished and we hastened to the hotel for the lunch already ordered. Had the Harpies been there before us ? Where were the viands with their imagined appetizing flavors ? Surely not on the table spread in the ancient hall. . But ''nice customs sometimes courtesy" 80 to hunger and, with a determination to accommodate ourselves to the requirements of the time, we began the repast. Bread, so hard that it was somewhat uncertain whether it might not be small boulders of travertine, with butter so odorous that smelling salts and perfumed handkerchiefs were in instant requisition, formed our initial course. Beef- steak, so called, garnished with the all-powerful butter, we were constrained to permit the waiter to carry away untasted. A peculiar kind of conglomerate pastry with pudding of various colors was not entirely palatable. Very lively cheese circulated freely from one end of the board to the other, without patronage. Half ripened grapes and musty wine com- pleted the lunch, but alas ! had not satisfied the demands of hunger. "Sight-seeing is not altogether rose colored in this town of Tivoli," remarked one of our party. "Not when you are hungry," was the response. We were quite ready to depart, and as we passed into the little square into which the narrow street of the hotel led, we hailed joyously the appearance of a chestnut- vender, roasting the nuts to a delightful brown. A lunch of roasted chestnuts is delicious at certain times. This was one of the times, "The Villa d'Este on your left, ladies," announced our good Doctor, who wished no point ol^interest to be left unnoticed. The Villa d'Este, the sometime home of Lucretia Borgia, had no importance then to us ; chestnuts were the all- 81 absorbing subject. For us, amusing remembrances will always be associated with the home of Lucretia Borgia in Tivoli. Descending to the plain, at the foot of the slope on which is situated Tivoli, we entered Hadrian's villa, one of the most magnificent ruins in Italy. 82 CHAPTER VIII. It seems to have been Hadrian's intention to repre- sent, in miniature, places of interest which he visited in the East. It was a pleasing fancy of the "travelled" emperor, and his immense wealth enabled him to carry out his design even in minutest details. An avenue of beautiful cypresses leads to the lowest entrance. The cypress, with its sombre color and swaying motion, is in keeping with a scene of ruins. As it sways to and fro, bending gracefully as if beneath a burden of sorrow, the sough of the wind through the branches is like a voice calling in low tones, / mourn, mourn, mourn. We left the avenue, and entered the Greek Theatre where, with the foundations of the stage, the rows of seats and the external corridors still distinguishable, it was easy to recall a brilliant Roman Assembly listening to the eloquence of some impassioned actor or applauding the grand chorus of which the emperor was fond. Of the beautiful porch, made in imitation of the painted porch at Athens, nothing remains but a part of one wall and a few fragments of the parallel arcades. 83 The plateau of the hill selected by Hadrian for this im- mense structure was not large enough for all the build- ings, so that he extended it on the western and south- western sides by gigantic substructures which contain three stories of vaulted chambers. These rooms are supposed to have been occupied by the imperial slaves. The beautiful mosaic floors of the rooms on the extreme western part are quite uninjured. The magnificent fitting up of these rooms proves that they were among the state apartments. Many of the finest marbles in the Vatican and other galleries were discovered in this part of Hadrian's villa. The famous mosaic of the Capitol, known as Pliny's Doves, was brought from this palace. The Basilica has the remains of thirty-six marble pillars and a magnificent marble flooring. As we entered this room, and saw, lying near the base of the ruined columns, many loose pieces of a beautiful blue stone, the temptation to take a few was very strong, but an armed guard who had forbidden the removing of any fragment of stone and who did not permit us to go out of his sight, prevented any yielding to a w^eakness for collect- ing souvenirs. Among the almost numberless rooms of this vast pile, one of the most luxurious is the Nymphaeum. It con- tains a white marble water-basin, with an artificial island adorned with columns. From this was an entrance to 84 the Hall of Philosophy. This Hall shows the remains of many niches once filled with statues of the Greek philosophers. To the east, extends the Vale of Tempe, now covered by trees with a dense foliage ; on the western side is the immense race course overlooked by the im- perial apartments. On the southern side of this exten- sive structure, were the Baths, beyond which, Hadrian caused a valley to be cut in the tufa rock which he named the Vale of Canopus. At the extremity of this, he erected a temple and numerous small buildings, in which he had festivals held in the Egyptian manner. These structures he decorated with many Egyptian statues most of which are now in the Egyptian museum of the Vatican. Southeast of the villa, the Emperor constructed Tartarus in an artificial ravine two-hundred and twenty yards long and twenty yards wide, through which flowed the river Styx which disappeared within two subterranean passages connected with the ravine. Over the ruined walls, Nature has spread a luxurious growth of ferns, mosses and tufts of mignonette, as if she would cover the injuries made by Totila, when he used these palaces as barracks, «tnd the further destruc- tion made in the search for Art Treasures. It is said that the owners of this -villa, who recently sold it to the Italian government, acquired a large for- tune, by selling the exquisite marble columns and blocks for building purposes. 