(2^ 
 
MItS. WlI.l.IAM HDCKMAN. 
 
BACKSHEESH 
 
 A WOMAN'S WANDERINGS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. WILLIAM BECKMAN 
 
 TRAVELS IN EUROPE, ASIA MINOR, EGYPT, SYRIA, 
 AND PALESTINE 
 
 With Forty-Six Illustrations 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 THE WHITAKER AND RAY COMPANY 
 
 (Incorporated) 
 
 1900 
 
Coi'VKKiHT. liKIII. 
 
 HV 
 
 TlIK WHITAKEK ANIi RaY C'OMPANV 
 
For his patience during my absence, 
 his words of praise and kind encour- 
 agement, I gratefully dedicate these 
 sketches to 
 
 MY HUSBAND 
 
 and to a memory — the memory of 
 one whose wanderings are ended — 
 
 MY SAINTED MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PA HE 
 
 Austria 72-75 
 
 Dedication v 
 
 Denmark, Norway, and Sweden 39-()0 
 
 England 2-16 
 
 England Once More 264-265 
 
 Egypt 153-191 
 
 Finland 60-63 
 
 France 236-264 
 
 Germany 69-71 
 
 Greece 223-233 
 
 Holland 34-38 
 
 Homeward Bound 265-266 
 
 Introduction xi 
 
 Ireland 17-27 
 
 Italy 89-152 
 
 Italy Revisited 233-236 
 
 Off for the Old World 1-2 
 
 Palestine 191-210 
 
 Retrospection 266-270 
 
 Russia 63-69 
 
 Scotland 28-33 
 
 Switzerland 76-88 
 
 Syria 211-218 
 
 Turkey 218-223 
 
 vii 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PA<iE 
 
 Appian Way and Claddian Aqueduct, Rome 130 
 
 Arab Village on Nile 167 
 
 Arc de Triomphe, Paris 252 
 
 Ascending Cheops 162 
 
 Bandak Canal and Vrangfos 45 
 
 Beckman, Mrs. William Frontispiece. 
 
 Bedouin Peasants 157 
 
 Ben Nevis 29 
 
 Blarney Castle 17 
 
 Campanile, Florence 101 
 
 Castle St. Angelo, Rome 113 
 
 Coliseum, Rome 121 
 
 Columns at Denderah, Egypt 179 
 
 Crypt in Church of Capuchins, Rome 119 
 
 Forum, Rome 115 
 
 Gambling-Room at Monaco 239 
 
 Garden of Gethsemane and Mount of Olives 205 
 
 Historical Windmill at Potsdam 71 
 
 Ibrahem, my Dragoman 269 
 
 Jonah's Bay at Jaffa 192 
 
 Jordan River and Pilgrims 201 
 
 JUNGKRAU AND ElGER GlACIER 79 
 
 Kexilworth Castle 16 
 
 Lakes of Killarney 23 
 
 Little Backsheesh 203 
 
 Mars Hill, where St. Paul Preached to the Athenians 226 
 
 Mount Calvary, Jerusalem 196 
 
 Mount Palatine, Rome 125 
 
 Naples 147 
 
 Norwegian Church 40 
 
 Old Wall in Jerusalem 209 
 
 Overflowed Nile and Pyramids 159 
 
 Protestant Cemetery and Pyramid of Caius Cestius, Rome 142 
 
 RiALTO Bridge, Venice 92 
 
 Road Near Tokka River 47 
 
 Ruins of Karnak, Egypt 185 
 
 Street Scene in Pompeii 151 
 
 The Dead Sea 199 
 
 The House in the Woods 38 
 
 ix 
 
X Illustrations. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tdnnel on Dkvskak Pass 51 
 
 Typical View on the Nile 155 
 
 Venetian (iondola 97 
 
 View on Seine 247 
 
 ViKiNci Ship 43 
 
 Windsor Castle 35 
 
 Zi«i/A(i Road on ROldal 55 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To THE LOVER OF TRAVEL I tender this book. The title " Back- 
 sheesh," meaning a gift, is the one word no one who has trav- 
 eled in the Orient can ever forget. It calls up more pictures and 
 recollections than could any other word. It means Egypt and 
 the Pyramids, and that strange mystery the Nile, upon whose 
 banks repose the Sphinx. It means the Holy Land, the veiled 
 women and turbaned men; the piteous lepers who sit in the dust 
 by the wayside crying "Backsheesh," pleading for help even as they 
 did "when mankind's Friend found every man his foe." It means 
 the weary pilgrims toiling to the Jordan, and the wilderness where 
 the King of kings wandered, fasting and faint, yet with strength 
 sublime; as it speaks, also, from the desert where the silence rests 
 — a silence that has hovered over it as a curse, since it heard the 
 voice of the Eternal, broken now and then with the cry for human 
 help — heard with the low pleadings from prostrate figures in- 
 toning "Allah Ackbar," — "God is most mighty." It means the 
 Orient as it does the Occident, for everywhere one travels it is 
 heard, only under other names, a disturbing element, but one 
 that must be endured with patience, for the poor and pitiful find 
 life hard enough at its best. 
 
 I send forth this book, which consists of my ideas and descrip- 
 tions of the countries I visited, and were written hastily while 
 traveling from place to place. It is a record of my experiences 
 and impressions of places while fresh, and consequently accurate, 
 for it is all as I saw it in the following countries, enumerated in 
 the order through which I journeyed: England, Ireland, Scot- 
 land, Holland, Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland, 
 Russia, Austria, Hungary, Switzerland, Italy, Egypt, Palestine, 
 Syria, Turkey, Asia Minor, Greece, and France. 
 
BACKSHEESH; 
 
 A W^OMAN'8 ^\^ANDERINGS. 
 
 OFF FOR THE OLD \V ORLD. 
 
 " Not in a closed and bounded atmosphere 
 Does life put forth its noblest and its best." 
 
 A PALMIST read my hand one day, and said, "Yon will live to 
 !)(' one hundred years old. Yon will not die from drowning." 
 
 Thinking the prophecy over as I loitered up Market Street, in 
 San Francisco, in the early spring of 1899, a friend accosted me, 
 and asked me what weighty problem was racking my brain. 
 Repeating what the palmist had told me, I said, " It is no puzzle, 
 but a positive duty had been forced upon me to get ready for my 
 centennial birthday. I was going to store up for future contin- 
 gencies ; to prepare for the time when I could do nothing but 
 meditate. Consequently, I am going to travel to the Old World, 
 — the Land of the Midnight Sun, Russia, Egypt, the Holy Land. 
 I would see old Damascus, and look upon things so old, that, no 
 matter to what age I might live, my years would count for noth- 
 ing. I shall idle among ruins which were ruins before those 
 sand-di;nes lying out by the Golden Gate were. For a year or 
 more, while walking is still a pleasure and traveling a delight, I 
 shall wander. Will you go with me? " — "It has been the dream 
 of my life," was the reply, " and I will go." 
 
 Preparations were few; a former trip had been of such l)enefit 
 to me, that I knew the folly of overmuch luggage. Passports, 
 letters of credit, our rooms engaged on the St. Paul, and, one 
 balmy night in April, I bade good by, in Sacramento, to a host of 
 friends, who deluged me with flowers, tears, and kisses. Boxes of 
 dainty fruits and sweets, branches of orange trees laden with fruit 
 and blossom, tilled the drawing-room. Then we sped away over 
 the level Sacramento Valley, through all the night. Awakened 
 Ity tlie sound of running water, hurriedly dressing I went out on 
 
 1 
 
2 A Wiiman's \\'a.\I)i:hin(;s. 
 
 tilt' platform and lnvatlu-d the swta*t j)im'-sci'ntt'd air. watched 
 the limpid, sparkling waters, enjoying to the fullest the fresh, 
 Italmy morning and the scenery along the tortuous road; on 
 until tlear old Shasta's peak, white as the foamy clouds hovering 
 over them, was left in the distance. Thence on over the pictu- 
 res<iue Siskiyou Mountains to Portland and Tacoma. Mount 
 Rainier, looming uj) grandly like a huge frosted cake thousands 
 of feet in tlie rosy light of the evening's sun, saluted us as we 
 turned eastward, — the night — or was it something else? — that 
 dimmed my vision as tin- l;ist landmark of tlie \\^'st('rn coast 
 faded away. 
 
 Some days later we found ourselves on the steamer leaving 
 New York, with no friends or relatives to say good l)y. We 
 watched others weep and sol) at parting with loved ones, and 
 were glad the ordeal was si)ared us. Our trip was uneventful. 
 We two were good sailors, enjoying each day to the fullest, not 
 thoroughly understanding our ex-President Benjamin Harrison 
 when he remarked he did not " know wliy any one should follow 
 the sea for a vocation or go for a vacation." We encountered 
 no gales, icebergs or very rough weather, but wei-e delighted when 
 the I'ough Cornwall coast irrei'ted oui' vision. 
 
 Wf l.vxded at Southampton late in the evening, i)assing the 
 Needles and Isle of Wight when it was light enough to have a 
 good view. .Many of oui' passengers left for Lond(ui in a heavy 
 rain. We refused, and stayed until morning. We felt well re- 
 paid, after the gauntlet of the custom-house otlicials, who were 
 as severe with some as they were careless with others, left us 
 free t(^ start for London. 
 
 We were soon in the stuffy, queer little cars that are like 
 Tennyson's brook, in that they go on the same forever. Com- 
 fort, convenience, time, or enterprise touch not. change not. 
 Vou are put in, locked in. ami left to your fate. We sped away 
 from the queer old city, witli odd rows of houses looking so like 
 Christmas toys, in lengthy, compact rows, veering, turning to 
 
 CQ'd 
 
 rcz 
 
England. 3 
 
 suit tlie streets, airirressivcly })iishinf); up against the pavements, 
 witli no lawns in front. l)Ut each and every one possessing a tiny 
 baek yard walled in. where the owners may rest in security from 
 curious eyes. 
 
 On we sped, over the ])eantiful Devonsliire hills, the trees and 
 grass dripping and gleaming with the last showers of rain. 
 In the bloom and beauty of early s})ring, it was glorious to 
 breathe the balmy winds, odorous from wayside hedges, witli 
 orchards one mass of l)lossom and l)eauty; to see the well-kept 
 fields, sleek fat herds, no waste or neglect visil)le, l)Ut evidence 
 everywhere of a careful tilling of soil and caring for herds and 
 crops unknown in our country. 
 
 There were running l)rooks, broad uplands, forests, large es- 
 tates, and small farms in rapid succession; something at every 
 turn to please and delight the eye, making us glad indeed that 
 we had chosen to wait until daylight to come to London, where 
 we found ourselves after a two-hours' run. 
 
 Once again at Waterloo station, with my heart ))eating a little 
 faster as the well-remend)ered towers of the House of Parliament 
 greeted my eyes. Out from the turmoil of cal)s, muddle, and con- 
 fusion, with our baggage piled in and on a cab — there are no 
 checks, transfer-wagons, or conveniences here for travelers; it is 
 stand l)y your colors, or trunks, have your pennies ever ready, 
 and some one will do the rest. 
 
 And so we crossed the Thames, and right into London town, 
 we two among the countless thousands, yet caring as little for all 
 the strangeness around and as unconcerned as if on our own 
 streets. 
 
 We had planned a few days' rest; but how could one be quiet 
 at home? There is so much of interest, that one cannot rest until 
 fatigue overpowers, and we succumb. Regent Street, Oxford, the 
 Strand, Hyde Park, St. James, the Mall, Trafalgar Square — 
 every turn something historical. 
 
 Again in Westminister Al)ljey, I saw the innumerable niches, 
 busts, statues, slabs in walls and pavement, showing England's 
 appreciation of her illustrious dead — so many that the brain 
 wearies, and we go from the Poets' Corner, from where Dickens 
 rests, to the streets and ways he wrote of, which seem strangely 
 familiar, like tilings seen in dreams. 
 
4 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 And so \\v iio on, in tliis great city, from one thing to another, 
 — on the Embankment; to the ohl Tower, through the lialls and 
 corridors, teeming with relies and dust of ages; past tlie i)ietu- 
 res(iue heef-eaters who guard the entranees; from the instruments 
 of torture, the block, and rusty oM ax. to the square where so 
 many were beheaded. \N'e saw the crown jewels, some real, 
 others tawdry imitations. 
 
 Out of the dust and the gloom of tlie i)ast we find ourselves on 
 a modern boat, drifting down the Inisy Thames, wdth real joyous 
 life about us, and the fresh air in our lungs, until we found our- 
 selves at Greenwich, out in the }»aik among the children and 
 the tame deer, peaceful, ha})})y, anil content. The very atmos- 
 phere gave me a feeling of repose. I began to realize the freedom 
 and jov oi being away from all conventional rules and society's 
 wearving rounds. - - absolute freedom to wander at will whereso- 
 ever it ]>leased me — change, variety, something to divert, to enter- 
 tain, to instruct. The planet Saturn was in evidence at my l)irth. 
 Of such influences I am not prepared to discuss. I only know 
 I dislike rings and circles, just as I do the monotony of long, 
 straight roads or streets. Angles, abiuitt turns, corners, a rug- 
 ged, torn, indented W'all, anything that relieves, that detracts 
 from sameness, is restful and soothing to me. I did not wish 
 to go aidund this Old World; but just to find the angles and 
 scam}ter on the selvages of a goodly portion of the globe suits 
 my mood now. 
 
 The irregularity of London was charming to me from the 
 moment we entered the city. One's interest never flags in the 
 swarms of peo])le in the streets, endless lines of moving vehicles 
 and horsfs swinging along at a rajiid ti'ot. 
 
 '■ Keep to the left " is not an unwritten law, for the signboards 
 at the intersection of streets and all crowded thoroughfares say 
 it in liold letters. In America, " Hf s\n"e you're right, then go 
 ahead," is one of infancy's first lessons. It is the reverse here. 
 It struck me as rather peculiar at first. l)Ut. l)eing left-handed 
 myself, it came very easy, so 1 invariably walked on the odd 
 side of the street, and never looked to the right, if I chanced to 
 think of it in time. I enjoyed the irregularities of our left- 
 handed i-ousins. whether walking or driving through the curious 
 streets, which showed sueli \niexi)ected turns and al)ruj»t ter- 
 minations. 
 
Encu-and. 5 
 
 There are no squares. Circuses and queer courts greet one. 
 Glimpses of old churchyards, with a few yards of greensward, 
 beneath which lie those who grew weary of it all. and are at rest 
 now, while the active, l)uoyant life thrills al)ove the few feet of 
 earth covering the dead faces. 
 
 The Strand, Charing Cross, Oxford Circus, Waterloo Place, 
 Ludgate Hill, Piccadilly, Cockspur Street, — why enumerate 
 more? They are familiar to every one as are Madam Tus- 
 saud's wax-works or London Bridge. 
 
 Tram-cars are not allowed in the heart of London; so rapid 
 transit is found only by the underground railway, Init it is not 
 pleasant, — dim, smoke-begrimed tunnels, with occasional gleams 
 of light between stations, which are usually well lit. There is 
 almost a constant whirr of passing trains flashing by like huge 
 fireflies. The air is hard on lungs, but one must endure a goodly 
 portion of discomforts in traveling; and this old town is so im- 
 mense, that one must take advantage of the swiftest mode of 
 conveyance. 
 
 Kensington Palace, where Queen Victoria was born, was 
 scarcely as interesting to me as were the " eld Druid oaks " in 
 the park. 
 
 In all the parks and gardens it was the same, for it was June, 
 and the trees and flowers were at their best. Frequent showers 
 of rain kept them fresh and free from dust. Fragrant and 
 sweet were the buds and blossoms in Richmond Park, and the 
 view from Richmond Hill, where " lived a lass," is seemingly 
 unsurpassed by any in England. The scene is simply enchant- 
 ing, looking down on the lofty elms and grand old forest trees 
 growing in groups, detached, or crowding each other in minia- 
 ture forests. Deep patches of shade, and glint of sunshine lie on 
 tree, river, and slopes. I gaze through the blue mists enshroud- 
 ing Twickenham. There stood the house of Pope. Strawberry 
 Hill, the residence of Horace Walpole, is among the historic 
 places. There are beautiful vistas, and in whatever direction 
 the eyes turn there is no spot but has been written of, painted,, 
 or made interesting by the lives of great men. 
 
 The morning hours pass all too quickly. We cross the 
 Thames, and in a short time we pass through the gates and are 
 under the magnificent chestnut trees, now one mass of liloom. 
 
6 A Woman's \\'AM»FHiNfis. 
 
 l«)it«Tiiij; al<»ii^ tin- fra.L'rant |iatli> until we stoji in front of 
 Windsor's rival. Hamilton Court. I shall not attempt a 
 tU'scrijition; it is worth it. Its walls of red l)rick with stone 
 ornaments, its old towers, hattlenu'iits. and piteways, — the Anne 
 Boleyn esjiecially, — each and all seem to speak of the five cen- 
 turies of existence; of Wolsey, Henry VIII, Mary and Eliza- 
 beth. Cluirles I. Cromwell. Catherine, and Anne of Denmark. 
 There is so much at every an.irle of this historic building, in 
 every room, that one gets bewildered and confused. These great 
 men and wtniien of the ])ast. whose painted forms and faces line 
 the galleries, live in history, and sjieak of a jiast that is full of 
 interest. Tliere is dignity and grace al)OUt the dear old place — 
 battlements, tower, and roof crumbling with age. Greenish-gray 
 mosses covering them tells of age and the destroyer Time. I go 
 tlirough rooms, halls, and galleries so ripe with memories of the 
 illustrious dead, until, wearied, turn from them all. and wander 
 thi-ough the grounds, far more alluring to me than the building, 
 save from its associations with the past. The beautiful old trees 
 planted in long, convergent avenues; great, breezy stretches of 
 grass, where children and tame deer enjoy life, and frolic amid 
 the daisies. The song of birds came from leafy retreats; the 
 hum of bees among the chestnut blooms and fair, sweet l)lossoms 
 that grew everywhere, was soothing and softening. 
 