85 After several hours spent in exploring these interest- ing ruins, we drove to the wayside station, to wait the arrival of the train from Tivoli. The times of arrival and departure of railway trains in Italy are not fixed with a great degree of certainty. The officials enjoy the irregularity somewhat more than the travellers. Our lunch at Tivoli had not served as a sufficient fortification for a long ramble over fallen columns, ruined walls, and through deserted valleys, so that, tired and hungry, we waited, at the junction of the drive to the Villa with the main road to Tivoli, for the arrival of the train for Rome. No shelter was afforded us by any building, so that, wandering along the well paved road, discussing the ability of the ancient Romans, as road- makers, we tried to occupy ourselves during the tedious time of waiting. Some of our party climbed to the top of a wood-pile, standing at the corner, and picturesquely arranged themselves in patient attitudes. Like other angels of whom Milton sings, they found the '^ascent easy," but the "descent adverse" to them. The feasibility of walking into Rome was considered, as the evening shades crept over the plain, and we feared that malaria might approach with dangerous result. At last the long expected whistle was heard, indicating that the train was leaving Tivoli, and soon it came slowly down the mountain to the level of the Campagna. S6 The steam tramway from Rom'e to Tivoli is not a "limited express," but one of much accommodation and many delays. Although we tried to divert the attention from that which occupied the minds of all, it &oon re- turned to us with overwhelming force. One of our matrons, rich in various expedients, proposed that those of us who were placed in the same section with herself should each suggest a desired menu for a good American dinner, in which there should be a happy mixture of the "substantial and the non-essentials." I doubt, if ever Hadrian in his gorgeous banqueting hall had so varied menu of toothsome viands as we formed in the dusty tram of Tivoli. Many of us earnest- ly hope that the hospitable matron of our party, who promised a realization, in the future, of our ideal dinner, will not forget, after prolonged travel, to carry out in full her projected plan. Late in the evening, in the midst of rain and darkness, we arrived in Rome. A good dinner, a comfortable room with quiet rest, awaited UP, and the following morning found us ready for a day's work on the Capitoline Hill. 87 CHAPTER IX. From the church of Ara CoeL, which contains the- Bambino, to the Tarpeian rocii, to which Hawthorne has given an added interest by making it the scene of the tragedy of the Marble Faun, every part is of intense in* terest. The piazza of the Capitol is almost always the play-ground for merry little boys and girls, saucy as the typical street-gamin is everywhere, but pretty as the- little cherubs in Raphael's Madonna di San Sisto. They formed, in their play about the statue of Marcus Aurelius,. very striking groups, which we admired almost as much as the perfect bronze statue of the old heathen emperor. From some points of the piazza, the statue of horse and rider is so lifelike that the little children appeared to be in danger from the rearing horse just ready to rush for- ward. The bronze-wolf in the conservatory, although an ex- cellent example of Etruscan Art, attracts not so mucb as the lively one in his cage, near the grand stair- way. The story of Romulus and Remus is not lost sight of in- Rome. The cave in which the wolf took refuge is shown at the base of the Palatine Hill ; the government causes- 88 the wolf of the Capitol to be kept in memory of this legendary event in the early history of Rome ; and the little pieces of butter served at the hotels are stamped with a miniature relief of the wolf and her two young charges. The room of the Dying Gaul and the Marble Faun is where one lingers longest on the Capitoline Hill. Here are the impassioned beauty of the warrior yielding at last to death, the wondrous grace of the playful, happy Faun of Praxiteles' School, and the sim- plicity and perfect anatomy of Antinous. The Marforio, that kept up a constant fire of wit and repartee for many years with Pasquin, rests in the •court of the museum of the Capitol. He is idle here, removed from the busy Forum, where he was made the vehicle for replying to the attacks of Pasquin. Many days previous to this, we had visited Pasquin. It is a very mutilated torso, yet shows remains of great beauty. We hope that sometime the two gossips may both rest happily in the Capitol. Pasquin, it is said, at one time made himself so obnoxious to the Pope, Adrian VI., that that Pontiff ordered the statue to be burned and thrown into the Tiber, but one of the pope's valued friends sug- gested that the ashes of Pasquin would turn into frogs and croak more terribly than before, hence the papal -command was withdrawn. 89 Many witty dialogues are recorded as having occurred between Marforio and Pasquin, and many more sarcastic sayings are attributed to Pasquin alone. When the cele- brated bull of Urban VIII., excommunicating all persons who took snuff in the churches of Seville, appeared, Pasquin quoted the passage from Job, "Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro ? and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?" During a bad harvest in the time of Pius VI., the small Italian loaf of bread decreased a great deal in size. The pope's passion for inscribing his name upon all the works of art placed in the Vatican during his pontificate was Sfitirized by Pasquin. Marforio- asked, ^'Pasquin, my gossip, why are the loaves so small?" The following day there appeared, upon Pasquin, a small loaf with the inscription, "Munificentia Pii Sexti." The modern Romans regard Pasquin as holding a very important part in their social system, and regret much that Marforio has retired from the busy scenes of political life. The new museum, now forming in the Conservatory^ contains many objects of great excellence, among others a beautiful young Hercules and a very fine head of Janus. "What see you in the past, old god, On which you fix your gaze ? What see you in the coming years, Rich joys unlike past days ?" Of the many heads of Janus seen in different art museums in Rome, this is the most satisfactory. In 90 most of these statues, the two faces are alike and suggest nothing, they are.often beautiful but have no expression. In this Janus of the Capitol, the faces bear strong re- semblance to each other in outline of feature, but differ in expression. The face of the future is that of a person who, peering into some unexplored region, desires to know more of it than is made clear to him. An unuttered question seems to tremble upon the half-parted lips. The face of the past is that of one who has seen much, and grown severe in his experience of the ills of life. It is the face of a stern yet just judge, who wishes that no event of his past career should pass from his view, and the earnest, piercing gaze, which the sculptor has given to this face of Janus, scans every occurrence in the years gone by. It is a wonderful creation of plastic art. The picture gallery contains few works of real worth. Guercino's master-piece. The Burial of Saint Petronella, is very finely executed. A replica of Annibale Caracci's Christ on the Cross, has a wonderful handling of light in the background, but it is so badly hung that only an imperfect notion of it can be obtained. After an enjoyable day, among the treasurers of art and the antiquities of the Capitoline Hill, v^e slowly descended the beautiful steps, forming a gentle ascent to the summit of the hill, and stood for a moment where *'The last of the Tribunes" is said to have been killed. 91 It chanced that this day was the anniversary of the birthday of one of our company and, in honor of this auspicious event, a grand serenade was given to her in the evening, by the young ladies of our party. In Roman costumes, improvised, with true Yankee ingenuity, from odds and ends of bright fabrics and rare bits of antiquity picked up in former travels, our maidens looked not unlike the veritable Ausonian beauties. One of them possessed rare skill in producing sweet sounds from many musical instruments, and the guitar was re • sponsive to her magic touch. Like Milton's old Damoetas, the matrons of our party loved to hear their song, and appreciated the "fun" quite as much as the young folks. Three of our young ladies were so fortunate as to have birthday anniversaries while in Rome. From the Capitol to the Forum, we found it natural to tsxtend our explorations. We descended to the pavement of the Via Sacra and stood where Oaesar often passed, worshipped as a god- like hero ; where Antony's eloquence won for Csesar dead greater glory than Caesar living possessed ; where Augustus trod as Emperor the stones pressed for long years by republican feet ; where occurred the many thrilling events that distinguished the Roman nation from all others. The House of the Vestal Virgins, in direct communi- cation with the Palace of the Emperor on the Palatine, is a very interesting ruin of the Forum. Statues of the 92 Vestals, which once adorned this building, are now found in different museums of Rome and Naples. We passed on through the Arch of Titus, with its perfect work in relievo, to the Coliseum and Arch of Constantino where the Via Sacra ends in the Via Trium- phalis. Amid all these ruined splendors of the past, it was almost painful to know that we could not break away from the present, that only in imagination could we sweep away the ragged, filthy old men and women selling relics along the Sacred Way, and bring back the triumphal processions of Titus and Constantino. Day after day, when a few minutes of leisure afforded opportunity, we strolled into this enchanted spot. How Horace loved the Via Sacra, and chose it for his favorite promenade, he tells us in his own, clear language, "Ibam forte Via Sacra, sicut meus est mos, Nescio quid meditans nugarum, et totus in illis." Near the corner of the Forum, where stands the Arch of Septimius Severus, is one of the few remaining struct- ures of the time of the Kings, the Mamertine Prison, consisting of two cells, one above the other, excavated in the tufa rock of the Capitoline Hill, and constructed in the massive Etruscan Architecture. The upper of these cells is far below^ the surrounding soil. A church has been built over this prison, through which entrance is gained to it. A flight of twenty-eight steps leads to the higher cell which is fourteen feet high, twenty-seven feet long and 93 nineteen feet broad with a circular aperture in the centre of the floor through which the prisoners were lowered to the cell beneath. The lower cell is nineteen feet long, nine feet wide, and six and a half feet high ; it receives its light and ventilation from the opening into the cell above. Sallust, in writing of this ancient prison for state criminals, says of this lower cell, ''In the prison called the Tullian, there is a place about ten feet deep, when you have descended a little to the left ; it is surrounded on the sides by walls, and is closed above by a vaulted roof of stone. The appearance of it, from the filth, the darkness, and the smell, is terrific." In this cell, it is supposed, that St. Peter and St. Paul were placed by Nero. Here is pointed out the fountain which miraculously sprang up in the pavement so that St. Peter might baptize his two jailers. Anterior to church tradition, history tells us that here Jugurtha was starved to death and the accomplices of Cataline strangled. It is a gloomy, horrible place, as if filled with ghosts of those who have suffered in ages past. "Why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn ?" A visit to the Mamertine Prison unfits one for any other sight-seeing during the same day. With the sad pictures in one's mind that this abode of woe suggests, the bright and happy scenes are strangely 94 inharmonious, and other places of horror and gloom could hardly be endured immediately after an exit from this underground dungeon. Yet as we came out into the warm, clear sunlight, under the bending, deep blue sky, we wandered on through the old Velabrum, reluctant to go within any dwelling. But even Mamertine prisons cannot hold Father Time prisoner, and we were forced to obey his commands and take events as he scattered them around us. 95 CHAPTER X. Perhaps no day's work in Rome is more enjoyable than that of a day spent without any plan, a wandering about from place to place as fancy inclines In such way, one visits many strange nooks, and sees much of the modern Roman life among the poor. An early morning stroll took us to the Mausoleum of Augustus — it has come to a strange use in these days — and we passed to the court on the side toward the Via Ripetta to find a fountain, in a niche of the old wall of the Mausoleum, surrounded by a mass of maiden-hair fern growing from every crevice of the rock where