 I had not the courage to dispute with the custodian of the 
 famous grape-vine. He knew something about our beautiful 
 vine at Santa Barbara. He claimed his vine the larger of the 
 two, the average yield of fruit greater also; but truth compelled 
 me to say he was mistaken, and if he were not. that theirs was 
 oidy a hothouse jilant. grown imder glass, while ours grew in 
 the open, warm, Hower-scented air. Bud, blossom, and purple 
 fruit grew in luscious sweetness under the sun and twinkling 
 stars, with no covering but the sky's blue dome, while theirs is 
 never expensed to the ojten air. 
 
 The sun was sinking as we reluctantly left the jilace. a 
 drowsy hum was in the air. the liirds twittered softly from 
 hidden retreats, the droning sounds of insects tilled the ears 
 and the heart to overHowing, as tlie faint cadence came from 
 the bells as '"the lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea." The 
 fragrant winds waft tin- sounds sweetlv. tenderlv. to me as I 
 
ENCil.AM). 7 
 
 pause ou tlif bonier of a liuk't lake and watcli the swans move 
 silently among the water-lilies, see the gold-tisli flashing beneath 
 the surface, now and then causing a momentary ripple, as did 
 those wlio once tilled the cloisters and halls, who walked these 
 beautiful i)aths ere death's silence claimed them. We leave 
 the elm-shaded meads that border tlic Thames, glimpses of 
 vine-wreathed tower and cottage flash and fade; but in memory's 
 storehouse there are scenes that will not pass with the day, so 
 filled with dreamy content. 
 
 After some days spent in London, the galleries, and museums, 
 driving through Hyde Park. St. James, and Pall Mall, I was 
 glad when Derby Day arrived. It was all that could be desired, 
 — a beautiful, ty})ical California spring day. The capricious 
 climate could <lo no more for the "outing," wdiich is the year's 
 great event. Snowstorms and all sorts of bad weather have 
 spoiled the day of days in years gone by, but this was perfect. 
 
 The Derby is not compulsory, as formerly, — that is, society, 
 save for the "smart racing set," goes not down to the yearly 
 Epsom festival, — yet the smile or frown of the small fraction 
 known here as '"society" seems to have no effect upon the 
 attendance. 
 
 Prices on the coaches are rather high. l)eing al)out fifteen 
 dollars for a seat and luncheon. l>ut we had to see the Derby, 
 and Tod Sloan win or lose. So in the forenoon we started, 
 amid the din of horns, out and away, whither thousands were 
 going. It seemed as if we would never reach the country, there 
 were such interminable miles of streets, thronged by myriads 
 of human beings. Could it be possible, so many people w^ere 
 going, that so many would be left ? Finally, we struck the more 
 open ways — detaclied houses, green lanes lined with chestnuts 
 in full bloom, as were the hawthorn hedges; past residences 
 inclosed wathin high walls — the English are so for.d of hiding 
 within their own sacred precincts. 
 
 Suddenly we realized we were upon the Downs, and in every 
 direction every road, path, and field was one mass of people. 
 There were vehicles of every description in one continuous 
 stream, and the wonder of it! no confusion, no yells, no whip 
 ping of beasts, yet every horse apparently doing his best, and 
 having the strength to keep it u\): and they do it mile after 
 mile without urging. 
 
8 A Woman's \\'ani)i:i{in(;s. 
 
 I coulil tintl it in my licart to forjiivi' all tlicir shortroniin^.s 
 for the univt-rsal kimliiess shown to horses in all the multitu- 
 dinous life here, where horses are in great demand, for in tJie 
 center of London no trolley-cars are known, l)ut miles of 
 omnibuses, double-decked, are pulled by two horses, always at 
 a swift trot, always fat. sleek, and strong, ready to do double 
 the work our horses would ever lie able to do. The secret seems 
 to be the care taken, l^vcrvwhere. as we went along, vehicles 
 were drawn up by the roadside, and in every instance the horses 
 were eating. It was so after we had arrived at the races — 
 the horses were fed all day long. 
 
 People do not go to races or picnics and feast, here, and let 
 their horses starve. Every few miles the horses were given water 
 well thickened with oatmeal. Going and coming, at half-way 
 stations, the beasts were fed and rubl)ed down, and thus were 
 ready and strong for the whole day. 
 
 I have seen crowds in many lands and places, but never any- 
 thing apjiroaching this. Fancy nearly one million people going 
 to one iiarticular spot, every road one continuous stream, every 
 vehicle crowdeil to the limit — trains the same, many trudging 
 footsore, but happy, under the glorious sun that rained freckles 
 and sunburn on acres of faces, all uncaring for sun or distance, 
 only knowing that they would be in time for the races. 
 
 At length we arrived, and our coach was allowed within the 
 one-guinea limit. We found ourselves well phiced — near the 
 track, the grand stand, and the Prince of Wales and jtarty. It 
 seemed as if Tod Sloan and his odd way of riding (leaning low 
 down on the horse's neck) were quite as much discussed as the 
 horses. We. of course, wanteil him to win. and he did in a 
 race or two, but not in the Derby. The start was tine, and the 
 beauty of it, as they came down the green turf -so odd to our 
 unaccustomed eyes, that had never seen horses run on anything 
 but a smooth track. I think the great throng did not breathe 
 for a few seconds as they flew by. a flash of color, glorious in 
 strength and activity, a vision of horseflesh, a live, intense 
 straining, an eagerness for victory, men and bi-asts alike striving 
 for mastery. On they dashed, seemingly to skim the earth, the 
 graceful, beautiful horses so magnificent in motion, distended 
 nostrils, every muscle strained to the utmost, and then, as we 
 
En(;i.and. 9 
 
 saw Holocaust fall with a Itroken leg, and it was all over for 
 him, while the crowd cheered the Duke of Westminster's horse. 
 Thus fate willed the i)enultiniate Derhy of tlic century, one to he 
 rememhered with regret. 
 
 The Derhy was over, and we turned, with regret from the poor 
 horse, to see the life around us. Most picturesque were the 
 mimherless caravans of gypsies who had come from all parts of 
 the kingdom for the day. They are up to all sorts of devices to 
 gain a few coppers — honestly or not makes ])ut little difference 
 to them. The men were looking after the horses for a few pen- 
 nies the coachmen gladly give; children were hegging; women, 
 old and young, telling fortunes. 
 
 The " go-as-you-please " attitude of the multitude was an 
 instructive study, and I fain would have wandered longer among 
 the booths and sideshows, where truth is stranger than fiction. 
 
 In all my knowledge of books I have never read or understood 
 anything like a faithful picture of the English people out for a 
 holiday. The foolishness, the imbecility of the great crowd, 
 where the innocent and unsuspecting rul» shoulders with the 
 tramp, the thief, and the vagal)ond. Verily, it increases one's 
 might of wonder at the means whereliy the " other half " of the 
 world lives — if j'ou pause to think while you wander on the 
 fringe of the Downs on Derb}' Day. 
 
 Slowly enough came the last race. It was over, and the tide 
 turned homeward. ' I marvel even now how it was possible to 
 escape from it all without accident. There was no confusion; a 
 good-natured struggle, but orderly; horses good and honest as 
 the drivers; no nervous excitement; no clash of tongues or 
 whips; but out of the mob and home in the cool, evening breezes, 
 past endless throngs lining the wayside, watching the home- 
 coming; past thousands of children running after the coaches, 
 crying, " Throw out your moldy coppers." It seemed as if the 
 whole world of children had turned beggars. And so Dives 
 scattered the crumljs by the wayside for good or ill, — who knows? 
 The few who gain the crumbs are encouraged to ask again; those 
 not favored are discontented. 
 
 We are glad to be home; glad to have seen, to know what the 
 meaning of the day has brought for us. Of one thing we are 
 certain: that for all al)sence of comfort or convenience, for anv- 
 
10 A Woman's W amiki{1.\(;s. 
 
 thing s:ivt' Mistering: iu ;i liot sun, tatinj: hnuhei)n liom the top 
 of coac-ht's, drinking (juantitit's of warm champagne, and endur- 
 ing cheerfully all the discomforts of this day. exceeded any race- 
 course I have ever known or heard of. I will with pleasure 
 award the palm to these our cousins, take off my hat and say, 
 '* Enough; I have had my day. and am content." 
 
 It was not long hefore London tired me. Undergrt>und rail- 
 ways were l)ad. We weaiied of dim. mustv old crypts, where 
 royalty lies under carved stone, where statues, husts, heroic 
 end)lems. wonls of praise count as nothing now. and were glad 
 to get tiut. to till our lungs with i)ure, fresh air. and lie tliankful 
 we are living in the glorious present. 
 
 All the grand things one reads of seem to dwindle when one is 
 on the scene of action. For exanii)le. we witnessed the trooping 
 of the colors, whereat a numher of the royal family presided. 
 The Prince of Wales rode away through the dense crowd, and 
 the lew weak cheers that greeted him were all the more notice- 
 alile for the hearty greeting given the Princess as she followed 
 him. The people love her. and it jileases me to hear the hearty 
 greetings. They know and ap}irei'iate her truth and })urity. 
 
 One is soon disillusioned in going through places for which 
 London has long been famous. The Crystal Palace is a sort of 
 catchjiemiy affair, and does not i>ay for the going. 
 
 It will he long hefore I forget tlie afternoon spent with some 
 California friends after the drive and parade, where hospitality, 
 good cheer, wit. and wisdom were well mixed and well seasoned. 
 The evening was far advanced when T started in a hansom, 
 alone, for my hotel. The driver was filled with something he- 
 sides mere joy at thi' prospect of a fare. for. after driving me 
 through various intricate streets, he stopped at a corner and 
 said "Get out." I knew he was not at the number given him, 
 and said so; but he insisted it was in the middle of the block. 
 I looked around when I alighted, and knew he was not telling 
 the truth. I refused to pay him unless he took me to my hotel. 
 A crowd gathei-ed jn a moment. — a yelling, seetliing mass of 
 men. boys, and women. "Pay the man his fare"; "Want to 
 cheat a ]»oor cabby?" In vain I apjx'aled to a policeman; he 
 eitlier was in the same condition as cabby, or else would not 
 troulile himself with an American. So I was fort'e(l to i>ay 
 
England. 13 
 
 tlio faro; then a greater cry arose beeause I had not given tlie 
 exi)eeted "tip." Then the spirit of my forefathers arose, and 
 I said I would be sorry to break up a friendly feeling between 
 two nations, or institute a stay of proceedings regarding 
 international marriages, but I would stand by my convic- 
 tions, that he would never force a i)enny more out of my purse. 
 I walked on, with a mob howling at my heels, at ten o'clock 
 at night, not knowing in the least where I was, or what the 
 end might be, but ready to do and dare anything rather than 
 give in. It Avas pity that saved me, for out of the crowd came 
 a little girl, who ran up to me, saying, "Lady, I heard you say 
 where you wanted to go; I will show you." — " But I can tind a 
 sober policeman," I said. " O, please let me; I won't let them 
 hurt you." Rather than show lack of confidence, I assented, 
 thinking I would soon find my way, or some one to tell me 
 the street I wanted. A sudden turn, and I knew where I was, 
 so let the little barefooted girl go to the door, and gave her 
 cabby's "tip," and enough beside to make her never regret her 
 brave act. 
 
 I saw, among the many singers in London, Patti, who sang 
 in the Royal Albert Hall to an audience of eight thousand 
 people. It seems to me her voice is as sweet and clear as it 
 was years ago. We saw Bernhardt, also. It is wonderful to 
 see and hear these two women. The years seem to touch them 
 lightly, indeed; they seem destined never to grow old. We 
 saw so much that was good, — music, drama, etc., — that it is 
 needless to dwell on it longer. 
 
 The trip to Windsor is lovely, and the old palace grand, l»ut 
 the state apartments have not been renovated in ages; the 
 hangings in many rooms are worn threadbare, and so faded that 
 the custodians who show them seem called upon to apologize, 
 telling us they looked much better when filled with flowers and 
 decorated for receptions. The view from the tower is unsur- 
 passed; the park, wooded hills, the river winding through it, are 
 all one could desire. So is St. George's Chapel, famous for 
 weddings, christenings, etc., that it is needless to dwell thereon. 
 
 More than Windsor did we enjoy the drive to Eton and on to 
 Stoke Poges, through green lanes, on a dusky afternoon, in a 
 carriage with horse and driver in strict accord with the dreamy 
 
14 A Woman's \\'am>i:ki.\(;s. 
 
 old place. Near tlu' nld churi'li is tlic home of William Ptiiii, 
 l)Ut. save tiie location in a lovt-ly okl park, wc cared not. 
 
 But what tender memorie^^ surged up as we stood beneath the 
 (dd ■■ yew's shade," and l)y the tomb where rests one the civilized 
 world loves. Gray's Elegy and the writer will be rememl)ered 
 in all the ages to come. '" The curfew tolls the knell" as we 
 stood in the old church he loved so well, which fills one's idea of 
 infinite peace and rest. It is changed l)ut little since he lived, 
 loved, and wrote of it. The very atmosphere breathes of con- 
 tent, of worship. In strong contrast to all, there, where life's 
 vanities and vexations seem to enter not, from the peace and 
 rest, where kindness and good-felhUvship abound. I turn to an- 
 other scene. 
 
 I recall crowds of church iK-ople as I saw them on Sunday at 
 Hyde Park. — gay promenaders, who make "church }nirade" such 
 an event that thousands go to view the folks as they meet here 
 after divine service, passing and repassing in countless numbers, 
 vieing with each other in gorgeous raiment. Ladies gowned as 
 if for swell functions, and save for the fact the shoulders are 
 covered, there is little difference between cliurch gowns and the 
 opera. They talk, chat, and flirt in picturesque places, under 
 the great trees, among the flowers, and it is all very sweet. v(M-y 
 pretty; pleasant to look at. also. Init we wonder if this i> done in 
 the spirit of true religion. Perhaps it is all right, l)ut for the 
 weary soul longing for something better, for something the world 
 cannot give, it seems to me the quiet old church at Stoke Poges 
 would be the one to seek. 
 
 At Stoke Poges we are reveling in green tieids. tilled witli 
 herds, whiling away hours, feeding the tame deer, and playing 
 with the little fawns, scarcely larger than the rabltits among 
 them. We frighten grouse, and rest beside the hawthorn hedges, 
 now t)ne mass of i)ink and white flowers; loiter by swift, 
 limpid streams, see the fish lea})ing up, and I long for a line, 
 
 — I might catch a " h'eel," as one fellow said he would do, 
 but, though I waited jiatiently, I did not see an eel. 
 
 We have seen many lovely homes, and know something of 
 the typical PZnglish life not to be found in cities. The road 
 from Stoke Poges to Stratford-on-Avon is ideal in its sweetness, 
 
 — a succession of stone walls, green hetlges, trees that meet over- 
 
England. 15 
 
 head, — what a lesson our penjilc iiii,i;lit learn from it. Kverv 
 road is lined with trees; all over the titdds they are carefully 
 preserved. If a tree dies, one is immediately put heside it, 
 and surely it is worth while. 
 
 At Sti'atford, we were in the old house where Shakespeare 
 was born, and we wandered througli woods and fields he loved so 
 well. At every turn we find something interesting. We are 
 housed in the ([uaint^'st of quaint inns; the rooms furnished 
 in the style of a eentury ago. Each has a story and a name; 
 one is labeled "Love's Labor Lost"; another, "A Midsunnner 
 Night's Dream"; but each and all l)espeak comfort, rest, and 
 such dreams as fragrant summer nights might bring. 
 
 We have all sorts of experiences. They seem to think here 
 that two women traveling alone have no right to the earth, or 
 the things in it. or on it. unless we plaster it with gokl. We 
 feel, however, that we have been equal to emergencies, going 
 about with the blissful thought that there are two Americans 
 who have the desire to do what is right — and draw the line at 
 that. 
 
 In regard to giving certain tips, a fellow said to me. •' Two of 
 your countrymen treated me very well last year," and added, 
 " It is customary to give accordin' to yer means." I rej)lied, 
 " My custom is, for value received and services rendered, give 
 according to your sense and judgment, then sto]) at that." 
 
 Whatever the cause I know not, but England will soon outdo 
 Italy in beggars. The bone and sinew of the country do not 
 hesitate to accept a pittance, and not for any real service 
 rendered — only it is customary, they say. The poorest of our 
 laborers would scorn to take such gratuities; if they did, they 
 would lose their manhood and self-respect. 
 
 We have visited Warwick Castle and many other i)laees in 
 this vicinity, finding in each something interesting and well 
 worth the time; finding, also, this the first place where we 
 could rest and recuperate from the fatigue of traveling since 
 leaving home. 
 
 We purposely left Kenilworth for the last. It was on such an 
 afternoon as Ossian descril)es, when the sun went down in dusky 
 red behind a dim, l)lue mist that hung over the distant hills, 
 fields, and woods, that we entered the urav. crundilinii old ruins 
 
16 
 
 A W'dman's Wandkiun* 
 
 wliosf niiirvt'lniis Ix-auty caniint l»i' (U'Si-ril»i'(l. Its liistory is too 
 well kiinwii to l»e repeated ; but the grandeur of it, tlie charm of 
 the nicaddws as seen from the crumbling towers, pass descrip- 
 tion. The mind goes V)aek to tlie fifteenth century, to the 
 splendors of years long gone. All is (juiet and peaceful now, 
 except the noise from a flock of rooks gathering in the evening, 
 seeking shelter among the ivy l>ranches clinging so lovingly 
 to the old walls. In a quadrangle a peacock's shrill note 
 causes us to look at him, spreading his bright plumage against 
 the dull-gray background — a flash of color and brightness, 
 just a little reminder of past glory. We sat there, wrapped 
 in thought, tlie solemnity stealing into the soul, steeping the 
 senses, mitil our driver, weary of waiting, and wanting his 
 evening meal. doul)tless, aroused us to the fact that night was 
 around us, and, still in dreamland, as it seemed, we left; and 
 in dreams that followed, Kenilworth and the past and present 
 were mixetl and interwoven until another day, and real life, 
 came hack to us. 
 
 KKNn.WOHTH CASTI.K. 
 
IRELAAD. 
 
 Y\ii)y\ Holyheixil to Ireland ue wont acrosi? on the steamer 
 Bantilxx', making the trip in about three hours. The sea was 
 with«^ut a ripple, blue and misty, as was the sky overhead. 
 t^uch a blending of sky and sea that it hardly seemed real 
 until we entered the harbor of Dul)lin, and knew, without the 
 telling, we were in the Liffey. Shades of departed ages, what 
 ean compare with the smells of this old river ! For the sake 
 of generations to come, we were glad to learn later the system 
 (tf sewerage is being changed, and in the near future the Liffey 
 will be what it should have been years ago — a beautiful stream. 
 