it could find a bit of earth to which it could attach itself. From this "bit of beauty," we slowly passed down the Via Ripetta, to the first bridge across the Tiber. The heavy rains in the mountains had caused the water to rise rapidly, and from a somewhat sluggish stream, it had become a raging, furious torrent bearing down upon its turbulent waters many articles that it had seized in its course. A crowd of men, women and children had gathered by the steps near the approach to the biidge, and, in rapid tones, with many quick gestures, were discussing the possibility and probability of an inundation. From their manner*, it would be supposed that such an occur- rence would be a long looked-for pleasure. "The yellow locks of Father Tiber," sing the poets. Poetic imagina- tion finds beauty in all things, but to the ordinary mortal, who sees things as they are. Father Tiber has very filthy locks of the hue of light brown mud. To dig, in order to discover some antique statue of priceless value, is the dearest wish of many Romans and many visitors to Rome. To bend the Tiber from his course and search the space over which he flows is our modest wish. When we are told that the fabulously rich banker, Chigi, threw his plate, made for a grand banquet, into the Tiber in order that it might not be used again, and others, not to be outdone in extravagant display did likewise, and that many statues and mosaics also have been cast there, we wish much that we might wrest old Tiber's treasures from his grasp. We slowly made our way to the Palace Borghese. We admired much the fountain and miniature forest^ which a diagonal, corner niche in the second story of the palace holds. From an hour's quiet enjoyment in the courts and arcades of this palace, we hastened our steps towards Hilda's Tower. 97 For a half franc, we were permitted to enter and go up to the shrine of the Virgin, where a lamp is still kept burning. As we stood on the roof, far above the turmoil of the street beneath, where Hawthorne shows us Hilda in her purity, a flock of doves came settling down about us. As they came near us, daintily stepping along the roof, we wondered whether any of them were descendants of Hilda's doves and whether her story had been transmitted to them. They chattered very busily, as they looked at us with curious eyes, as if they fain would know why we had come. When we had descended the narrow stairway leading to the first floor beneath the tower, we looked up and saw one beautiful, glossy dove, a true bird of Venus, peeping down upon us, from the narrow open- ing above. A few minutes' walk and we were at the Palace Cancellaria, in our opinion tlie finest example of early Renaissance architecture in Rome. In the piazza of the Palace, a market was in progress. Everything of possible and impossible uses was exhibited in booths or donkey carts, by pretty maidens, battered old women and shrewd men. We despaired of finding the true valuation of anything. A Roman antique lamp was off'ered to us at different prices from forty to five francs. From the Cancellaria, we went for a little gossip with PasquJn, but he was less responsive than Hilda's doves, or the venders of old wares in front of the Palace. 98 A short drive took us to the Church of St. Augustine, where we found a vast concourse of worshipping devotees kneeling before a staute of the Madonna and Child by whom many claim to have been cured. If we could not worship in the spirit of those about us, we admired the statue, which, in many points, is a very fine work of art. To the Trastevere we hastened, where, just before enter- ing Santa Maria, we saw a game of mora played by some peasants from the Campagna. Alert and quick, their fingers moved with so great rapidity that to our untrained eyes, it was not possible to form any notion of the number shown. The church of St. Cecilia was dreary compared with the festival-day when we had visited it. The statue here of the martyred saint is extremely beautiful. Her life is a kind of inspiration still to those who read its lesson aright. Recrossing the Tiber, we stayed upon t^e bridge sufficient time to see where once stood the bridge defend- ed by the brave Horatius, then we visited, a second time, the Cloaca Maxima. The odors in the vicinity of this arched sewer are not like those of the Elysian Fields^ but, as one of our company remarked, "The sense of smell is of less importance than the sense of sight, hence to feast the eye, the nose must be content to sacrifice its pleasure." 99 We gave utterance to the thought that in the locality of the sewer it must be very unhealthful. We were assured, on the contrary, that the residents of that neigh- borhood were very long-lived. We were shown a gloomy room, lighted only from its doorway, just above the first opening of the sewer, and we saw a hale, old woman who had lived there, so she said, ninety-five years. We wondered what effect fresh air and a sweet smell- ing house would have upon her! The ramble in the vicinity of the Cloaca Maxima had put us into excellent condition for the Ghetto. "This horror will grow mild, this darkness light." Curiosity leads one to make a visit to the Ghetto, and sympathy with the sufferers from limited space, un« wholesome air, and general filthiness, induces a pro- longed stay. In the doorway of a den-like apartment, opening from a narrow street into which no ray of sunlight can ever fall, we saw two little children sitting, with faces a& beautiful as angels. It is true that our sweetest flowers are gathered oftentimes in most noxious places. The animal world differs not, in this respect, from the vege- table. In the shadow of past luxury, almost beneath the walls of the Orsini, and Cenci palaces, the des- cendants of the Children of Israel have obtained an abid- ing place. It is asserted that the present king of Italy has ordered the Ghetto to be rebuilt with wide streets- 100 and dwellings constructed according to hygienic laws and that soon the Jew will no longer be confined to one quar- ter of Rome. Out from these sights of sorrow and depravity, we drove to the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, an edifice small in size, but great in what it possesses, — the iVloses by Michelangelo. As we left the church, the setting sun sent his rays of mellow light across the blue heavens, and in a gentle twilight we made our way to our comfort- able quarters, gladly accepting the fact that w^e were not forced to lodge in the Ghetto. 101 CHAPTER XL A little friend inquiring about various points of interest in Rome and receiving somewhat lengthy and exhaustive replies asked, ^'Didn't you have any modern fun in the city of the Caesars ?" ^^Modern fun," we exclaimed, "what do you mean?" "0, just such things as girls like, operas, theatres, dancing, parties, etc." "Well, mv dear," was the response, ''most of us visit- ed Rome for what you would call very antique fun, hard study ; but, as you know, we had with us some very pretty, bright young ladies who enjoy such things as girls like quite as much as you do, and, occasionally, we old wise ones, were not averse to recreation, for 'a little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men' and women too." ^'What did you have in the way of down right sport ?" continued our eager questioner. ''I do not see how one could be just young, gay and jolly with all those martyrs' bones, Mamertine Prison, and Coliseum, your next door neighbors." "It is easy enough to forget their existence, ma cherie, if you wish. What would you name a candy- pull, with charming young gentlemen to assist in form- 102 ing 'linked sweetness long drawn out' ?" ^'Just delight- ful ! And really did you have such in Rome ?" "That we did have such pleasure, there can be no doubt, succeeded by music, and dancing. We enjoyed^ too, the opera, and a really wonderful spectacular repre- sentation with ballet in which five hundred people took part." "You don't intend to say that five hundred people danced ?" "Yes, and all in perfect rhythm of motion." Like our little interrogator, many older people can not con- ceive of real, modern life in Rome. But Rome is a part of the world and modern civilization has entered there and asserted its sway as it has elsewhere. Education of the lower classes, is overthrowing super- stition, the inheritance of the past; modern inventions are putting aside a great deal of the physical labor ; and more liberal thought, under the present government, is making the Italian of the present day, more intelligent and self-controlled. We realized that holidays in Italy are like holidays in America, that even Thanksgiving Day, a peculiarly national day to us, was not wanting in its particular attraction, a fine dinner prepared for our American party. A very happy conceit of our good Doctor, the placing of a ring, bearing the pendant letters, ROMA, within a cake and bestowing the same upon the person fortunate 103 enough to find it in the piece taken by her, made a mer- ry ending for our Thanksgiving Dinner in Italy. Is one ever ready to leave Rome ? There is so much to study that, after a prolonged stay^ one is not content to leave the many objects of interest that have been only hastily visited. We were fortunate during our stay in Rome, in having the kind assistance of an artist, many years a resident there. To her we owe many pleasant visits to studios of modern artists, and glimpses into the present social life of the capital of united Italy. On the day preceding that of our depart- ure from Rome, we visited Werner's studio, and enjoyed his fine collection of water colors. Among other gems of art was an exquisite sketch of the small fountain of Trevi. His paintings are very delicate in finish, and lifelike. Still journeying southward, we were again out on the Campagna en route for Naples and other points of histor- ical importance in southern Italy. That was a sleepy ride, taken after a morning's hard work, and even classic conundrums failed to arouse us from our indolence. When we first saw Vesuvius, in the early evenings throwing a fiery radiance upon the daikened sky, while clouds of smoke hung about its summit, we understood how easily the imaginative Greeks believed the giants to be imprisoned beneath the volcanoes. When angry at their long imprisonment, they tried to break the bands 104 of their captivity, and strange rumbling sounds were heard issuing from the mountain. We hoped that the captive giant of Mt. Vesuvius would remain quiet during our stay in his vicinity. Beneath our window, " while the still morn went out with sandals gray," a Neapolitan hand-organ sounded its inspiring tones, and just across the small piazza of the h(.tel, a Scotch bag-pipe was being tuned. A kind of refrain was heard from adjoining rooms, in deep groans, smothered exclamations of anger and a general chorus of inharmonious sounds. One happy effect was produced by the bag-pipe, an accelerated speed in dressing. A drive through the crowded Via Toledo, in which everybody seems to be rushing with impetuous speed for the attainment of some object of importance, was succeeded by a pleasant ascent to the heights of Capo di Monte from which is obtained a very delightful view of the city. From this high plateau, the city beneath, situated picturesquely upon the slope of the hill, with its narrow streets opening into the broad avenue near the bay, was like a busy hive filled with murmuring bees. The beau- tiful bay, with its graceful curve from Ischia to Capri, is' clearly seen from this elevation. Many pleasing thoughts of the "sweet singer of Italy," the friend, adviser and confide7ite of Michelangelo, are 105 suggested bv the view of the island, many years her home. The wonderful blue of the Mediterranean, the clear atmosphere, the varying rich tints of color upon moun- tain and forest and the dense masses of smoke hovering above Vesuvius, make the scene like those that poets dream, "on summer eve by haunted stream." Here was formerly the rich Farnesian collection, now in the Neapolitan Museum The dismantled museum has very little of real worth remaining, but the church of St. Elmo, built in the form of a Greek cross, has admirable work in marble and petrified wood. Valuable rosettes made from Egyptian marble adorn the pilasters. The elaborately inlaid work of the altar-rail was executed by the former monks of the old monastery. It was a labor ot love, wrought with the greatest accuracy and skill. All the work in the church of St. Elmo, in marble and wood, was cut by the hands of those to whom this was an earthly home which they made as perfect as human skill could devise and human hands execute. In this church are fine examples of the Naturalistic School of painting, also a hint of the fierce controversy that raged between the school of Caravaggio and the Caracci. Here is a fine work by Domenichino which was almost destroyed by the members of the Naturalistic school. Although restored, it bears many marks of its mutilation. 