 I fain would describe the novelty of seeing Dublin on a 
 jaunting-car. One day's experience was worth something, but 
 the wrenches and aches following the ride were not so pleasant. 
 Being urged to go again on the following day, I was informed, 
 as if to settle the matter at once, that the nobility of England 
 
 i;l..\KNKY CA^TLK. 
 
 17 
 
18 A W'ti.MAN".- \\'.\M)i:iUN(iS. 
 
 had ridden in such cars. -And, sure mum, you're hioking 
 heartier than any of them." made me feel it was useless to 
 demur. So we drove throuji;h Sackville Street, past Nelson's 
 Monument. Hank of Ireland, and Trinity College. Stei)hens 
 Green and Ph«enix Park we saw afterwards, at our leisure. 
 
 In St. Patrick's Cathedral, among the things I recall are 
 two marhle slahs which cover the quiet earth where rest Dean 
 Swift and she who was the '"Stella" of his })oetry. Looking 
 upon the slal). I wondered wliy he aftirmed that hippiness 
 hereon earth consisted in '•l)eing well deceived." Was it specu- 
 lation? or was he so well deceived, that deception made him 
 hap})y and content? 
 
 We stood in the cemetery at Glasnevin, and saw where lies 
 Parnell. without stone or granite column, but there are flowers 
 there, and evidence of loving remembrance. The shaft in 
 memory of O'Connell is very imposing, such as I am sure 
 will be put up before long over Parnell. 
 
 In old Dublin we saw much of poverty and sorrow that we 
 gladly would have missed, only our driver was conscientious, 
 and insisted that we had the right to see both sides of the 
 picture. 
 
 A day that was like a dream was spent in County Wicklow, 
 driving through green lanes, lovely dells, and cool, sweet 
 Dargle. I recall the Lover's Leap, and the lazy old beggar 
 seated on a moss-covered lioulder, evoking plaintive, quavering 
 notes from a shaky old violin, which were in harmony with 
 the faint sounds that came uj) from the silvery-threaded 
 Vartry, which sang on its way, every rod a liquid poem, far 
 below where we sat and reveled in the delicious coolness of 
 the wind-swept jutting rocks. The few pennies ])estowed upon 
 the mossy old minstrel made his heart glad, and the blessings 
 poured upon the heads of the "fair ladies" were no liindrance 
 to our day's enjoyment. 
 
 The village of Kilkenny, with its odd thatched roofs, the 
 children, pigs, and goats living together in peace, if not in 
 plenty, was charming to see. The happy, good-natured people, 
 the pleasant smiles, and hearty assistance that is given with 
 no thought of reward, constitute one of the greatest charms of 
 Ireland and her ]ifople. 
 
Ireland. 19 
 
 We were overtired with cities, and soon left for Bray, remain- 
 ing ten days, for rest and sea-batliing. Tliis delightful little 
 watering-place is beautifully located, and it was hard for us to 
 leave. The walks, drives, and boating are matchless. I recall 
 an afternoon spent on the slopes of Bray's Head, which is a 
 poem in itself, lying listless among the tall grasses and red- 
 topped clover, with the hum of bees about me, sweet odors from 
 countless flowers, breezes blown from hedges gleaming with wild 
 roses and honeysuckle, all mixed and interwoven with songs 
 from the Inrds, while away up and overhead a frivolous lilting 
 air, that went to the heart as an intoxicant goes to the head, 
 came the clear, joyous notes of the skylark. The winds caught 
 the melody and carried it floating and wavering away, like the 
 downy, feathery ball that is l)lown from the dandelion, while, as 
 a sort of accompaniment from the dim, misty sea far below, 
 came the muffled sound of waters dashing on the rock-girt 
 shores. 
 
 Out and over the sea, that spread without l)reak or wave, lay 
 the Hill of Howth and lighthouse, where we s})ent one beautiful 
 day. Nearer was Kingstown, with Dul)Iin harbor between. I 
 turned from it to the western hills. A l)road shaft of sunlight 
 struck on the ])lue peaks, while the eastern sky was green and 
 opal; below, the long lines of gray stone houses, with slate roofs, 
 blending so beautifully with the varied foliage of forests in the 
 background — a faint rosy mist — a confusion of gold and 
 orange hovered over the sea, so, with eyes filled with the 
 glamour of the sunset, and, perhaps, something else, as the sun 
 went Pacitieward — I came down the path lined with gra}^ stone 
 walls, under cliffs overhanging the sea, looking at the ships 
 dotting the water, listening to the puffing of the tiny toy-like 
 engines pulling the equally small cars over a roadl)ed unequaled 
 for smoothness and solidity. I wonder why our roads are so 
 inferior to these, when our cars are such marvels of comfort 
 compared to the best here. 
 
 Down on the Esplanade, as we sat in the twilight, a poor 
 woman stopped near us, and in a thin, quavering voice that, 
 despite its weakness, was full of pathos and melody, sang 
 " Kathleen Mavourneen." We gave her some coins and asked 
 her to tell us why she sang for the pennies, which, to judge from 
 
20 A Woman's \Vani)K1{J.N(;s. 
 
 her ajipt'araiK-i'. wvw pitt-ously ivw. ^hv said ht-r huf^liand was 
 ill; that she had tliirteen children, the eldest of whom was mar- 
 ried, with two hahes and a worthless husV)and adding to the moth- 
 er's burden. "• I can do no less." she said, " than share my last 
 potaty with her." 
 
 And so the story eould go on. From the hills it is so beauti- 
 ful, one can scarcely imagine aught of sorrow or distress in the 
 world down among the crowds, where children swarm like bees. 
 
 We saw the crowded streets, the boatloads of men and boys 
 from all over Ireland, crossing to England for the harvesting, — 
 nothing for idle hands to do here, — so many, many people, so 
 little land to cultivate. The immense holdings, like those of 
 Powerscourt, Meath, and others, the vast estates wherein are 
 deer, herds of cattle, rabbits, and birds, all well cared for ; sleek, 
 fat, sheltered from all harm and danger, while all over the beau- 
 tiful country is heard the cry from the starving, helpless throngs! 
 I wonder if there will ever be an accounting or reckoning in this 
 land, where the gentry, as they call them, own the land, keep- 
 ing it for uses above mentioned, and force people into cities, 
 where poverty and pauperism run riot. 
 
 So many inquire eagerly about America. One girl, who works 
 in a hotel, harder than any slave in the old days, not knowing 
 what it is to have a day off, or evening either, for that matter, 
 gets a dollar and a quarter per week ! Everywhere it is the 
 same, — so many people, so little to do. I think it would be well 
 if Church and State would make it a crime for a child to be born 
 of })oor parents for the next hundred years. I am sure Heaven 
 would approve the law. 
 
 The visit to tlic \'ale of Avoca was one that lingers with 
 me like a strain of sweet music. An emerald valley nestling 
 among green hills breathes of poetry and romance. There, 
 under a magnificent oak, Moore wrote "There is not in this 
 wide world a valley so sweet." and just at that point the 
 Avonmore and Avonl)eg unite and rijipio joyously along, and, 
 though the vale is small and the twin rivers scarcely more 
 than a mere brook, the effect is all one could wisli. Size, 
 rusli, and roar are not all that is desiral)le in rivers. 
 
 We went to Glendalough and Seven Churches. We sat in the 
 wishinu-ehair of St. Kevins, and were assured bv the guide 
 
I UK I. A NO. 21 
 
 that W(_' would lu'vcr have iK-aclachc. liackaclu-, (if any other 
 ill. We i>ai(l for it all, and took the unleavened truth with- 
 out salt, just as we do our ))utter. and went on thinkini: tiie 
 larks very wise hirds for refusinj; , to sing in Olenda lough, 
 preferring, like ourselves, the uplands, fields, and meadows. 
 
 We drove four miles thrcnigh a beautiful country to visit 
 Melleray, a Trappist monastery. They live a very secluded 
 life, have some eight hundred acres of tine land, make what 
 they wear, and raise what they eat. They arise at two in the 
 morning. In speaking to one of the brothers, I said I should 
 not mind it so much in summer. '"Oh, yes," he replied, "it 
 is far better in winter. It is so cold then, one does not feel 
 sleepy, as during the w\arm days." That is the whole of it — 
 to suffer, to endure; and why ? I can never believe that an 
 all-wise Providence intended that flesh and blood should so 
 suffer. They do so much good, help the poor, educate them, 
 care for them, and that of itself is meritorious. 
 
 From there we went back to Cappoquin, thence l)y l)oat 
 down the Blackwater, or "Irish Rhine," to Youghal. It was 
 a beautiful trip, and interesting. As I stood by the captain's 
 side, hearing stories of feudal times, looking at the mossy, ivy- 
 covered remains of old castles and towers, the bright light lay 
 upon the mottled surface of ancient walls, and the winds blew 
 fresh from the small patches of new-mown hay. There were 
 still bits of water where swans floated among white water- 
 lilies, followed l)y their fuzzy little ones. There were the 
 lovely roads, the very acme of comfort for cyclists, pleasant 
 wooded paths, and cool nooks for anglers. There were fisher- 
 men in boats, with nets for salmon-fishing, each man or 
 family paying for the pleasant pastime seventy dollars, for the 
 season, to the Duke of Devonshire, who owns the river, as well 
 as the land, it appears. 
 
 In Youghal we visited the house of Sir Walter Raleigh and 
 the old cathedral, one of the first of Ireland's Franciscan 
 abbeys. The old custodian was delighted when we told him 
 we were from California. He had ]>een in San Francisco in 
 '52. His white, weird face seemed Ijathed in a sort of moon- 
 light, a reflection of his surroundings, possibly, with the yearn- 
 ings of a whole lifetime in his eves. He said. ■" Vou are to 
 
22 A Woman's W.\M)Kkin(;s. 
 
 be envied; why do you travel? 1 would rather he " lynched' 
 or hanjred in California than die liere." Strange contrariety 
 of human nature! His life seemed so peaceful, there among 
 the trees and flowers V>looming over the dead, the majesty of 
 the old abbey and gray mottled, vine-wreathed walls, a dear 
 little house, and sweet old wife to care for him — still, that 
 longing to be by sundown seas ! We had a cifp of tea with 
 them, and left the two by their cheery peat fire. 
 
 From Youghal to Cork, a short distance by rail, from the 
 Blackwater, and old feudal castles, and lawless feudal times, 
 to the bustle of a modern town, electric cars, lights, bright 
 cheery houses, and, best of all, a good hotel, I rest, and am glad. 
 The days that followed were bright, the weather perfect. 
 We went to Queenstown, and were surprised to see so beau- 
 tiful a place; the harbor is tine, and a miniature Golden Gate 
 greeted us with strangely familiar points. We heard the famous 
 bells of Shandon, and, as in duty bound, went to Blarney Castle, 
 and at no small risk of life and an utter disregard of the 
 spinal column, kissed the Blarney stone — foolish, probably, 
 but they who would be shy of foolish and inane frolics should 
 not go there. 
 
 Our visit to Killarney was not all we desired. From Glen- 
 gariff to the lakes, a distance of forty miles, w^e drove through 
 a rainstorm that meant business a great portion of the way. 
 Our storm-coats did good service, but were not altogether 
 proof against the rain. Umbrellas were torn and rendered 
 useless; but it was warm, so it did not matter greatly. There 
 were fourteen of us in an open coach. All fared alike, and 
 there was no grumbling. Occasionally there was a lifting of 
 the curtain that enveloped the hills; then the clouds would 
 break away. The sun, at intervals, gave us beautiful rainbow 
 effects, as well as glimpses of purple mountains and deep 
 ravines, as we drove on, past the vast peat-beds, and the 
 immense heaps of queer little brick-shaped pieces drying 
 (which, by the way, I may add, is not used by the poorer 
 classes alone, but is quite the fad in select London homes). 
 
 There seemed but little effort in an agricultural way along 
 the whole route; mostly grazing lands, each little patch sur- 
 rounded by stone fences, and while the herbage was not very 
 
Ihki.axd. 25 
 
 abundant, the goats and Kerry t-ows looked in far better con- 
 dition than the people. 
 
 Our driver told us many quaint stories while })ointing out 
 the historical and local points of interest over the mountains. 
 One, I remember, was of an old lady who lived in the vicinity 
 of the Blackwater, who, at the age of one hundred and forty, 
 climbed a cherry-tree in search of her favorite fruit, fell from 
 the tree, and so cut short a life doubtless well spent. I tind 
 they have their cherry-tree stories here also; this heroine was 
 lucky, however, in finding a tree, for I have seen no orchards 
 whatever in all of Ireland. I heard of some apple trees near 
 Cappoquin, and was i)romised some cider, luit had only the 
 promise. 
 
 The day following the storm was pleasant, and we enjoved 
 the lakes greatly. They are well worth the trouble experienced 
 in getting to them, Init I could not, in all conscience, grow 
 wild over " crags that lift to clouds their scraggy heads," all 
 of which reads well, l)ut I doubt very much if Moore had 
 traveled extensiveh' — or, if he had, he was given a bit to 
 exaggeration. 
 
 After Alaska and our own mountain scener}', they seem tame 
 enough, though there is no doubt about the clouds wreathing 
 their scraggy heads; they drift so low, the trees are high enough 
 for that purpose. It is not the height, however, that gives 
 beauty; they are not grand nor majestic, but there is a love- 
 liness hard to describe. 
 
 From the higher peaks to the lower levels the air was 
 fresh and pure, the sun sparkled on the gleaming waters, 
 dotted with such dear little islands, clothed in trees and ver- 
 dure to the very water's edge. Then the wealth and ])eauty 
 of a foliage and undergrowth we know nothing of at home. 
 The larches and beech trees were lovely and the music of 
 the birds, ever around us, clear and sweet; the thrushes sang 
 from swaying boughs, the saucy robins chirrui)ed everywhere, 
 the blackbird's flute-like notes came from the marsh-lands, 
 tiny warblers piping from the dense holly trees, making the 
 whole perfect as to melody, song, and rural beauty. 
 
 Muckross Abbey, Ross Castle, and the drives in and around 
 Killarney cannot be forgotten — especially a trip through the 
 
2(> A Woman's \\'AM)KiuN(i8. 
 
 Kenmjire estate, where we drovf tlnou^Mi avenues of magnificent 
 lime trees, miles of greensward, with (h-cr. rabbits, herds of 
 cattle, and the hum of insects in our tars — the very fullness of 
 summer life in evidence everywhere, a blending and commin- 
 gling of all the sweet, strange sounds one hears in the woods. 
 
 We were quite pleased with Limerick, it Ijeing the first place 
 that looked like one of our own cities. The streets are broad 
 and clean, save in some portions. We were most interested in 
 the old " treaty stone," which every son of Erin, at least, remem- 
 bers. I cannot recommend Limerick for a long stay, however. 
 We were forced to remain over Sunday, l^ecause no trains enter 
 or leave on that day, which is well enough — only on Monday, 
 at the station, it took three men and a boy half an liour looking 
 over time-tables, books, and statistics to tell us how we could get 
 to Belfast, and then they neglected to mention we had to change 
 in half an hour after leaving Limerick. We know by this time 
 to be on the alert, and trust no man, especially if he is an official. 
 He may, if very bright, know something about tiie road to the 
 next station — beyond ihat it is not safe to trust liini. 
 
 In a run of ten hours that day, we had five minutes to get a 
 cujiof tea and a stah' l»un. in cars noted for being uncomfortal)le, 
 with no accommodations whatever; yet the fares are more than 
 double what ours are at home. 
 
 It was a pleasure to travel in the north of Ireland, the country 
 was so fertile and prosperous. The scenery through the valley of 
 the Boyne was interesting, well wooded, richly cultivated. Here 
 was the battle-ground of James II. and the Prince of Orange. I 
 saw Drogheda, and a tliought of stern old Cromwell's merciless 
 campaign comes to me. Dundalk. wherein was crowned the last 
 of Ireland's kings. Edward Bruce, who was killed near here, not 
 many months after, hy the British. 
 
 Manufactories were everywhere, for here are where the beauti- 
 ful linens are made; well-tilled fields, houses, and cottages giv- 
 ing evidence of thrift and enterprise; no desolate homes or for- 
 saken patches left by tenants, — whether V)v misfortune or indo- 
 lence we know not, l)Ut making the south of Ireland in many 
 places a pitiful s{)ectaele. 
 
 Belfast is a beautiful city, and very prosperous. We visited 
 many factories, and the peoi)le seemed cheerful and happy; the 
 
Ireland. 27 
 
 linens and laces tem})teil us greatly, but a wave of patriotic feel- 
 ing, or a fear of duties on such when we got to New York, made 
 us leave them with sighs of regret. 
 
 In a neat, well-kept park I saw a castle, whose owner once said, 
 "he would not exchange for a seat in heaven." How these peo- 
 ple love their homes; and this one, surely, was beautiful enough 
 to make the old man thoroughly satisfied with his earthly sur- 
 roundings, but some one else now enjoys the home he once loved 
 so well. 
 
 The factory people do not seem to be so downtrodden and V)ur- 
 dened with work that they cannot enjoy life. One evening a 
 picnic party headed by a band returned as the factory crowds 
 were pouring into a square in front of my hotel. The musicians 
 struck up a lively air, and instantly hundreds were seen dancing, 
 young and old, in the very ecstasy of delight, and, too, as though 
 it were the easiest thing in the world to cut capers on those hard, 
 stony streets, — nearly every soul barefooted, Init enjoying the 
 jig in the fullest measure. 
 
 I saw Londonderry, and lovely Loch Foyle, and the Giant's 
 Causeway. This marvelous basaltic promontory extending quite 
 a distance out into the sea, composed of huge piles of prismatic 
 columns, which range from triangular to nonagon, are quite 
 compact. 
 
 The old round towers, cliffs, and ruined castles, crumbling old 
 vine-wreathed churches, scenes of pastoral loveliness, I leave 
 with regret. We unfurl our flag to the breeze, for this is the 
 Fourth of July. A part of the day is spent in Ireland. Late in 
 the afternoon we embark at Larne, crossing over to Stranraer. 
 