106 In the sacristy, hangs The Entombment by Ribera, This is an excellent example of Ribera's power in depicting character by bold, strong outlines. The descent from Capo di Monte is very fine, in the direction of Prosilippo, where is the supposed tomb of Virgil. A drive along the street skirting the bay, in the new town, affords a broad view of the harbor, and the towns on the opposite shore. The royal park is on the one side, the liquid blue of the Mediterranean on the other, and the clear atmosphere everywhere. Dolce far niente life seems in keeping with this unsur- passed beauty. ''But," suggests a friend who has spent many years in Italy," there are two sides to Neapolitan life. If entrancing scenes are found in New Naples, hpw is the condition when one has passed around Point d' Oro ?" Artistic, undoubtedly, are the scenes on the quay of Santa Lucia, but not entirely suggestive of sweet-smelling savors, or arranged according to Heaven's first law. A convenient, easy mode of living, is that of the poorer classes in Naples, it involves little expense, little labor and much bonhomie. All live in the streets ; here they prepare their simple dishes, perform their slight ablutions and eat their repasts. Here may be seen a happy group of six or seven peo- ple eating macaroni from a disk in common, while close 107 by sits a mother trying to make neat the somewhat unkempt hair of her rebellious son. A few steps removed, sit two gossips knitting, and at their feet, rolling in the mud and street filth, are three little youngsters not troubled by any unnecessary clothing and quite com- panionable with those lively, minute creatures that make miserable the life of the nervous traveller. "You will not mind the flea after a little while," remarked a native of Italy. We found his statement true, in a limited sense, "So much a long communion tends to make us what we are." Here all things appear to be in common, but we soon learned that individual rights were strictly observed. One hungry fellow, in the act of helping himself to a handful of macaroni from his neighbor's dish, was caught by the losing party, and soundly belabored for the indulgence of his thieving propensity. He yelled as if life was being extinguished in him, but no one seemed disturbed, in short the uproar caused only a few to take any notice of the fray. This is Neapolitan life among the poorer classes ; life with few cares for wants are few. To the rich museum of Naples, a visitor soon directs his steps. A buried past uncovered for study, is in the Pompeian rooms ; treasures rich and rare are in the rooms of bronzes ; invaluable masterpieces of Greek gculpture ; many gems in paintings ; and a library, of 108 which the Neapolitans are justly proud, complete the collection. No one can make any study of the Pom- peian frescoes (very fascinating are these quaint antique frescoes), without being attracted by the face of Medea in "Medea Alone in Contemplation." The terrible struggle between the mother's love and the wife's jealousy i:s so clearly depicted, that the beholder involun- tarily shudders at the unuttered anguish. The eyes with cold, steel-blue gleam are those of a demon ; the mouth, with lurking tenderness, is that of a loving, grieving mother. He who sees this^ picture will carry through life the knowledge that he has seen a conflict between the evil and the good too severe for human strength. 109 CHAPTER XJI. From the Quay of Santa Lucia we sailed one morning to the Blue Grotto of Capri. "Bathed in the glorious blue of Capri's grot, The soul forgets, the sorrows sad of life, And wonders whether in this world or not He rests, removed from busy strife." Out from the dazzling blue we came, and sailed to the little town of Capri, at the foot of a mountain, on the height of which may be seen the remains of temples built by Augustus and Tiberius. As we left the boat and passed up the sandy beach, a long line of donkeys, each led by a woman, was at the side of 'the narrow path that it was necessary for us to traverse. The first donkey was a strong animal and guided by a young woman with a blight, saucy face- As we approached her, she looked up, with a half be- witching, half-impertinent smile, and addressing the gentleman of our party who possesspd a tall, finely developed figure, said, ^'Amerwaii, good, strong Jackass.'* It was not quite the compliment an American expects to receive on the shores of Italy, nevertheless, the joke was 110 fully appreciated and we did not quite like to learn that the first donkey of the line was named American. Having enjoyed a wholesome lunch at the Hotel d'e Grotte Bleu, where Longfellow is said to have stayed, wc examined the coral brought for sale by very pretty young women. The woman of Capri are very beautiful in youth. To this charm, many American artists have paid homage jmd selected for themselves wives from the young women of this island. Only in Capri, were we annoyed by beggars. Even here the beauty of their faces, the brightly colored costumes, the entire lack of any appearance of poverty afforded as much amusement as their persistent begging gave annoyance. A brief visit in Sorrento w^as filled with pleasure. The town is situated, with a far reaching view over the blue Mediterranean. To lovers of Tasso, it gave much satisfaction to look upon the house pointed out as his, to walk where he must have often passed when wooing the assistance of Calliope. To others of our party seeking material comfort combined with artistic beauty, the graceful wood carvings and finely woven silks proved a strong attraction. Unique enjoyment was afforded us by a company of graceful young men and women dancing the Tarantella. The old nursery rhyme. Ill "Laughing does a person good, Muscles exercising, Helping to digest the food, So 'tis not surprising," had a full trial as we watched the ludicrous combinations and startling figures of the national dance of Italy. However laughable the action, it is always the perfection of grace. It is doubtful whether an Italian could be surprised into awkwardness. Long will the members of our party, remember the cornucopia figure. We w^e so absorbed in watching the vigorous efforts made to ignite the "pendulous cornucopia," and all in turn so determined to succeeed in setting on fire the temporary resem- blance to Darwin's "missing link," that we became utterly oblivious of showers of wax from the candle, used as a taper, until, in despair of success in producing a conflagration, we glanced at our frocks and saw them plentifully covered with basso relievo in wax. One of our party suggested the appropriateness of the cornucopia dance as an addition to our American Christmas games. We doubt if it could be quite perfectly danced by others than Italians, and in the land where it is believed that the bite of the Tarantula has produced the variety of action in the Tarantella. We drove from Sorrento between orange groves from which were wafted to us rich fragrance, beneath over- hanging cliffs surmounted by the gray olives and often 112 along the shore of the deep blue bay of Naples, on through Castelamare to the splendors of buried Pompeii. "All have departed from this once gay haunt Of noisy crowds, and silence holds the air. Yet, on this spot, Time eives us to behold A spectacle as stern as those of old. As dreamily I gaze, there seem to rise, From all the mighty ruin, wailing cries." From the city of the dead, we went to La Cava, where we found very delightful entertainment in a little hotel wheie, for many weeks, stayed Bryant, and where his memory is held in very tender reverence.. It was a pleasant surprise to find a very lifelike portrait of our grand poet adorning the wall of the refectory. La Cava is a "poet's rest," where one may fitly call about himself "the fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.'' Nestled in a beautiful valley of the Appenines, with a monastery crowning the heights and a little stream "chattering on its way" to the sea, this lovely, little town offers rest to the weary traveller. The monastery is very rich in manuscripts, aud thus affords material in abundance for the student who stays his journeying footsteps to abide awhile beneath the 'shadows of the Appenines. From La Cava, many of us went to Paestum by the sea. Cities, like people, rise, fall and die. How sad to stand where once a glorious, busy, thriving mart mad« resonant with happy sounds the pulsing air, while now 113 desolation alone controls ! Are all the joyous utterances of the happy Greek colony once here, lost forever ? Or are the sounds still echoing through eternal space, still in the air around deserted Paestum ? The temple of Neptune, the perfection of architectural grace, attests the former glory of this doomed city. The sadness that creeps over one here becomes almost oppressiv:, and we feel like crushing out the rich vegeta- tion that, by contrast, heightens the dreary solitude. "And its roses, all in bloom, Seem to tinge the fatal skies, Ot that lonely land of doom." "Very enjoyable drives are found in the vicinity of La Cava, full of the beauties of nature, and the ruins of perfect art. By the Salernian Gulf, and north along the sea, a finely paved road winds in and out beneath the jutting rocks, "where the waves and mountains meet." Here lies Amalfi, a remnant of her tormer greatness. High above stands the monastery no longer occupied by monks. They, like the city, belong to the past. As we stood within the chapel of the monastery, a Capuchin monk entered, one who had been obliged to leave upon the adoption of the Act of Suppression, but who had become a parish priest in the town below, coming up daily to conduct the service in the chapel, for the visitors in the Monastery now used as Hotel. No longer, as in Longfellow's time, is this Monastic House, "lord of vineyards and of lands." It is in the 114 possession of persons who conduct a thriving hotel and pension business. No place of residence in Amalfi could be more beautiful than this convent perched "high in air." Far above all turmoil and traffic of the town, the resident here looks down over red-tiled roofs upon the blue Mediterranean over which bends lovingly the smiling heavens. At a short distance on the right, the Caneto rushes down through gorges ot the massive rock, while, all around, orange groves with their rich coloring of deep green and gold send puffs of perfume through the clear air. The winding stairway of several hundred steps, leading down into town, passes through many buildings, some of w^hich are private houses ; one was a large macaroni manufactory, at the doorways of which, upon the stairway, stood men with large quantities of macaroni, offering it for sale. Every where in the town are evidences of the former occupation of Amalfi by the Normans. They have left traces of the 'Sviid luxuriance of the architecture of the Saracens, adopted into the severe Norman style." "Where amid her mulberry trees, Sits Amalfi in the heat, Bathing ever her white feet In the tidelesa summer seas." From Amalfi, a drive of several miles through a severe rain storm tested the amiability of our party and rendered us quite willing to end carriage travel at La Cava and return to Naples by railway. At Naples, we 115 were sorry to lose from -our number, three enthusiastic, delightful travellers who possessed the rare quality of finding something pleasant everywhere and losing sight of all disagreeable occurrences. They possessed, in the truest sense, such characters as Milton gives to his Allegro. 