SC f)TLA\D. 
 
 ScAKcKl.Y liad we h-ft tlu- harlior ln-fort' the dim outlint's of 
 S('otl;ui<l aj)i»<':irc(l al'ovc tlit' stivtcli (»f water that lay smooth 
 and >iiarkliiiL' lictwccii tin- two countries. The tri}* across was 
 ideal in its loveliness. Erin's shores, her little })atehes of farm- 
 lands, a rejiular network of stone fences and irreen hedges, were 
 scarcely out of sight ere we landed, and the exiiuisite scenery of 
 the land of heath and broom charmed our eyes, as we sped on in 
 the glory of sunset and a twilight marvelous in s|)lendor and 
 clearness. The sun disappeared at 8:45. l»ut when we stopi)ed at 
 Glasgow at 11, there was still a broad, vivid streak in the west. 
 
 I saw the parks that skirt the river Clyde, Catlin Hill, the 
 l)lace where Mary Queen (^f Scots witnessed the defeat of her 
 forces, and the old cathedral. Also, the statue of John Knox, 
 whose memory the Scots love and revere, is in the necropolis, 
 and towers above the toml)s of many of earth's great men. 
 
 The river is filled with shipping of all kinds; there are 
 deafening sounds from places where there are in process of 
 construction shii)s in every stage of advancement. It was in 
 Glasgow that Watt first demonstrated that steam could be 
 used as a motive power, and here the first steamer in Europe 
 was launched. 
 
 The trip from Glasgow to Oban, through the Crinan canal, 
 to the islands of Staffa and lona, was delightful; the weather, 
 so often capricious, was charming; islands, lochs, bays, and 
 inlets were at every turn, rugged, bleak, lofty, soft, and fair. 
 
 Staffa is a conglomeration of l)asaltic columns like the 
 Giant's Causeway. Here I saw the noted cave of Fingal, richly 
 tinted by the light i)ouring in. glorifying the columns in gor- 
 geous tints; the moaning of spent waves rolling in. ever and 
 forever, over the low pillars are awe-insi)iring, and are strangely 
 disturl»ing. There were strange, echoing sounds, as of harps, 
 among the rocks; the hum of songs in the woods, moans and 
 sighs. Was it Fingal's song of mourning over Moina ? Odd 
 bits and sentences from (^ssian came to me: "My soul melted 
 away in the sounds"; •'The white waves tremble ui)on the 
 rocks"; "•There is a murmur in the heath"; "■ Like the last 
 
 28 
 
Scotland. 31 
 
 sound of the wind, when it forsakes the wood." The ])hice is 
 alluring, but I must not tarry. 
 
 After this we went to the island of lona, a few miles farther on. 
 This was formerly the burial-place of Scottish kings. Mac- 
 beth and his victim, Duncan I, were interred here, and in St. 
 Mary's Cathedral were ])uried many Lords of the Isles. 
 
 At Ayr I stood upon the '' twa brigs " made immortal ))y 
 Burns. I saw the small, two-roomed cottage, and the bed in a 
 curtained recess, where he was l)orn. I idled along the ])anks 
 of the bonnie Doon. I saw the "auld l)rig" of Tam (3'Shanter, 
 and "Alloway's auld haunted kirk," where Burns's parents rest 
 'neath the sod. There is so much to see and enjoy. A grate- 
 ful people show their regard for the man who "made the 
 language of his country classical." In this vicinity Burns 
 wrote of his "sweet Highland Mary," and elevated the calling 
 of the dairymaid forever after in the region — 
 
 " Where the Doon runs wimpliu' clear." 
 
 From Glasgow we went through the Trosachs and made a tour 
 of the lakes. These, like Killarney, have l)een so sung in song 
 and story that it were useless for me to attempt a description. I 
 think everything was at its best; never was a day so i)erfect. 
 The sparkle of the waters, the rugged grandeur of the mountain 
 slopes, pleasant stretches of woodland scenery, the varied greens 
 of larches, silver birches, fir, and oaks, and the heath was in the 
 glory of bloom. Loch Katrine, Ben Lomond, Ellen's Isle, and 
 the thousand points that spring up in bewildering array until 
 the eyes tire and the senses are numbed. Our route was varied; 
 boats on the lakes, carriage-drives between them, ending at Aber- 
 foyle, where we took the railroad for Edinburgh. 
 
 During the latter part of the drive we were told to look at the 
 little square blocks of thin board hung on the telegraph wires. 
 The driver said it was to protect the grouse, as they flew and 
 were killed by the wires, unless the little reminders were there to 
 show them they were to be avoided. I felt inclined to say some- 
 thing, so remarked, "They are very humane people here; thej^ 
 protect the birds from the wires, so they may have the pleasure 
 of shooting them." A man in front turned, and the look I re- 
 ceived was calculated to reduce my avoirdupois many i)ounds 
 
32 A Woman's \\"ani)fi{in( s. 
 
 per secoiitl. I cau^Mit my ln-cath. and adtlctl. "I nevi-r hcarcU 
 tlioiifrh. that a Scotflinian could hit anything unless it was sta- 
 tionary." Of course I did not know he was a mighty hunter of 
 l)ir(ls whtn I spoke, hut could not wither away in a minute, so 
 had to resume my air of cheerfulness. I for the moment had 
 forgotten I was in a country where jokes were not appreciated, 
 but one must have something besides scenery. I simply had to 
 be entertained in some w.iy. 
 
 It was near sunset when we arrived at Stirling. Tlie sun, 
 which was dull and red in a misty west at 8:45, dyed the magnifi- 
 cent old castle so far above us on seemingly inaccessible bluffs. 
 
 We next arrived in Edinburgh, and saw the old castle, — 
 
 " Wliere, ■watching lii>.'li tlie least alarms, 
 Tliy 1)1)1(1. rude fortress fleams afar." 
 
 The old castle — the date of the laying of the corner-stone is 
 unknown — is one of the most interesting in all Europe. It 
 teems with romance, and historically is equally interesting. 
 A deep, rocky ravine divides the city; this, now, is converted 
 into a lovely park, where the people throng far below the rush 
 and rumble of the noisy streets above. At the head of this 
 ravine, perched upon the summit of a precipice, stands the old 
 castle, from whose walls the magnificent city shows to good 
 advantage. On a former visit I saw Queen Victoria, Prince 
 Leopold, and Princess Beatrice. The city was in gala attire, 
 of course. This time the Prince of Wales honored the city, 
 and again there was joy in the "Modern Athens," though the 
 old city is l»eautiful enough in every-day attire. 
 
 I went through the historic old castle, where is kept the 
 regalia of h^cotland, — crown, scepter, and sword of state. Many 
 of the jewels are rough and uncut, but the loyal people are 
 satisfied, for the crown encircled the heads of Robert Bruce, 
 Queen Mary, and her son, James I. 
 
 I saw the small room where James was born. — wainscoted 
 and ceiled with oak. A small eight-by-eight room is not our 
 idea of a ([Ueen's bed-chamber, — but that was so long ago. I 
 looked down into the dizzy depths where the child was lowered 
 and taken to safer quarters. 
 
 1 left the lieights, going to the palace of Holy rood, grinnned 
 
St'OTLAND. 33 
 
 and marred with age. The main ol)iects of interest here, also, 
 center in the rooms occupied ])y the unfortunate Mary. Her 
 bedchamber, kept as she left it, is as is the old castle, devoid 
 of comfort and convenience. I saw upon the floor the Ijlood- 
 stains where Rizzio was murdered, and the roofless choir where, 
 before the altar, Mary and Darnley were united. 
 
 And then I am back in the old St. Giles Cathedral, near 
 the spot where John Knox is 1)urieil. See the inscription above 
 the door of his house: '"Lufe God alnif all, and ye nychtbor 
 as yu'self." I wonder if the great reformer ever thought of 
 the countless throngs who would read that with loving, tender 
 remembrances of him. 
 
 From the top of Calton Hill I had one of the finest views of 
 the surroundings. On one side is the Firth of Forth, on the other 
 is Arthur's Seat, and in the distance are the Grampian Moun- 
 tains. There were long piers, graceful ships, green valleys, 
 heather-crowned hills, fields of barley and rye, with blue and red 
 eorn flowers. The whole effect was charming, making this, with- 
 out doubt, one of the most beautiful places in all of Scotland. 
 I enjoyed the town, the country, and the people — rugged, hale, 
 and hearty. 
 
 I talked with an old lady one day; she was ninety-seven years 
 old, does her work, washes and irons her clothes. No one could 
 suit her, she said. '"We are not so clever as you are, but we are 
 content to have less and live longer," she told me, and surely she 
 was the very picture of placid old age. 
 
 We spent one day at Melrose Abbey and Al^botsford. It 
 would take pages to describe this Caledonian Eden, — the house 
 and grounds Scott loved so well, — or the famous old Melrose Ab- 
 bey. Every window, door, archway, every angle of this exqui- 
 site example of Gothic architecture, is well worth a careful sur- 
 vey. It is fast cruml)ling, and soon there will be little left. A 
 gray stone marks the spot where is the heart of Bruce. In an 
 opening in the old wall above it a little bird had made its nest 
 and above the dry grasses and twisted branches three little heads 
 lifted up, and with tender twitterings welcomed the mother as 
 she hushed them with her outspread wings. Life and hope 
 above the dead — a promise of rest — so we quietly left the 
 mother bird, the old abbey, and found our way home, with the 
 night around us. 
 
IIOLLAXI). 
 
 A day's f;iti<riiinK jovinu'v l)y rail, a nitrht on a steamer 
 fully as uncoinfortalile as the ears, and the strip of watei* 
 between liarwirh and tli<' Ilixtk i)f Holland is })assed. Then 
 we find ourselves in Holhind. the (luaint, the pieturesque, the 
 curious, the land of windmills and storks, the saered sentry of 
 the country I How shall I tell of its canals, shaded by the 
 lindens, or tiie natural beauty of woods, meadows, and winding 
 rivers, of peaked gables and turrets — of its buried cities? It 
 is bewildering, and I can only single a few things from the 
 kaleidoscopic array. 
 
 First of all come the hotels, which we selected as represent- 
 ing best the life of the Hollanders. We did not care to find 
 inns filled with the rushing tourists, but the solid, comfortable 
 quarters the natives seek. One in Amsterdam we were charmed 
 with. The landlady, a veritable ''Tant Sannie," rolling in her 
 wealth and weight, l)oth the accumulation of years, seemed 
 delighted to honor us, showing us her treasures. The beauti- 
 ful delft wares and rare old bits of furniture were as unex- 
 pected as they were priceless. Our rooms were marvels for 
 comfort and rest. The dinners were the best since we left 
 New York, but the breakfast was novel, if no more. There were 
 several courses of raw meat — ham, bacon, smoked meat — but 
 not any cooked nor to be had. We desired to see life in their 
 way, so we must acce})t it. We had eggs cooked, however; 
 the coffee was delicious, the breail and butter also, so there 
 was no need of complaining. 
 
 Amsterdam, like Venice, is built on forests of piles. Its 
 population of three hundred thousand people, its busy streets, 
 and busier canals and waters, are astonishing. All kinds of 
 shipping are carried on, from the immense ocean liners to 
 barges and })leasure-boats in every canal, and there is one every 
 two blocks, teeming with life and activity. Boats are every- 
 where, all loaded with something or other, towed up and down, 
 some by dogs, women, or men. Tiie men are mentioned last, 
 for they usually seem to shirk most. It is a marvel what 
 
 34 
 
Holland. 35 
 
 loadi^ the dogs pull. They are not kept for the music of their 
 voices here. 
 
 Here, too, is the dear old world of painting and sculpture, — a 
 strange commingling of the past with the present. In the gal- 
 leries we see the past as Teniers, Jan Steen, and Rembrandt saw 
 it; the busy, active, bustling life on the streets tell another story. 
 
 We went to the Isle of Marken, up the canals and locks, 
 scarcely knowing we were being raised so many feet at each 
 one. until we found we were on the Zuyder Zee. Then we 
 realized, as we looked back at the canals, how low the lands 
 are we have passed coming up, and understand the need of 
 windmills. There lie the rich pasture-lands, once the bottom 
 of lakes. 
 
 We turn our eyes across the sea, and note the soft, grayish 
 blue of the water and the sky; see the wonderful blending of 
 both. There is no perceptible line, but earth and sky and the 
 skies and seas seem blended together, and we know why we 
 see so much in painting; why the softer blues are in all their 
 works. It is here forever before them, and they love to por- 
 tray it. 
 
 The meadows present a busy sight now; the reapers are 
 everywhere, in voluminous knickerbockers and wooden shoes. 
 The men cut the hay with scythes. I saw not one single 
 mower in all of Holland or that part of Germany we passed 
 through. Women and children work with the men in the 
 fields, tossing and turning the hay and drying it before stacking. 
 
 We went in raptures over the fields, where the gorgeous 
 crimson poppies show a vivid red among the green grasses; 
 the smell of red-topped clover drying in the fields, and the 
 comfort-loving herds of Holsteins browsing contentedly on the 
 same — each little herd satisfied with its strip, outlined by a 
 shallow canal, but each little Dutch Holstein knowing its 
 patch is as green, sweet, and luscious as that across the sil- 
 very streak; so there is no envying, no encroachment, nor 
 longing for other pastures, but all is so peaceful, so restful, 
 in the utter contentment in evidence, one wonders if animals 
 imbibe the spirit of their owners. It may be so. 
 
 We saw at Marken more of the queer old costumes than any- 
 where else. This quaint village consists of fishermen and their 
 
36 A W'iiman's W'andkkincs. 
 
 families, seeminirly l)elongintr to annthcr ii-ntiuv, so dilit'erent 
 are thfv from tlu' people in Amsterdam. 
 
 We were at Edam, also, and saw them makini: tin- (t'li-ltrated 
 cheese, which, by the way. was as costly almost as if bought 
 in America. 
 
 We wondered at the «:rtat Dyke of Helder as we loitered on 
 the broad path and saw the great, gray expanse of water 
 surging up the sloping sides. Looking on the town and country 
 behind and many feet l)elow the water-level, we know what it 
 all means; how the people have triumphed, and even when 
 winter's storms l)ring the waters of the North Sea in fury 
 against the granite walls, they rejoice in their triumph over 
 this natural enemy. 
 
 All along the canals we noticed the women doing the work 
 of horses. One, with her hus))and, harnessed, and walking tan- 
 dem, she in front, leading a child, l)ent double with the burden, 
 pulling a heavily laden barge, was a sight not to he forgotten. 
 Were I a poet, the Woman and the Yoke might l)e a theme 
 equally as pathetic as '"The Man with tlie Hoe," ))ut I am not 
 Markham, nor a painter, else I miglit portray it as I saw it. 
 
 At The Hague we were suri)rised at the l)usy. up-to-date life 
 of the sweet, clean, pretty city. It seems as if everything is 
 fresh and charming; freshly i)ainted doors and windows, rows 
 and rows of the neatest of little 1 tricks. How they love and 
 honor their young ruler. \\'illnlniina ! 
 
 In this gay little city we saw the latest fashions from Paris; 
 better-dressed women than in London. Upon the streets, in 
 more quiet places, we saw women in queer white-lace head- 
 gear, often topped with a little dress-l)onnet of the present 
 day. Tliey cannot all at once get rid of the old style, but 
 are keejung along the line of progression l)y putting on a 
 l)onnet. It is a pity; soon there will be l)ut little of the 
 old picturesque loveliness left of Holland. 
 
 We saw the beauty of the tree-lined canals; the stately houses, 
 with flowers everywhere, in windows and gardens, trailing over 
 walls, a wealth of bloom running riot in tlie cool woods, with 
 paths and seats every few yards, and people everywhere enjoy- 
 ing the outdoor life. How we watched the chul)l)y children; they 
 were so full of life an<l health, that it was a jdcasure to see them. 
 
Holla Ni). 37 
 
 From the lu'w, buisy life we turned to the galleries, wherein we 
 saw some of the finest specimens of tlie Duteh seht)ol of painting, 
 — the worlvs of Jan Steen, Holland's Hogarth; his life of the 
 carousals of the V)oers, the genius of the painstaking Dow, Van- 
 der Heist, and Remln-andt. We looked in vain for a painting by 
 the latter, — his anatomical study, — but a custodian informed us 
 we could not see it, as it had been removed for repairs. What- 
 ever was wrong with the anatomical portion we know not. I 
 trust it will be satisfactory to those who see it when it is 
 renewed. Rembrantlt will not know — so what does it matter? 
 
 We drove to the House in the Woods, the Queen's summer 
 palace, and where the Peace Commission met. It has beautiful 
 woods around it, and there are the omnipresent waterways, 
 not overly sweet, for the waters move sluggishly, and they are 
 full of water-lilies. The clouds are mirrored in the depths, 
 and the trees bend lovingly overhead; the fishermen sit idly, 
 holding their rods, or prop them up and nod in quiet unison 
 with the lily leaves, swaying gently. No better place in all 
 the world, I thought, for a meeting such as convened there. 
 Will it be all for naught ? I trust not. 
 
 We rode to Scheveningen, the fashionable watering-place of 
 The Hague, on an electric car, through an avenue that for 
 six miles was lined with trees whose boughs met and formed 
 a delightful shade. 
 
 A novel sight greeted us when we went to the beach, — long 
 rows of neat little tents, furnished with chairs and tables for 
 luncheons; the usual stalls for refreshments; countless hooded 
 wicker chairs for people, who sit in them, well sheltered from 
 wind and sun, chatting, sewing, reading, thoroughly enjoying 
 life, as they know so well how to do over here. 
 
 There w^ere num])erless bathing-machines drawn up on the 
 beach. One steps into a room, and, while disrobing, is drawn by 
 a horse into the shallow water. The bather plunges in, and, when 
 ready, steps into the little house on wheels, is pulled up to the 
 dry sands, and soon emerges, having enjoyed a bath with almost 
 as much privacy as if at home, and with no wear and tear of 
 nerves from curious onlookers. 
 