116 CHAPTER xrir. A second visit to Rome, where every moment was filled with pleasurable work, found us even more re- luctant to leave the "city of buried Treasures" than we had been when we departed for Naples. While we discredit any truth in the legend of the Fountain of Trevi, it is a rather pleasing fancy, and half in earnest, half in sport, we availed ourselves of the opportunity to quaff its limpid water. From Rome to Pisa, the route lies so nearly parallel to the coast that the views are charming. A glorious sunset could never be forgotten by one who has watched the fiery whe>4 drop into the western sea, off the coast of Italy. Our company had become somewhat divided, several had gone on to Pisa by an early train ; four, whose sunny, sympathetic natures had rendered them particularly companionable, had decided to remain longer in Rome. How we sharply reproved ourselves for breaking the tenth commandment in respect to our neighbors who were to remain in Italy ! We honestly confess to coveting most strongly their opportunity of making a prolonged stay in the seven-hilled city. 117 Two of us, matron and maid, were left to make the journey from Rome to Pisa. We enjoyed a compart- ment by ourselves and broke the monotony of the journey by enforcing upon each other the full significance of the command that a person must not be permitted to sleep, in travelling over the Carapagna, during the evening. Each had a kind of malicious delight in rousing the other from the much desired nap. We arrived in Pisa at midnight, and, having satisfied the city ofiicial of customs that we were not engaged in the contraband business of smuggling tobacco and liquors, we were permitted to depart in peace to our hotel. A rainy Sunday in Pisa has all the elements of misery to be conceived. A drizzling, cold rain fell continuously from early morning to evening, making the streets quite as com- fortable for walking as if quantities of mucilage mixed with moist clay had been spread over the pavement. We were staying very near the Duomo, in what Taine <;alls dead Pisa, but did not visit it, in the midst of its unique and attractive surroundings, until the following morning when the sun shone gloriously over the perfect Baptistery, the Leaning Tower, the Cathedral and the Campo Santo. As we watched the hanging lamp in front of the Cathedral chancel, we sighed that it had nothing to suggest to us as centuries ago it had for Galileo. In the Cathedral there are very beautiful 118 frescoes by Andrea del Sarto, pictures of St. John and St. Peter; This may be dead Pisa but it contains the perfec- tion of richness. Here our footsteps lingered before the realism of Orcagna in the Campo Santo, but longer by the gracefully designed pulpit of Pisano. We wandered into new Pisa, into the midst of the mar- ket where buying and selling were holding the attention of all. At a small booth near the centre of the market, sat a group of women. engaged in the process of plucking the feathers from live birds. The nearly featherless bipeds were making much noise, the women w^ere talking in loud, shrill tones, and the feathers were flying in all directions. It was not a subject for a painter, but for a poet whose figures should be bold enough to describe the shrill cries of these feather-extractors. Pisa is charmingly situated. It is not strange that it should have been the successful rival of Florence, but that it should have lost the supremacy. The Arno here is broad and rushes on merrily to the sea. As we stood upon one of the bridges, we saw upon the embankment, a delicate woman slowly toiling on and drawing a boat by a rope fastened about her shoulders and waist, while the husband sat in the boat and directed. Was it the superiority of his mind that gave him the position of ease and -her that of drudgery ? 119 On the left bank of the Arno, close by the water, stands a little church, in Gothic architecture, built from black and white marble. It was erected and is supported by the sailors of Pisa. We learned that the custom pre- vails that, whenever a sailor is about to start upon a prolonged voyage, he comes to this little church of St. Maria di Spina for confession and absolution. The university of Pisa still holds high rank as an institution of learning and numbers among its instruc- tors many of the finest scholars of the age. From Pisa to Genoa, in and out of tunnels, from repeated darkness into daylight, we journeyed rapidly. At Genoa, an elaborately finished statue of Columbus stands in the middle of the piazza in front of the rail- way station. Could he have foreseen the mighty people now occu- pying the land discovered by him, he would have been almost dismayed at his own presumption in daring to open the gate of entrance to the w^estern world. The fine silver work of Genoa is fascinating to the traveller who strolls leisur. ly through the street of silver- smiths. The magnificent harbor, filled with masts of vessels- from all parts of the world, makes evident the fact that this is one of the best ports in Southern Europe. Many elegant palaces, with rich furniture of antique design, are open to travellers, but the most interesting spot in 120 this ''city by the sea" is the Cathedral. Its structure is very odd, uniting harmoniously three kinds of architec- ture. The rich decorations of the Byzantine are made to accord with the large bays of the Romanesque, while the beautiful Triforium is finished in the Gothic arch. It is decorated in the interior very effectively in black and white marble. A short drive, through a charming bit of landscape took us one morning to the Campo Santo, filled with very realistic statues. What a burlesque of human life, its fashions and habits, is displayed here ! Grief loses its sanctity when paraded before crowds of unsympa- thetic visitors. Perhaps the most absurd design in the Campo Santo, is that of a figure above lifesize, in long flow- ing robes, with arms outspread, standing upoa a heap of bones, in front of which are placed the skull and cross bones. Beneath this figure is the inscription, Ossaarida, audite verhum Domini. Far more pleasing would be the cemetery, with naught save the green turf above its quiet sleepers, than this exhibition of private griefs, in lasting marble. After a brief rest at Genoa, we pursued our journey to Mentone, along the Riviera. In Mentone, simple existence is full of delight. Nature has Deen most bountiful in her gifts to this favored spot. An almost perfect climate, rich vegetation and 121 delightful scenery render this an idyllic place of resi- dence. A few of our party, desirous of seeing the reputed home of Polyphemus in the mountains, and of visiting the convent of the Capuchins, enjoyed with great zest the comfortable mode of locomotion, but one not entirely graceful, riding upon donkeys. The concierge^ who spoke English with a certain degree of ease but often employed peculiar expressions, wishing to please the young ladies, desired to know just