 Leyden is so closely interwoven with the memorable siege that 
 I will only mention it. Those who have read of the lirave 
 
38 
 
 A \\'t).M.\.\'s W'andkkim 
 
 Imrghers who licnticilly held out for four months, starvinji. yet 
 stanch, dying l>y thousand^;, yet never faltering; not men only, 
 ))Ut women and children, will think of them with tender memo- 
 ries, as we did; also, of the storm that saved these starving, plague- 
 stricken i)eople from the S{)anish hosts. The same simple folk 
 are seen in the half-deserted streets, and still they return thanks 
 for deliverance, as did those after the memorable sietrc 
 
 sw^**- 
 
 THK Hdl.-K !N TUl'. WOODS. 
 
DENMARK, NORWAY, AND SWEDEN. 
 
 After leaving Holland we rested a few days in Hamburg, en- 
 joying hours in the '" Alten Weg," a lovely walk, shaded by linden 
 trees, and driving in the city and suburl)S. There were magnifi- 
 cent residences almost lost in a wilderness of trees, shrubs, and 
 beautiful flowers. Going on the i-ars for a short distance, then 
 Kiel was reached, and we were steaming out of the harbor, and 
 away across the Baltic for Copenhagen. 
 
 Some guide-l)Ooks had informed us we need not expect to find 
 call-drivers, porters, stewards, or waiters, after leaving Kiel, to 
 understand a word of English, French, or German, — rather dis- 
 couraging, l)Ut we were not to be frightened away from the 
 Nbrseland. The system of serving taJ)Jr d'hote dinners on l)oats 
 and in hotels would insure immunity from starvation. If the 
 exigencies demanded, we were two who could face an army of 
 servants in any hotel, and would take chances on the breakfasts. 
 
 I knew there were two homesick wanderers, for an hour or more 
 when the train stopped in Denmark's capital. A porter captured 
 our luggage. We named the hotel; he liowed, and disappeared in 
 the crowd. We tried to find him, in vain. The throng soon left 
 the station; we were brave, and uncomplainingly set out to find 
 the hotel, yet with troubled hearts, for we did not know if the 
 pleasure of seeing our bags again would be ours. We found the 
 hotel, and a concierge, whose vocabulary, so far as we understood 
 him, were about three words each of the three languages just 
 mentioned. At any rate, we understood that dinner would be 
 served soon, h_ la carte; that we must walk up to our rooms on the 
 fourth floor; all of which consumed some time. When we en- 
 tered, our luggage was in conspicuous places al)Out the large 
 room; two dainty beds, an equally dainty maid turning down 
 the sheets, who insisted, by pantomime, in helping us unpack. 
 Everything seemed easy after that, and we had many a laugh, 
 later, over the lonely, lost sort of feelings which neither would 
 acknowledge at the time. It is wonderful what may l»e accom- 
 plished by signs. I know we slept well in the hotel, which once 
 had been a palace; which, too, was unlike any hotel I had ever 
 seen, and that without guide or courier we traveled wheresoever 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 A Woman's WANDKHixfis: 
 
 we wishcil, as indifferent, alter that first experience, as if we were 
 in our own country. 
 
 At the outset we had decided not to worry over anything that 
 might seem to go wrong, to have an al»iding faith in our own 
 resources and each other. It proved a wonderful source of com- 
 fort. If we had the faintest doubt as to tlie result of any scheme 
 
 oi.i) N(iK\vi:(ii.\N cnriuH. 
 
 projxised. it was n<'ver mentioned until the mentioning was un- 
 necessary. 
 
 We were surprised at the castles, i)alaces, and extensive parks 
 and electric cars. I try now to recall some words in bold letters, 
 such as ''Kocsirendeziikuel," '* Vegallomasokon," and "Nicht- 
 hinoi-esbengen." which might mean anything; but probably said, 
 
Denmark, Norway, and Swkden. 41 
 
 "Do not spit iipiui the floor,'' and •" (let oft' only when we ehoose 
 to stop," — this Ixnng the rule, invariably, east of the Atlantic. 
 The cars have their stopinng-places; neither conductors nor motor- 
 men become crossed-eyed looking out for passengers in the Old 
 World. It is pretty hard on ignorant, footsore travelers to walk 
 blocks in order to find a stopping-place to board a car, which 
 goes by the desired place, perhaps one Idock away, if one does 
 not know the town or street; or to be carried a numl)er of blocks 
 in another direction than the one desired. All these things as- 
 tonish me, for in our country street-cars are supposed to run for 
 the accommodation of the pul)lic; here the })ul)lic gratefully con- 
 tribute pennies for the pleasure of riding an extra l)lock or two, 
 though they know they must walk back. 
 
 Norway has been a succession of surprises from the beginning 
 to the end. I was astonished to see the advanced state of civili- 
 zation. We have heard of the Land of the Midnight Sun, the 
 Land of Foss and Fell, of lovely valleys and fertile plains, and 
 think mostly of these in reading of Norway. I was not quite 
 prepared to see the telephones at every turn, and at less than half 
 the price at home. I saw here the speaking and ear trumpet 
 coml)ined into one, attached to a long cord moved and used so 
 much more easily than those we are accustomed to use. I saw a 
 girl in a dainty pink gow^n, sitting leaning back in her chair with 
 an instrument pressed to her ear, saying something at the other 
 part of the curious apparatus. It w^as some time before I knew 
 that it was the up-to-date '"hello girl," away up here in the land 
 of the vikings. 
 
 Their telegraphic system is perfect, and is universal all over 
 the country, even throughout the less-frequented mountain re- 
 gions. A message of ten words may be sent- to any part of Nor- 
 way for twelve and a half cents. Boys deliver messages on 
 wheels. Automobile carts carry packages from firms to purchas- 
 ers. I fancy there are no better cyclists in the world than those 
 we saw through the country. The hills seem nothing to either 
 men or women. 
 
 The hay and grain crops were being harvested in all the larger 
 fields by American reapers, — very different from the slow style 
 of cutting with a scythe, as they were in Holland. They have 
 an odd way of drying the hay. They put up long lines of posts 
 
42 A Woman's Wandkhinos. 
 
 with wires or poles att:ichetl. The hay is strung on the wires, 
 mueli as clothes are on a line and left to dry in the sun. 
 
 I wondered greatly, in going through the different fiords, at the 
 number of wires strung from the high mountains down to the 
 water's edge, until I found out that they were used to conve}' hay 
 grown on the level i)lateaus al)Ove to the little valleys ])eIow, 
 that it might dry and then l)e transported l)}' boats at will. I 
 could not understand how it was done, but two little boys at 
 play near a landing gave me an idea. They tied a string to the 
 top of a small boulder, attached it to the ground a few feet <lis- 
 tant, tied up a few wisps of grass, fastened a wire to each, bent 
 one end of the wire, i)Ut the hook over the string, and the boy on 
 the to}) of the rock sent the grass to the l>oy in the valley. It 
 was mimic piny, yet real enough to understand. The herds are 
 driven to the higher altitudes in summer, and the butter, milk, 
 and cheese are sent down in the same manner, — an easy mode 
 of transportation. 
 
 I want to do justice to each and every country of which 1 
 write, so I advise all who come up here, if they have a desire to 
 travel by night, not to do it. I shall never forget my experience 
 in the sleeping-cars this side of the Atlantic. It was between 
 Copenhagen and Christiania. Besides, we were curious to know 
 what they were like, and we w^ere satisfied. There are no mat- 
 tresses, and the seats have sheets and a l)lanket spread over them; 
 you get a cushion for a pillow, and the bed is made. The whole 
 train was thus prepared while we enjoyed a twenty-minute din- 
 ner. There is l)Ut one toilet-room to each car, possessing, as a 
 rule, no water, towels, or mirrors, — nothing whatever for com- 
 fort; so there is no need of extra rooms. 
 
 The resources one is capal)le of can never Ik- known until tested, 
 but we survived, and arrived at Christiania. feeling well enough to 
 enjoy our first glimpse of the city. It was so beautiful that we 
 were captivated at once. As the train sped along the sloping hills 
 surrounding a portion of the city, we had a magnificent view of 
 the i)icturesque valley and the fiord, — a beautiful sheet of water, 
 dotted everywhere ])y islands. The water is crisp, liright, and 
 sparkling, with a smell of the salt seas, sixty miles distant, 
 mingling with the odors of the pine and si>ruce trees, ^^'e en- 
 joyed our stay, as there was nnich of interest at every turn. We 
 
DkNMAHK, NcRWAY, AM) SWKDKN. 
 
 43 
 
 visited some of the old churches and cottages re})resenting the 
 old Norwegian life from the viking period. 
 
 From HolemskoUen, a resort some seventeen hundred feet 
 above the city and reached by electric cars, we found out much 
 in regard to the way people enjoy themselves. The M'ealthy 
 class build cozy summer homes on the sloping sides of the 
 mountains, and revel in the delightful air. The cities and l)ath- 
 ing-resorts found evervwhere about the lake are easilv reached 
 
 THE OLD VIKING SHIP. 
 
 by the cars. The })eople literally live out of doors. There are 
 restaurants everywhere. The popular l)athing-hours are from 
 six to eight in the evening. The waters are warm. th(^ air balmy 
 and mild, and the people seem to stay up all night. Tlieir sum- 
 mer is short, so they try to enjoy every moment. Countless ))oats 
 constantly ply the waters, tilled with people. Bands of music 
 are numerous. Roads and woods are alive with pleas^ure-seekers, 
 whole families enjoying life to the fullest. It was a i)eaceful, 
 
44 A Woman's \\'a.\T)Ehin<;s. 
 
 liajipy. restful time. and. thoUL'li we were strantrers, and alone, 
 we felt the influence, and it did us good. 
 
 We visited the King's villa, prettily situated on a wooded 
 knoll, and were allowed, with many others, to wander at will 
 through the rooms, filled with articdes of marV)le, bronze, china, 
 paintings, etc. Surely the people are to be trusted. Nothing 
 was locked. A request not to handle was obeyed to the letter. 
 When the swarms of relic-hunters come here, I wonder if the 
 law of order and decency will be so well observed. 
 
 \N't' visited the old viking ship, the model of which I saw at 
 the Chicago Exposition. It was so torn and old, it must have 
 been a task to reproduce it. We saw the bones of the old chief 
 found in it, and thought it a pity, even though in the interest 
 of science, the remains could not have been left as they were 
 found. My mind w'andered back to that grand burial scene a 
 thousand years ago, of the voyages the chief had made in this 
 boat. Perhaps he was one of the discoverers of America. He 
 may have known and found it long before Columbus rediscovered 
 it. At least, in his w'anderings, he had brought back a peacock, 
 then unknown here, and though horses and dogs were slain and 
 buried with him with precious stuffs, the bird alone w'as placed 
 in the ship and sealed up with him in the sepulcher. There is 
 something so beautiful and touching in the th(night of his desire 
 to l»e l)uried in the stanch old oaken ship, his oars and chief- 
 tain's chair with him, and the prow pointing seawanl. all in readi- 
 ness for Odin's call to sail out and away on the beautiful sea. A 
 wave of infinite regret thrilled me that it was all for naught. An 
 old shed holds the h<K\t, the museum the bones, and so the restless 
 world moves, for it is all done in the intei-est of science. Who 
 shall gain say it? 
 
 We Went liy rail from Christiania to Skein, choosing this route 
 that we might go U]) the locks, the grandest, the most stupendous, 
 we were told, in Europe. There were sixteen in number, I think. 
 I only know we took the steamer and sailed on peacefully for a 
 time until we came to them, and, looking up the hills at a series 
 of steps could not Vielieve our l)oat had to go that way. It was 
 only after l)eing raised from one to another, a distance of one 
 hundred and seventy-eight feet, that I could realize something of 
 the undertaking. They are blasted out of solid rock and faced 
 
Dexmai^k. Xokwav. AM) Sweden. 
 
 45 
 
 with heavy stone. It looked fri.^htful to see the territie rush of 
 waters, as we passed from one to the other. One could not help 
 but shudder while the raging blue-green water of the Vrangfos, 
 confined deep within the narrow gorge, dashed with tremendous 
 force against the gates. Many got off the boat and walked up 
 the steep pathway. We stood by the captain and the ship, saw 
 all the wonderful mechanism, and are alive to tell the story. 
 
 BAXDAK CAXAL AND VRANGFOS. 
 
 After the locks, we went on all the rest of the day, winding 
 through lakes, through narrow^ passes where the steamer barely 
 had room to turn. There w^ere islands every w'here, clothed in 
 verdure to the very water's lirim. 
 
 About ten o'clock in the evening we stopped at a freight sta- 
 tion. I wondered wdiy the moon had not shown up. h^ome one 
 spoke, and I turned and saw above the hills a })art of the big 
 round globe peering through the dusky trees crowning the heights" 
 A few rays of silvery light gleamed on the lake. The darkness 
 
46 A Woman's Wanderinos. 
 
 was mellowed off into soft shades. A dreamy silence hung about 
 us as we looked and waited in utter astonishment. Something 
 was wrong with the moon that night. For a minute or two we 
 saw her peep through the forest, then sink hack while we waited 
 vainly for the reapi)earance; but no, so low she hung in the 
 heavens, that, veering westward, the hills shut her from view, and 
 we went on in the stillness of night, feeling that a sight of the 
 midnight sun could not have impressed us as did that solemn 
 moment when day and night were wedded. 
 
 An opaline light that had the radiance of early dawn, with the 
 deeper shades of night mixed and intermingled into such wonder- 
 ful beauty resting on the mountain tops, touched my soul, dim- 
 ming my eyes, like some tender, wailing notes that had come to 
 me away off here, in this strange Norseland, from the heart of 
 an organ in an old church, a day or so previous. Some one had 
 strayed into the quiet place, and the music that made the heart- 
 strings quiver was the sweetest, yet most pathetic, a wanderer in 
 far-away places could ever hear — the sobbing melody of "Home, 
 Sweet Home." 
 
 Then, as now, words were inailequate to describe the loveliness, 
 as we sail on in silence until we arrive at Dalen, near midnight, 
 which was no night. Even though the moon failed to reappear, 
 it was not needed, for the evening's light shone through the drawn 
 curtains ere sleep stole my weary senses, but the recollections and 
 strangeness of those hours will not forsake me. 
 
 We had taken circular tickets through the Telemarkcn district 
 from Christiania, but after arriving at Dalen found we would 
 have to retrace our journey through the locks. Going backward 
 or retracing steps was not to our liking when so much unseen 
 was beckoning us on. Therefore, we decided on tlic chances of 
 getting a rebate on our tickets, and in half an hour's time liad 
 completed all arrangements for a three days' drive over the Hau- 
 kelid Mountains and on to the Hardranger Fiord. We secured 
 a native vehicle — the Stolksjaerre, a horse and Skydsgut, mean- 
 ing the driver — and were ready for unknown regions. The idea 
 of starting with one horse alarmed me somewhat, l)ut the pro- 
 prietor said, "You have one of the best horses we have." As we 
 had made up our minds to go after every one else, and all the 
 vchich's but this was engaged and gone, we were not to be de- 
 
Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. 
 
 47 
 
 terred, so wo stiirte;!, with our driver seated behind, the lines 
 between us. It was the very queerest outfit we had ever seen. 
 The brakes, instead of being in front of the wheels, were at the 
 rear. There were no traces, the vehicle being pulled by the 
 shafts. I should have to know more about harness, as i)lanned 
 
 iN KOAD NEAK ToKKA lilVlOi;. 
 
 and ])uilt in Norway, to say more. Our driver was a lad of 
 eighteen years, perhaps, who knew two words we could under- 
 stand. He knew more before the journey was finished. 
 
 We left Dalen for Odde, with no knowledge of what we were 
 to undergo. There must have been something in the air. The 
 spirit of the old vikings inspired us, perhaps, and the end justi- 
 
48 A Woman's \\'am)i:kin(;s. 
 
 fied the undertaking. There could never have ln-cn more perfect 
 days, or days of wonder and delight. We had heard it was safe 
 to travel and well worth all the trouble, and so we found it. 
 
 Immediately after leaving Dalen, we entered the gorge of the 
 Tokka River and hegan the ascent of the mountains. All of 
 that day we went onward and upward, a succession of most 
 magnificent views unfolding at every turn. There were alirujjt 
 declivities, awe-inspiring precipices, the great river pent \\\) in 
 narrow, rocky channels, one mass of foam spanned with rain- 
 bows, or falling from tremendous height one solid sheet of 
 pure, bright water. Then it would be lost in some deep, Idue 
 lake, only to reappear as we went on, vigorous and headstrong 
 as ever. Where could all this vast water come from? We 
 knew later on. Our stunly, stocky horse went on easily over 
 high grades on a road that was a dream as it went zigzagging 
 over the hills, following the river, a smooth white line, no 
 dust, no stones or ruts. It was more like a sanded floor than 
 a mountain road. The driver paused on a steep grade and 
 made his speech. " Valkin? Oh, yaas! " The intonations were 
 so musical, pleadin-j;. and full of pathos, looking from us to 
 the beast. It would have put new life in the legs of a centena- 
 rian. So we obeyed cheerfully when asked,— in fact, often got 
 out and walked for the pleasure of it when not necessary. 
 
 Our start was made so late in the day. that it was four 
 o'clock before we reached Borte for luncheon. We were upon 
 the verge of starvation. A piece of bread and an egg was not 
 a very hearty breakfast. Our driver walked nearly the whole 
 distance and gathered wild strawberries, which rather increased 
 the i)angs of hunger. He culled sweet wayside flowers for us 
 and (lid all in liis jiower to make the day one of jileasure. 
 
 Now and then we })assed a few Norwegian huts which at- 
 tracted our attention. They were l>uilt of logs, the roofs covered 
 with sod, which is placed upon ])ieces of l)irch-bark. Small 
 trees grow on some, and grass and waving grain covered them 
 all; truly roof-gardening in nature's own way. 
 
 I tried to make the lad understand that starvation's pangs 
 assailed me, endeavored to have him go and ask for " brod," but 
 lie would not hear, always and ever the word " Biirte " came; 
 whether tlie unknown place was at the end of the ou'j hundred 
 
Denmakk, Norway, and Swkdrn. 49 
 
 miles, or if we iiacl been Itrought uj) there to perisli from hunger, 
 I knew not. At hist, as hope died away, a house or two at the 
 upper end of a long lake we were skirting blessed our eyes. 
 " Borte," with a glad wave of his hand. "Brod?" I gasped. 
 " Yaas." And never was a meal more thoroughly enjoyed. 
 
 After a rest we resumed our journey along the pretty BiJrte- 
 vand lakes for some distance, then up steeper grades, until nine 
 o'clock in the evening we stopped at Grungedal. We dined and 
 retired, but the sun was still shining. 
 
 All of the following day, as we went on, the scenery became 
 more wild and rugged, the snow nearer; but the road was always 
 the same — in the whole of the one hundred and seventeen miles 
 there was not one rod of it bad or rough — and this road, that 
 cost millions of dollars, is used for about two months in the year, 
 and all for the accommodation of pleasure-seekers. 
 
 We soon found we were beyond the timber line, and in the 
 region of eternal snow. The mountains seem crumbling to 
 pieces. I never saw such masses of rock tossed and tumbled in 
 great heaps. All along the road we could see fresh, yellow spots 
 where the great flakes had recently broken from the cliffs and 
 were piled up beside the road. At times it seemed as if a jar 
 would send others down, and we would look up in shuddering 
 terror. 
 
 The first patch of snow near the road inspired me with the 
 desire for a snowball, but as it was not the time for " valkin," 
 I was not permitted to walk. The driver pointed on, so I 
 humored him. Why not? We saw he had a big knife belted 
 on under his coat, so were quite obedient. A few miles on, and 
 we understood, for the snow lay in banks fifteen and twenty feet 
 high on either side of the road. There were immense fields of it, 
 with rivers gushing from tunnels underneath them, looking as if 
 they were ready to slide down and engulf us. 
 
 We went on for hours in this desolate region of perpetual 
 snow, no tree or shrub in sight, but a sort of turf and green 
 grass showing in warm nooks. Bleak, wind-swept cliffs, and 
 still, deep waters, where great cakes of ice and snow had broken 
 off and floated like miniature icebergs; there were waterfalls 
 coming down with tremendous force everywhere, but always a 
 bridge, tunnel, or culvert was made in that marvelous road for 
 
50 A Woman's W'andkrings. 
 
 the streams. Tlieri* was rd wasliint: away or wet spots, save in 
 one place the eml)ryo glacier liad encroached upon the roadl)e<l, 
 and we walked for half a niik' on smooth, beaten snow and ice. 
 
 We loitered l»y the gushing streams, and were not interfered 
 with, had battles with snowballs and frolicked to our hearts' con- 
 tent, until the driver conceived the idea we must take the lead. 
 We demurred, but to no use. He took us forcibly l\y the arms, 
 put us in front of the horse and said his one word again. 80 
 we went on. There was an awful-looking field of snow above 
 us. I had seen it for some time, also the loose rocks and earth, 
 showing a landslide on the surface from the frowning cliffs 
 overhead. I said to my companion, '' He is either afraid and 
 wants us to try it first, or fears something might happen us if 
 left behind. He could not leave the horse to come back, so 
 let us go on." A sudden turn in the road, and a wall of snow 
 and ice barred the way. A path dimly outlined lay over it; 
 to the left, a deep ravine; to the right, a hole leading in and 
 under the snow. There was no way to go save in that dread- 
 ful, dark tunnel. We knew then what the boy meant. Had 
 we been left behind we would never have tried it. He placed 
 our hands on the back of the vehicle, said something to the 
 horse, and in we went. It was terril)le for a little while. Utter 
 darkness prevailed. Water streamed down upon us and splashed 
 underfoot. The opening was so low we could not have had 
 room to sit ui)right on the seat. That was why we had to walk, 
 or trot, rather, to keep up, for we dared not loosen our grip 
 on that bar. Very soon light appeared and we emerged breath- 
 less out of that dreadful i)lace. There were two women who 
 were glad, our lauglitcr rather forced for a while, for it was 
 desolate and terrifying in the extreme. We were glad to go 
 out in the warm sunshine — to have the driver once again in 
 his seat chirrup to the horse, to feel the summit had been readied 
 and passed. Napoleon crossing the Alps! What was that com- 
 pared to our experience? He had a whole army to l)ack him; 
 we were alone. 
 
 We reached Rlildal that night, going from the wild Dyrska r 
 Pass in an incredibly short time. The descent was steeper than 
 the Shasta route, winding })ack and forth much like it, only 
 the road is more tortuous, winding around knolls in loops. 
 
Dknmark, No'rway. and Swedkn. 
 
 51 
 
 We looked upward as we neared the valley and counted seven 
 distinct roads. We could hardly believe it was only the curves 
 in the road we were on. The driver stood upon the brake- 
 l)ar all the way down, while the horse flew down that grade at 
 a pace I should not care to see again or experience. Never 
 were hotel, dinner, and bed more welcome than those we found 
 at the end of the day's journey. 
 
 TUNNEL ON DYESKAR PASS. 
 
 Soon after breakfast the next morning we were on the road 
 again, leaving the valley after a mile or two, going up a steep 
 grade until we were once again among snow-patches on a high 
 plateau. We saw a large herd of reindeer, showing clearly in 
 the morning Ught. The views were magniticent. 
 
52 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 8oon the Folgefoncl Glacier apijeared in slight. All day it 
 was the same, amid scenery of the grandest, wildest character, 
 through narrow gorges and valleys looking more like gigantic 
 clefts, so high were the mountains on either side. Those same 
 peaks seemed crumhling and ready to fall. I would not attempt 
 to say how often we held our breath as we went under some over- 
 hanging rocks ready to tumV)le. Hamlet said something about 
 rottenness in Denmark. He would have made it certain if he 
 had said Norway, and referred to the mountains. They seem 
 literally crumbling to pieces. 
 
 I feel the poverty of words in trying to describe the remainder 
 of the day's journey as we went by seething torrents and lakes, 
 where the road had V)een blasted out of sheer walls, where work- 
 men had to be suspended by ropes before there was a foothold to 
 begin the work. The rush and roar of waterfalls were ever in 
 our ears. Wherever the eye turned they poured from those vast 
 peaks and chasms, rivaling Yosemite in height, exceeding it in 
 volume of water. More than a hundred which would shame 
 Vernal and Nevada Falls. I only know we were surfeited with 
 the grandeur. Words failed us. The immensity of it all, those 
 powerful, rushing streams, coming from miles and miles of snow 
 lying on the mountain ranges. 
 
 Nature claims kindred with the deeper mysteries of our souls; 
 sympathies that lie too deep for words, too deep almost for 
 thought, are touched at times, and the resources of expression 
 fail me. I know the pleasure of those three days will never fade 
 from memory. The grand changes of light and shade flowing, 
 melting into each other, over those cloud-fringed towers and 
 snowy fields, these, with the scent of flowers, odorous waysides 
 lined with feathery birch and pine trees that came to us with the 
 night — the night that brought rest and gladness, glad the jour- 
 ney was ended over the Haukelid range, that we had passed it in 
 safety, and, more than all, glad we had the courage to undertake 
 and come through unscathed what very few, if any, situated as 
 we were would have dared to undertake. 
 
 One of our countrymen was thrown from a vehicle like ours, 
 and came in with a broken arm; one carriage we passed was de- 
 tained l)y a sick horse. In fact, we passed all the people who 
 had left Dalen earlv on the dav we started. Our stanch sure- 
 
Denmark, Xohwav, and Swkden. 53 
 
 footed pony had lirought us over in safety. We pL'tted and 
 l)lessed the beast, bade good by to the faithful boy, who was grate- 
 ful to the verge of tears for the little present he so richly deserved; 
 for we knew that, whether he had a passenger on the return 
 trip or not, he would have to walk most of the way; they work so 
 hard and wages are light. 
 
 Just how we missed the showers which came almost any hour, 
 how the whole journey, for which we were unprepared, was made 
 without an hour's discomfort from Christiania to Odde, can only 
 be accounted for l\v a blessed providence taking care of two who 
 were faithful in this, that we took no heed of the morrow. Suffi- 
 cient unto the day was the day itself. 
 
 From Odde we went to Bergen via the Hardranger Fiord. 
 The Norwegians never tire of the name. Its glories are the 
 theme of poet and suV»ject of painter, and surely it is well worth 
 all that may be said of it. In wildness and boldness it cannot 
 l)e compared to other portions we saw, but its beauties are pleas- 
 ing; doubly so, after crossing the mountain ranges, to lean back 
 in a comfortabls armchair on the deck of a steamer. Mountains, 
 glaciers, waterfalls, still, deep, solemn waters at one turn; at an- 
 other, bright, cheery, sparkling little valleys and villages along 
 the route; boats and lioating parties everywhere. They almost 
 live on the water in the warm months. 
 
 We were glad to arrive in Bergen at the end of the long clay, 
 and rest from our journey among the mountains and fiords. 
 Bergen has her seven hills, which almost surround the town, 
 dotted with lovely homes, covered with forests, and are very 
 beautiful. From the summit of any one, delightful views of 
 distant ranges of snow-clad mountains, lakes, and rivers may be 
 had. We found the town very interesting. At the museum 
 were relics of the Hanseatic League, which for some two hundred 
 years monopolized the commerce of northern Europe. We 
 walked along the c^uay, the oldest part of the town, where, in the 
 Middle Ages, these Hanseatic Germans held their own in de- 
 fiance of Scandinavian kings or people. There is much of its 
 antique character left, with long lines of wooden-gable ware- 
 houses and quaint-looking sailing-boats. 
 
 We saw a pretty custom at the hotel. The small tables were 
 prettily decorated with flowers and small flags of different 
 
54 A Wom.vn's W'anderixos. 
 
 nations. A waiter came as soon as we were seated, and trium- 
 phantly i)l;uvd.the British flag at our table. I arose to a man 
 — and he was the man — and said, "If you value your life, take 
 it away. 1 l»elieve in expansion, certainly. Bring the dinner, 
 and (luickly, but not with that emblem." He probably did not 
 understand one word in ten, but his intuitions were right. He 
 had that flag hid, and the Stars and Stripes on my table, before 
 I could catch my breath. So, in order to set things right, I 
 placed the Norwegian flag beside ours. He was delighted with 
 it and his fee. The dinner was all that was nee<lefl, so peace 
 reigned in Bergen. 
 
 It was easy and pleasant enough going to Bergen, but getting 
 away was different. We found there were no railroads from 
 there to Christiania. One can scarcely go a mile in that region 
 without encountering a lake, river_, or mountain. I read some- 
 where that Norway consists of one huge mass of mountains cut 
 through in all directions by valleys, gorges, passes, water, and 
 glaciers. Surely it is true, especially when it refers to the water. 
 There seems enough to supply the world, and still have a surplus. 
 
 The easiest route for us was a coasting-steamer, so we started, 
 being informed it would take forty-eight hours, and that they 
 kept within the barriers of islands the greater part of the way. 
 so that we need not apprehend seasickness. We had a fairly 
 good night and breakfast the next morning. Soon afterwards 
 they put to sea, or perhaps the islands had given out, for all the 
 rocking and plunging I had ever known were as nothing com- 
 pared to this. The boat's prow was in the water, and the pro- 
 peller in the air, or vice versa, half the time. Sick! well, it^was 
 more than that. Talk of responsive chords, and deep answering 
 unto deep! That was bad enough, but to have a stewardess, 
 who knew no language but her own — the Norwegians are not 
 quick to learn languages — who brought what she considered a 
 delicacy, a dish of fish, when we ordered a lemonade, and a glass 
 of their favorite ale, when we wanted tea. Between paroxysms 
 of heartrending upheavals we two would console each other, and 
 consolation was needed. Our downy l)eds were simply the cush- 
 ioned seats of red iilusli; a safeguanl against falling out was a 
 thin stri]) of cloth }ila(ed in front and held by a cord. The 
 most horrible of all insect-powders, moth-balls, had been used 
 
Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. 57 
 
 lavishly. The odor would kill almost anythin<!; save the moths 
 themselves. Ye gods! Seasickness and moth-l)alls! A future 
 life, anything that might he my reward after dissolution, which 
 I rather yearned for, had no terrors for me then. Wherever the 
 place might be, it was an "even break" that I would have com- 
 pany, for the limp creature on the other side of the stateroom 
 was ready to stop at the same station. We were not anxious 
 about the temperature. Conditions could be no worse. If there 
 was no water, there would l)e no waves. Thus I consoled her. 
 
 Then we would laugh at it, or try to, l)ut usually made a 
 flat failure. In an interim of quiet while at a stopping-place 
 we dressed and went on deck, determined to stay in the fresh 
 air if possilile. Scarcely had they left the wharf l)efore the rough 
 water was reached, and the boat rolled so that every one had 
 to cling to something not movable. We held on to a heavy 
 railing. A sudden lurch, and the boat went over on her side. 
 I was thrown to the outer railing, striking against the seat so 
 forcibly that I was fearfully In'uised and liarely escaped having 
 a broken ankle. My companion was liadly shaken up, also, but 
 helped me down to our stateroom. Two sorrowful women for 
 the next two days clung desperately to their l)erths until 
 Christiania was reached, firmly resolved that they would never 
 again believe what a ticket agent or guide-book asserted was 
 the best or only wa}', but realizing what portions of the North 
 Sea and the Skager Rack could be when they chose to be ugly. 
 
 The trip by rail from Christiania to Stockholm was pleas- 
 ant; it was good to see the country from car windows once more. 
 
 I must mention a custom these " Northmen " have. At the eat- 
 ing stations there are no waiters to serve the food. A long table 
 is in the center of the room, containing the food, plates, etc. 
 Each must help himself as he pleases, sitting at small tallies 
 lining the sides of the rooms, or standing if preferred. There 
 is a man, however, at times, to serve beer or wine, but as a rule 
 the bottles are placed upon the tables and it is left to the con- 
 science of those who drink to say how much he takes. The 
 quantity of food is unquestioned, and it was strange to see the 
 amount some people ate in a short time. The food was always 
 good, well cooked, and cheaper than we found elsewhere. They 
 must save something by letting people serve themselves. There 
 
58 A Woman's WANOKrnNos. 
 
 were vefjetaMe;:, salads, meats in huge platters prettily gar- 
 nished with wreaths of grape leaves, sprays of flowers, and 
 maple leaves. Coffee could be had at a side-table, great dishes 
 of wild strawberries or raspberries with pitchers of whipped 
 cream — a novelty at eating stations, certainly, and in no place 
 did we find the price to exceed fifty cents in our money 
 
 I scarcely know how to descril)e Stockholm, the situation is 
 so V)eautiful. It is well understood that for beauty of scenery 
 and unique situation the capital of Sweden stands unrivaled. 
 Some old ruler, several hundred years ago, realizing wliat a 
 splendid location for a fortified city, said, ''Since the Lord has 
 made a gate at this spot, I will put a lock on it." So he pro- 
 ceeded to build and fortify the town. He was a wise man. and 
 the lovely city sits enthroned on the everlasting hills. 
 
 The wide expanse of water surrounds it and separates it so 
 picturesquely into islands, forming l)ays, inlets, and caves on all 
 sides. One sees all manner of craft, from the large steamers to 
 the small ferries, steam-launches, and pleasure-boats of every 
 imaginable description. 
 
 The large lake of Malar, stretching for nearly eiglity miles 
 westward, empties into the Baltic. A short, rapid river runs 
 through the heart of the city, keeps it sweet and clean, for it is a 
 clean city, this capital of King Oscar. Here, as in Jerusalem of 
 old. every man must sweep before his own door, and that l)y 
 eight o'clock each morning. If he fails to keep his premises 
 clean, the city does it cheerfully enough, but he must pay for it. 
 
 We went through the palace, and saw, besides the state 
 apartments, what one is unaccustomed to be shown, the })rivate 
 apartments of the King and Queen. Once a week the King re- 
 ceives informally, at his palace, any and all of his subjects. They 
 love and honor him, and seem a contented, happy people. 
 
 One of the most charming features of Stockholm are the parks 
 and tree-lined streets throughout the city. Wherever space will 
 l)ermit, a stretch of green grass, flowers, and shrubs is to be seen, 
 with seats placed at convenient distances, where one sees women 
 knitting, caring for children, reading, or idling, as suits them btst. 
 
 There are })ublic playgrounds for children, also, where all sorts 
 of devices are i)lace(l for their amusement, everything to make 
 life pleasant for those who cannot afford a summer vacation. 
 
Denmakk, Nokway, and Svvkden. 59 
 
 Tliore are free bathing-plaees, also, for boys and girls, on certain 
 days. So much is done for the poorer classes and at so little 
 expense. 
 
 In regard to the educational system, it is so good that only six 
 per cent of the inhabitants of Sweden are unable to read, while 
 in England there are fourteen per cent who cannot read. 
 
 We enjoyed our week in Stockholm greatly. The excursions to 
 the different watering-places were no less delightful than the 
 baths, finding beautiful hotels and all sorts of eating-places in 
 unexpected places, giving evidence of patronage that makes them 
 a success, even though many miles from the city. But there are 
 swift means of transportation by boat, steam or electric cars. 
 
 Another Swedish institution I must speak of is called "The 
 Smorgasbrod" — bread and butter table — which was of interest 
 to us. At hotels and restaurants a special table is placed at one 
 side, or in a room adjoining the dining-room. On this table are 
 bread and butter and all manner of sliced cold meats, preserves, 
 and pickled fish. The natives and others who travel and wish to 
 try it take a plate, select what they wish and eat, walking or 
 standing about the table until satisfied. But the novelty to us 
 was, that while we thought they preferred luncheon to dinner 
 this was only a preliminary proceeding — an appetizer — for they 
 would seat themselves at the dining-table and eat as though 
 they had not tasted food all day. 
 
 We went several times to the Operakallaren, the swell cafe in 
 the opera-house, for dinner, not only because the dinners were 
 the best we could get, but to observe the custom among the bet- 
 ter classes, and to try it also. For myself, I could not be in- 
 duced to try it often, if I cared for my meals. Why should one 
 eat cold or pickled fish before soup, or bread, butter, cheese, salad, 
 or omelette before beginning the real dinner? I noticed the men 
 took something from faucets, in queer-looking silver tankards. I 
 thought they drank their water from rather small glasses, until I 
 learned it was Swedish corn-brandy. However, it was fun to see 
 them crowd around the table, men and women seeming to enjoy 
 the strange custom, trying to get up an appetite, but never a 
 one, if I am a judge, needed it. 
 
 But more than the eating, or seeing the Smorgasbrod dainty 
 eaters, did I enjoy the view from the beautiful frescoed dining- 
 
60 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 room. Across the river was the Royal Palace, and the harl)or 
 filled with boats from all parts of the world, terraces of l)rick and 
 stone rising to great height from the water to high cliffs on the 
 south side. Enjoying the glorious twilight of the Northland, the 
 combined beauties of nature and art. the varying throngs pass- 
 ing by, the splash of fountains, the tramp of soldiers, music from 
 bands in the Kingsstradgarden — that was all the ai)petizer I 
 needed, but custom makes all the difference. 
 
 We feel thoroughly satisfied with our visit in tiie Norse region, 
 wondering at the advanced state of civilization, admiring the 
 picturesque costumes of the peasants, a constant intermingling of 
 the old and the new, but always something of interest, some- 
 thing to learn, to remember. We have interviewed the American 
 and Russian consuls, our passports have been vised, and we are 
 now ready to sail for Finland and Russia, the land of steppes, 
 nihilists, and wolves. May we escape Siberia and live to tell of 
 our experience. 
 
 FINLAND. 
 
 We sailed from Stockholm late one afternoon. The city 
 looked very beautiful as we went on past? the palaces, towers, 
 and fortifications, winding in and out among islands so thickly 
 dotting the waters that navigation must be a serious matter 
 in bad weather, and perhaps at all times, judging from the 
 number of submerged hulks and wrecks we saw in passing. 
 Many of the islands have costly residences, ranging down to 
 villas, toy-like houses, and camps. 
 
 People swarm here in summer, and surely it must be pleas- 
 ant. The waters were alive with boats of every description, 
 filled with people visiting from one little green dot to another 
 — or floating idly on the smooth waters. It was dreamland — 
 wonderland — for it seemed unreal in the misty light as the 
 sun set. The ruddy light gleamed l)right on the still, blue 
 water and across the radiant bars were silhouetted the myriads 
 of islands, some paljntating with life, glowing in one mass of 
 flowers, lights, and all that go to surround an ideal home; other 
 
Finland. 61 
 
 islands lay in the beauty of wildness and solitnde, stretching 
 on in bewildering beauty and countless thousands. 
 
 Far as the eye could see, it was the same, ever varying, 
 ever new. We remained on the deck, entranced with the beauty 
 of the evening, watching the colors fading from the sky, from 
 vivid hues to dusky yellows; then through a curious pall of 
 mist and smoke to only dull gray. There were small boats com- 
 ing from the banks; at each prow a dim light like a glow-worm 
 shone, a strange sound filled the air, a commingling of music, 
 of winds among the trees, rippling waters, as the boat slowly 
 glided past these little punctuation points of the Baltic Sea. 
 There was a new moon to add to the beauty of it all, and 
 made it seem as if Titania and all her forces were out, and it 
 was more like dream-life as the night deepened and the slate- 
 colored waves rolled away from the prow. The shadowy out- 
 lines of fortresses and old castles loomed overhead as we passed 
 narrow channels whose perpendicular banks rose from the side 
 of the steamer. 
 
 The trip across the Gulf of Bothnia to Finland was in charm- 
 ing contrast to that of the North Sea. We enjoyed every 
 moment of it. There was not an hour of disagreeable weather. 
 The sea was smooth, the air fresh and invigorating, and every- 
 body felt well. 
 
 The amount of eating on that boat was astonishing. The 
 odd way of serving the meals made it hard for a timid per- 
 son, or one unacquainted with their ways, to get anything to 
 eat. There was not a waiter on the boat who could speak one 
 word of English or French, but the custom of helping one's 
 self comes in nicely here. The first morning I was a little 
 late, or early, I knew not which, for when I entered the din- 
 ing-saloon there was no one but myself. However, I signified 
 that I wanted something to eat, all of which was received with 
 smiles of acquiescence, but no breakfast came. They were laisy 
 piling up food on a long table in the center of the room. Again 
 and again I tried, but all in vain. I was getting desperate, so 
 thought I would appeal to the captain, l)ut just then a bell rang 
 and people rushed in. They caught up plates and forks from 
 that food-laden table, and such a scramble, pushing, and crowd- 
 ing each other to gain a desired morsel I had never seen outside 
 
62 A AN'oman's "\\\\nderings. 
 
 a place where troughs are rcHjuirt'd. The custom is iiuuh as the 
 Bmorgarshord system at Stockhohii, only here was added to the 
 pickled meats hot dishes, such as eggs, omelettes, ham, etc. 
 When each had eaten all he could, either standing or sitting at 
 the table, a separate course of meat and vegetables was served, 
 with whatever drink one desired. Beer seemed the favorite 
 drink, though the natives prefer their brandy. Coffee they do 
 not serve at breakfast, but hours either before or after, and that 
 was why I had to wait. However, they instituted a new order 
 of affairs, for I would not l)e comforted or consoled. I would, 
 and did, have coffee witli my ])reakfast. Fancy liaviiig peojjle 
 eating eggs, a cutlet, vegetaljles, with l)eer at nine o'clock in the 
 morning! But they ate and drank at all hours. The Russians 
 had their tea, Germans beer, Swedes and Finlanders coffee, 
 tourists following their own customs, and other nationalities to 
 their own liking. All meals were served in much the same style. 
 
 At dinner I saw the captain helping himself in the midst of 
 the crowd, as eagerly desirous of a good portion as those who 
 could not ask so easily for what was wanted. There was no 
 favoritism, but it hardly seemed in keeping with his dignity 
 and gilt Inittons, scrambling in the throng around the helj)- 
 yourself table. 
 
 We were quite pleased with Helsingfors. It is a fine, clean 
 city, but contains nothing of particular interest to the traveler. 
 We conversed with a native, a woman, who spoke such good 
 English that I asked her where she learned it. "In Buffalo," 
 she said, and added, with an intensity and fervor that astonished 
 me, "I shall never be happy until lean go l)ack to America." 
 She had been there once for two years. 
 
 I learned much of their life and ways from her. She told me 
 that the Finlanders had put on mourning when the edict went 
 forth from Russia that they must change customs, money, etc. 
 The Russian language is to be taught in the schools; their 
 young men must go to Russia for a five years' training in tlie 
 army. " Oh, it is barbarous," she said. "Our boys can never 
 live there. They will all die. None can stand it five years." 
 She said, that since the Czar had issued his edict, men and women 
 had worn only black at tlicaters. all i>laces of amusement, 
 churches, etc. 
 
Russia. 63 
 
 It seemed strange to hvav her talk of the sorrow and wretc-hed- 
 ness caused l\v the Czar, while he figures before the whole world 
 as a prime mover in and i)ronioter of the Peace Commission, yet 
 causing untold agony, unrest, and grave misapprehension among 
 his own people. But then he is a Czar, and his ways, like provi- 
 dence, are past finding out. He evidently wants his su])jects to 
 thoroughly understand his laws and learn the language in 
 school, for out of a population of two million there are hut six 
 thousand Finlanders who speak Russian. 
 
 RUSSIA. 
 
 From the Gulf of Finland to St. Petersburg! I recall the first 
 view of that city, the river, and fleets at anchor. Kronstadt's 
 granite forts, the domes, towers, and thousands of strange sights 
 and scenes that quickened the pulses. We could only look while 
 going slowly along, in silence; after landing, we waited until the 
 grim officials passed judgment on our passports. Finally we were 
 allowed to go, but soon as our hotel was reached our names were 
 asked, our passports taken and handed over to the police. We 
 felt we were under strict surveillance in this land of the Czar, 
 but rather enjoyed it, and wondered if we were suspects or looked 
 like nihilists. 
 
 We remembered some thrilling experiences in a certain book, 
 hunted up an English library and asked for it. " Not allowed 
 in Russia." Books or papers with anything in the slightest de- 
 gree reflecting on customs or regulations do not cross the border. 
 If a paper publishes anything derogatory to the government, 
 however small, it is suppressed or the article blotted out. Well, 
 we were not there to question, but to see and enjoy, and we did. 
 
 We took a drosky and drove over the city, up the Nevsky 
 (the Broadway of St. Petersburg), past the great Kazan Church, 
 palaces, squares, barracks, monuments, temples, and canals. 
 From the huge golden dome of St. Isaac's the city seems to be 
 floating like a bird in the immense body of water surrounding it. 
 
 We saw Basil Island and the great Nevsky, with barracks, 
 etc., the Exchange, and Winter Palace, the swift, blue Neva, 
 
64 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 spanned by innumerable bridges, many made of boats, which 
 are removed with the first appearance of ice. On the left bank 
 reside the court and nobility. To the right and lower down 
 are villages of the laboring classes. What a medley we saw in 
 the streets, — Jews, Poles, Cossacks, soldiers everywhere, gray- 
 coated officials carrying bayonets and swords, etc.; booted and 
 bonnetted villagers; robed priests with hats shaped like in- 
 verted brass kettles, a piece of black gauze attached to the 
 cylindrical-formed caps hanging over the long, greasy hair 
 braided in plaits. 
 
 While going through the church of St. Isaac's, gazing upon 
 the wealth of porphyry, lapis lazuli, and malachite, I thought 
 I would like to question a priest concerning some portions of the 
 church. I could not remember the formula necessary to preface 
 a question with. Afterwards I looked it up, and found if I 
 wished to say " your reverence," I must use this simple word, 
 " Vuisokopreosswaehtshennaishi-Vladiko." As my time was lim- 
 ited in Russia, I was glad I did not have a day to spare for 
 the next word. 
 
 The Hermitage and Winter Palace are simply beyond my 
 power of description. I have seen the best, and all, of the Euro- 
 pean palaces, but nothing I have seen, nothing the imagination 
 could picture, can compare with this in splendor and magnitude. 
 Pictures, gold, precious stones, jewels — the richness, vastness, is 
 inconceivable. 
 
 Then we go to the simple and plain little house of Peter the 
 Great. We saw his boat, built by himself. From there we went 
 to the fortress of Peter and Paul, wherein lie all the sovereigns 
 of Russia since the founding of St. Petersburg. Innumerable 
 sarcophagi inclose the remains. Golden crowns adorn them; 
 candles are burning always. There are armed officials at every 
 turn. 
 
 Then we go from the splendor of the cathedral and from the 
 presence of those who ruled, lying now at rest, but still protected, 
 watched, and guarded, out into the air, but still inside the walls, 
 and we know, though we are not permitted to see, that a little 
 farther on are the awful dungeons under the river, where so 
 many have been tortured and died. What deaths! The horror 
 of it. The terrible gloom makes us shudder, and we are glad 
 
Ri'SisiA. 65 
 
 when tlu' driver cuts viciously the tougli littU' Cossack horse, 
 that, answering with a vigorous kick and hound, took us c^uickly 
 from the phvce. 
 
 The galleries, paintings, the beautiful bronzes, the churches 
 gorgeous in gold, jewels, pillars and altars of lapis lazuli and 
 malachite are excjuisite and beyond all price, yet one thinks, in 
 looking at all this magnificence, of Siberia, of the quarries, of the 
 horror, the dread, the torture, and — well, perhaps the people for- 
 get, so kneel and kiss the tombs of the dead rulers as well and 
 fervently as the feet of Christ. But I know I could not. 
 
 Other thoughts took possession of me in looking at those 
 polished altars, tliose wonderful pillars which the books seem to 
 gloat ever. I think of a ruler of ninety millions of people who 
 deems nothing of building a church that will cost several millions 
 of dollars, yet will not spend a few thousands for a school. I 
 know that wherever I have traveled through Russia I observed 
 the squalid villages, and low thatched huts huddled together, but 
 in no one of these country villages did I see a schoolhouse. I 
 know we had a guide whose services bring him one dollar and 
 twenty-five cents per day, who sends his boy to school. It costs 
 him over eighty dollars a year. There are no free schools. This 
 man, though living there, is a German, and believes in educa- 
 tion, so must stint himself in every way to educate his son. 
 
 When the Czar went to Moscow last year to unveil the statue 
 of Alexander II, he had eight hundred students locked up in 
 their quarters for a week, lest harm might come to him through 
 them, and yet, now^ and then, people wonder at nihilism. 
 
 We wonder why it was that the Russian baths seem to be well 
 known all the world over, save in Russia, and why, in every in- 
 stance, when we desired a bath, notice must be given two hours 
 in advance, that they might heat up a stove with enough water 
 to fill a tub. There is a great deal to astonish one here, but the 
 baths and " grab-table " I described before were the most 
 astonishing. 
 
 We had our passports returned, after paying the police some- 
 thing for keeping them in safety for us, and we were permitted 
 to leave for Moscow. We liked this city Napoleon captured very 
 much better than St. Petersburg. It spreads over a circum- 
 ference of about thirty miles. There is such a pleasing negli- 
 
66 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 gence and pi«iuresque irregularity in its streets, its vast expanse 
 of housetops of ever}' conceival)le style of architecture. The 
 Moskva, rising in a morass in the province Smolenski, enters 
 this city, to which it has given its name on the west; it flows 
 under the Kremlin, issues again into the vast ])lain and unites 
 with the Oka. 
 
 The Kremlin! I was so impatient to see the fortress, that 
 we had ])een ])ut a short time in the city ere we were within 
 the walls. What memories clustered around this place. We 
 climbed the tower of Ivan, where Napoleon stood with his 
 marshals, looking over a city he thought was his, and a fairer 
 sight is seldom vouchsafed any one. There are over four hun- 
 dred churches (some say seven hundred) in tliis city, with 
 their gilt and star-bespangled domes, towers, and minarets. 
 There are domes everywhere — great golden globes, pale greens, 
 colors of every hue and tint, with the deeper, intense indigo 
 blue of the smaller domes always, or nearly so, covered with 
 gold stars, but a blending and commingling of colors that, 
 strangely enough, does not jar, but seems to harmonize. 
 
 Byzantine architecture borrowed from Constantinople is most 
 prominent here, as all through Russia, and one marvels at the 
 number of churches and the ingenuity displaj'ed in their con- 
 struction. Gilt chains swing from the domes, the crescent be- 
 neath the cross denoting the triumph of Christianity over 
 Mohammedanism. 
 
 The Church of our Saviour is not excelled in splendor by any 
 in the world — a dream in cream tints looming against the blue 
 skies. There are life-sized pictures incrusted with glittering 
 jewels, pavements where one treads on beautiful marbles while 
 gazing on walls that are made of jasper, alabaster, malachite, 
 and other precious stones from Siberia, so rare and valuable 
 that the cost is beyond imagining. No statues or figures are 
 allowed wdthin the Greek churches, but the people prostrate 
 themselves before altars rich in paintings. 
 
 Then comes the Church of St. Basil with its gorgeous color- 
 ings and numerous domes representing fruits and vegetables, 
 — a rather crazy idea of architecture, but suitable to the two 
 idiots over whose graves the building was erected. 
 
 We saw the Cathedral of the Assumption gorgeously decorated. 
 
Russia. (>7 
 
 This is where the Czars crown themselves, no one h(^in}2; deenicd 
 worthy hut himself to })erf()rm the office. There were many 
 churches gorgeous in gold and marhle, the floors i)aved with 
 jaspers, carnelians, and other heautiful stones. 
 
 The treasury, which is incomparahle, has no display equal 
 to it, except the Sultan's, at Constantinople. Radiant and re- 
 splendent were the robes, crowns, and scepters scintillating with 
 jewels that greeted me in every imaginable form in this Iniilding. 
 
 The palaces, buildings, churches, etc., within the walls of the 
 Kremlin, which occupies a radius of two miles, constitute the 
 greatest charm of Moscow, though the city is full of interest, 
 and is peculiar, but fascinating, never wearying. 
 
 Then there is the wonderful bell of Moscow, which weighed 
 one hundred and ninety-three tons before the sliver of fourteen 
 tons was broken from it. 
 
 I go for days, never tiring of its beauties, its old historical places 
 — not so old, however. But who can think of Moscow only as it 
 is now? Always the mind goes back to the invasion. I thought 
 of it when we drove to the hills where Napoleon and his army 
 first saw the city after the plains of Lithuania. It could not 
 have been more beautiful than now. But one could well imagine 
 the delirium of delight it must have brought them when the 
 splendid city appeared to their longing e3'es. I can well under- 
 stand the feeling of the people who fired and burnt their loved 
 homes. They have rebuilt it now, a more beautiful city than ever. 
 
 But the old Kremlin is still there, with its snowy walls, the 
 building set in a rich frame of water and verdant foliage; above 
 all, the famed tower, gorgeous churches, and the throngs who wor- 
 ship. 
 
 Such outward humility and devotion I have never seen as in 
 these Greek churches. But again the question comes up, If 
 really a true devotional spirit, why this unrest and wickedness? 
 or is it only a form, and a waiting? Will there be a millennium? 
 and will it reach the Czar's realm? 
 
 Traveling with us a short distance through Russia was a beau- 
 tiful, well-dressed young lady, who graciously gave us fruit and 
 bonbons, then smilingly took out a jeweled case and offered us a 
 cigarette. It was hard to refuse after the other dainties, l)ut we 
 did it as gently as possible. It was common to see the women 
 
68 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 smoking in the streets, but we had not seen, until this time, 
 ladies smoking in cars. 
 
 Coming from Warsaw with us were a party of Americans, 
 herded by some one who tried to make them seem helpless as in- 
 fants. At every station the globular gentleman was out, parad- 
 ing his generous proportions and evidence of knowledge in a 
 blatant, pompous sort of way that, to one who was not paying 
 for it, seemed ridiculous. He would point to a rye-field and 
 assert that beyond doubt it was rye, clover, or oats, as the case 
 might be. There were countless flocks of geese as we neared the 
 frontier, and he announced that he had heard that they plucked 
 the feathers from the breasts of the birds, but was not certain if 
 they were kept for that purpose or for their eggs. Think of be- 
 ing brought across the ocean and illimitable plains of Russia to 
 hear a statement of that sort. 
 
 The same man had told his party that he had a special dining- 
 car put on for their exclusive use. It was hard on the poor man 
 that we were not taken into his confidence, for at the first signal 
 for dinner we were in the dining-car. The result was, that, 
 though he had counted seats and there were enough to just 
 fill it, he had forgotten that there were others, so he and one of 
 the flock had to wait until we finished our dinner. 
 
 It really seems strange that bright, intelligent, wide-awake 
 people come over here, allowing themselves to be taken hur- 
 riedly from place to place in a crowded state that cannot be 
 comfortable or instructive; but, then, it saves a lot of thinking 
 and planning, and many people are averse to both. 
 
 We were glad to have the last gray-coated official hand us 
 our passports and bow us over the frontier. Much as we 
 enjoyed some portions of Russia, we were glad to be away from 
 the grimy drosky-drivers and others one must meet in traveling. 
 
 We are leaving the White Empire — her cities resplendent with 
 all that wealth can bring, as well as from streets redolent with 
 smells of cigarettes and cabbage-soup; away from the land of 
 vodka, the bottled curse of the foolish — for foolishness and thirst 
 are said to be found in the same head. It may be so with the 
 natives, but no thirst could ever parch my lips sufficiently as to 
 create a desire to assuage it with a second taste. I had asked a 
 waiter for a glass of water, and as the pronunciation is similar, 
 
(xIMniANY. (39 
 
 he brought me a carafe of braiuly. Few peopk' ever (h-iuk plain 
 water in Russia. He could not understand how any one sliould 
 prefer nature's beverage to corn-l)randy, so I lost caste in his 
 eyes at once. 
 
 We saw in Russia no bleak plains or steppes, such as we had 
 imagined, but well-tim])ered sections everywhere — for the gov- 
 ernment has wisely planted forests in every available space. 
 They, however, are very primitive in agricultural notions. Men 
 and women, mostly the latter, cut all the hay and grain with 
 scythes, tying up the little wisps in small Innidles — and how 
 they do work all day in the hot sun, up to eight and nine o'clock 
 in the evening. It was the same all through Poland, though soon 
 after leaving Warsaw we noticed a change for the l)etter. The 
 people, crops, herds — all looked better and more content. We 
 heard now and then a little conversation; no such suUenness as 
 farther north. But that is all of the past. The appearance of 
 windmills — the storks, following the women and children con- 
 tentedly in the fields, or nodding approval from the housetops — - 
 the people, and costumes — bespeak the '' Faderland." 
 
 GERMANY. 
 
 We took a good rest in Berlin, and enjoyed the shaded Unter 
 den Linden, her beautiful streets, the gay life, which is more like 
 Paris than any city we have seen. The streets were filled with 
 stylish women and well-dressed men. Cafh and restaurants line 
 the streets; the people seem to be eating and drinking all the 
 time. The drives and walks are beautiful; such well-shaded 
 paths and woods, well-swept and watered. 
 
 Everywhere women were seated at work; the everlasting knit- 
 ting-needles endlessly clinking. Are there no knitting factories 
 in Europe? I do not remember to have seen any woman reading 
 a book. 
 
 The Thiergarten, Charlottenburg, the musuems and galleries, 
 are interesting, and the places so well known, also, that I need 
 only mention them. Every one who has seen them knows how 
 enjoyable they are, and I would not weary those who have not, 
 with a lengthy description. 
 
70 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 One of our most enjoyable days was spent at Potsdam, in the 
 lovely grounds, and Sans Souei, which contains many relics of 
 Frederick the Great, particularly the old windmill and other in- 
 teresting objects dating from his residence there. 
 
 While in Berlin we had occasion to go to the post-office for a 
 money-order. A few shillings had been unjustly extorted from 
 us by some railway officials in Holland. We complained to the 
 firm from whom we had purchased our tickets, and on our arri- 
 val in Berlin found the matter had been righted. We entered 
 and presented the order at a window. An official with much 
 gilt and Inittons to match, took the paper and perused it at 
 length. It was written in English. Then, although I am sure 
 he could not read a word, he got even by pointing to another 
 window, over which was written " post aurveisungen." There 
 the same ceremony was repeated, and we were sent to another 
 window, labeled " Briefausgabe " ; to still another, over which 
 was written, in bold letters, " Das rauchen ist verboten." The 
 last, where we rested and refused "to play ball" for the remainder 
 of the day, said " Geschlossen." At that moment an authorita- 
 tive hand waved, and a voice said " Come." We went, got our 
 money, and will never know if it was all entirely according to 
 the Code, or if they had a gleam of humor and were having fun 
 at our expense. 
 
 Dresden, the city on the Elbe, with her almost unrivaled col- 
 lections of arts, claimed us after Berlin. We enjoyed the sweet, 
 clean city, the miles and miles of streets, smooth as floors, 
 washed perfectly clean, and the beautiful parks and houses. 
 From every window, almost, gleam bright-hued flowers. The 
 electric cars are quite numerous, as are the lights, almost 
 superseding gas, and quite driving out here, as in most other 
 places, the old idea of candles in one's rooms at hotels. 
 
 In the Royal Palace and Green Vault are stored the price- 
 less treasures, jewels, and works of art dating from the Renais- 
 sance and Rococo eras, enamels, ivory carvings, and crystal cut- 
 ting in bewildering array. There are statues and churches that 
 take days to even glance at. 
 
 In the museum the pictures, wonderful in beauty and num- 
 ber, try one's strength and endurance. One tires of acres and 
 neck-breaking sky-liners, however good. Some exceptions are 
 
Germany. 
 
 71 
 
 worth it all. Italian art. as represented in Raphael's grandly- 
 beautiful Sistine Madonna, along with many others of the golden 
 period of Italian and Venetiaii art, cannot be forgotten, and pay 
 {or the otherwise wearv routine. 
 
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 1. ) . .■ ._,:,^ faPBBBBI 
 
 *~7-.-..-:-- 
 
 
 lilHHHHli^ 
 
 HISTORICAL WIXDMIM, AT I'OTtSDA.M. 
 
 From Dresden through the 8axon Hwitzerlanil, along the Elbe 
 past Konigstein and Lilienstine, the two fortresses which at the 
 beginning of the Seven Years' War were compelled to surrender 
 to the Prussian army under Frederick the Great, the scenery- 
 was magnificent, until we had crossed the Austrian frontier, 
 where the road for the rest of the day, until we reached Vienna, 
 lay through a rich agricultural country. 
 
AUSTRIA. 
 
 Here, as in every eountry visited, the crops were being cared 
 for, and here, too, the greater nunjl)er of harvesters were women, 
 reaping, tying up the grain, tossing the hay ahoiit, that it 
 might dry. Here, too, we saw women working in gravel-pits, 
 on the raih'oads, mixing mortar and carrying ])rick for the 
 erection of houses, walls, etc. It seemed dreadful, and some- 
 how took away a great deal of the pleasure of the journey. 
 
 If hope is the swing in which we vibrate all our lives, I won- 
 der if there is much of the vibration there — if in their poor lives 
 there ever comes a gleam of something l>etter. The cocoon feels, 
 doubtless, the quivering of the wings that some day will un- 
 fold and the l)utterfly will be out free and fluttering in the 
 warm, sweet air on those same painted wings — but is there a 
 hope of rest in life, a feeling of aught else but stern necessity and 
 unending labor for them this side of the grave? I think not. If 
 the time ever existed when men worked and women merely wept, 
 it did not find a stopping-place in these lands, where men click 
 their spurs and swords on smooth pavements while the women — 
 if they have time for a tear, it is dried in the blistering sun. 
 Small matter it, or the dreadful Inirdens. Soldiers are needed in 
 the army, and the army must ])e fed. 
 
 We were housed in a hotel under the shadow of the tall tower 
 of St. Stephen's, in Vienna. From this old Gothic church with 
 its curious carvings radiate a network of streets. A ring or belt 
 of splendid boulevards marks the line of ancient fortifications, 
 and an electric tramway takes one the entire circle, past magnifi- 
 cent buildings and avenues of trees, giving splendid views of 
 charming suburbs. 
 
 In the Church of the Ca})uchins, which contains the l)urial- 
 vault of the imperial family, we saw among the dark, dust-cov- 
 ered coffins the new silver caskets of the Empress and her son. 
 
 Here the picture-gal kn'ies are too large and tiresome, save only 
 for a hasty survey, unless one has time to waste. The two new 
 twin museums are exactly alike, save the interior decorations. 
 The magnificence of the niarl)les and different i)()lished stones 
 are beyond description. 
 
 72 
 
AUSTHIA. 78 
 
 The Viennese love outdoor life, ;is well as the licrliiicis. Tlu? 
 volksgarteu is always crowded. It is the lordly Prater, Vienna's 
 great park, which extends nearly four miles down the Donau 
 Canal, a branch of the Danube. There are many l)uildings left 
 since the exposition years ago, and it is still used for annual ex- 
 hibitions, concerts, etc. They have wisely left it much as it was 
 at that time, so restaurants line the well-shaded drives. There 
 is a constant throng oi people, walking, driving, riding, cycling, 
 or sitting listening to the bands in the cafe gardens. The lilt of 
 the lute, the whirl of the Strauss waltzes, animation, life in all 
 its phases, may be seen in their wild and enjoyable Prater. 
 
 The grounds and gardens at Shoenbrun, the summer palace of 
 the Emperor, are as well patronized as are the parks. What 
 crowds of people we saw there, wandering along the countless 
 paths, where the great trees, from forty to fifty feet in height, 
 were trimmed into hedgerows, and as even as if only a foot in 
 height. Then so much is left in its natural l^eauty, that off the 
 walks it seems as though one wandered in primeval forests. 
 From the top of the marble colonnade of the Gloriette we had 
 a splendid view of the city, the suburbs, and gardens of the 
 palace. Surely these people are blest in having so many places 
 within and near the city where they can breathe fresh air and 
 enjoy nature, as the parks are kept for the people and their 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Early one morning we left Vienna, after a lengthy discussion 
 with our cab-driver, who insisted on his fare liefore starting. It 
 seems there is some police regulation regarding the payment of 
 fares before stopping at the stations, which is as senseless as their 
 having certain stopping-places for street-cars, causing one to 
 walk blocks often in the pouring rain, in order to ride half the 
 distance walked, especially if one does not know the town. Well, 
 we refused, and when a woman says no and means it, a man 
 usually has discretion enough to acquiesce. We were wise after 
 all, for he took us to the wrong landing, and got his fare only 
 when we were at the right place. At any rate, we escapeil l»y 
 getting hurriedly on the boat. 
 
 Rules and regulations were nothing to us. Cabmen and police 
 were as things that are not, when we were steaming down the 
 swift-flowing Danube. We enjoyed it immensely in the earlier 
 
74 A Woman's Wanderincjs. 
 
 part of the day, but it was tiresome, as there is Init little variety 
 — mostly level country, until we neared Hungary. 
 
 Here there were bold l)luffs and castled crags, reminding one of 
 the Rhine, Deveny and Hamburg castles, the walls and towers up 
 high above the broad, green river, — for, with all reverence and 
 admiration for Strauss, the beautiful blue Danube is not bhie, but 
 a pale, thin, milky green, more lovely, if possible, though less 
 poetic, then common blue, as the coloring is unique and different 
 from any stream I have ever seen. 
 
 The river was low. We endured the day, hoping that at seven 
 o'clock our journey would end, but we found out by accident that 
 the l)oat would not arrive until midnight at Budapest. So, by 
 special permission of the captain, we were allowed a stateroom, 
 and slept until next morning. There is some arrangement be- 
 tween the owners of 1)oats and hotels, and only in exceptional 
 cases people are allowed to remain on board overnight. We 
 were the exception, and enjoyed a good night's rest. And the 
 following morning we felt refreshed, and ready to enjoy the city. 
 
 Buda and Pest, formerly two cities, are now united under one 
 name. There are nearly half a million inhabitants, and the 
 wonderful changes that have taken place in this gateway to the 
 Orient in the past twenty years are astonishing. They never 
 tire of telling of it, and it is not to be wondered at, for it is the 
 most beautiful of all the cities we have seen. 
 
 The new House of Parliament is copied from the English, — only 
 the exterior, however, as it undoubtedly has no counterpart for 
 gold and exquisite marbles and Oriental decorations of the in- 
 terior. 
 
 The streets are lined with palaces of the Hungarian nobles. 
 We stopped in one, now turned into a hotel, on the bank of the 
 Danube. Our landlord was a Hungarian with a Byronic face, 
 and master of several languages. In fact, he handed us a book 
 describing his hotel and Budapest, that he had translated into 
 English and German. In describing the palace, this sentence 
 struck me forcibly: " It was built on the ruins of Kings Bela 
 IVth castle reconstructed under Mary-Theresia. But nowadays 
 it will quite newly built." I am therefore in doubt as to whether 
 I saw it or not. Another sentence read: " We leave the hotel in 
 Valencia-Gosse and come to the redoute which we admire from 
 
Austria. 75 
 
 near." However lucid his book, he was very obliging, and made 
 us quite comfortable, for his hotel was good and he prepared the 
 Hungarian dishes — only known to the country — for us, and 
 which we found very palatable. 
 
 The fruits were good — the very lirst we have found; fortius 
 in the truest sense has been a fruitless summer for me. But 
 here were figs, watermelons, large bunches of ripe, purple grapes, 
 pears and peaches, looking so homelike, but. in truth, not 
 tasting quite so well. 
 
 The Emperor's palace, in which be must reside three months 
 in the year, is on the Buda side, and the location high up on 
 the terraced hill overlooking the town of Pest on the plain, 
 with the broad, beautiful river below, is connected by innu- 
 merable bridges. The beauty of it all is well worth the trip 
 down the Danube to see. 
 
 There is no city that has the bathing facilities we found here. 
 There are several places in the city where sulphur water comes 
 almost boiling-hot from the ground. Baths are established, and 
 people swarm around the pipes, where the water flows all the 
 time, drinking it hot, or carrying it away in bottles for home use. 
 
 Then there is the beautiful Margaret Island, that is exquisite 
 in flowers, green grass, and forest trees. It has been known 
 since the Romans occupied it as a fortified outpost. The baths 
 are delightful; more than that, it is not necessary to say, for 
 never in all my travels have I seen such an ideal place. They 
 have an electric underground railway in Buda, and in the 
 center of the town there are no wires overhead, which certainly 
 adds to the beauty of the streets. 
 
 In the town forests, the park where the exposition was held, 
 the crowds love to gather when the heat of the day is over 
 and the night not yet begun. The drives are alive with vehicles 
 of all sorts from the four-in-hand of the Hungarian noble to 
 the steady family-filled carriage and one-horse fiacres. 
 
 The children in the parks are busy as bees around heaps of 
 shining sands. I watch them, and think of days when I, too, 
 poured sand into battered pails and built castles that no tide of 
 forgetfulness could ever wash away. The winds seemed singing 
 a litany among the trees. In the multitude of sounds there was 
 quiet, and Avith peace and good will toward all we said adieu to 
 Budapest. 
 
SAV ITZERLAND. 
 
 Back to Vienna. Then we were off for Inn^.l»riU'k, the capital 
 of the Austrian Tyrol, where we stopped for a week's rest, and 
 a more perfect week could not he imagined. The situation is 
 unique; a long, wide, sunny valley, extending along the hase of the 
 towering grayish-white Bavarian Alps. The town is in the midst 
 of this valley and situated on hoth sides of the River Inn, which 
 runs so swiftly that we saw no craft of any kind upon it. It 
 comes from the Engadine and seems in mad haste to lose itself 
 in the Danube River; the valley, though it was September, was 
 a vivid green, and glowed with sheets of blooming flowers. 
 
 We were ushered into the town with a terrific thunder storm 
 that was so severe that a few miles l)efore reaching our destina- 
 tion the train came to a standstill. It seemed as though we 
 would be blown from the rails, the cars are so small and light, 
 so they were wise, perhaps, in waiting until the violence of the 
 storm had subsided before proceeding farther. 
 
 Harvesting was in full sway, and there were rows and rows 
 of stakes driven in the ground. The bundles, or sheaves, were 
 placed thereon to dry. It was pitiful to see the storm catch 
 them, tearing up the stakes, tossing and scattering the sheaves 
 in mad fury. The harvest was past, the sheaves garnered, yet 
 in a minute's time all was desolate, and the work of a long 
 summer as nothing. They have such little fields and worked 
 so hard, yet it seems are never certain until the grain is housed. 
 How different with us at homo; no fear of storms, and yet our 
 farmers complain. 
 
 We drove through the rain to our hotel, once an old schloss, 
 situated on a hillside, and the next morning looked on a scene 
 that was bewildering in beauty. Our l)aleony overhung a gar- 
 den all a-tangle with vines and blossoms, while gnarled old 
 fruit trees dropped rich, ripe apples upon the sward. Pear 
 trees were trained along the old stone walls much as we train 
 grape-vines. The fruit looked delicious, but I found afterwards 
 was not very palatable. 
 
 The Inn River flowed 1)V at the foot of the gardens. Beyond 
 this was the valley, still farther away were the mountains in 
 
 70 
 
Switzerland. 77 
 
 lofty grandeur and ideal beauty; there were h!U{)erb vistas one 
 never tired of looking at. There seemed something new, from 
 the forest-crowned foothills to the rough, rugged, snow-white 
 peaks so nearer heaven. We had a succession of windless, sunny 
 days. We sat on the balcony and trod in spirit those path- 
 less fields of snow, watching the sunsets — the Alpine glow — 
 in rich rose tints on the white peaks. We saw them in the 
 glory of moonlight, glittering on the snow, while the valley 
 slept in tender, pale light far below. 
 
 From the churches below us in the distance, the sound of 
 bells came at eventide; the sweetest-sounding bells I have ever 
 heard, save in the City of Mexico; the melody, the sweet intona- 
 tions, were a prayer, a sermon, in themselves. I saw the sun 
 rise every morning, gilding with a glorious radiance the peaks, 
 gleaming through the blue mists hovering over the valley and 
 river; heard the clocks chime the hour, and the answering 
 shots from the bare-legged peasants in their quaint Tyrolean 
 costumes, climbing up those steep declivities in quest of the 
 wary chamois. 
 
 We went now and then down to the busy little town, wander- 
 ing through streets that seemed planned solely for scenic effects. 
 One is impressed that nature is paramount, and these people 
 show it in every way. There were many charming places to see, 
 but we cared for few, as we were waiting for the days to come 
 that would try our strength; so we idled away hovirs in shops, in 
 galleries, listening to the exploits of Hofer. 
 
 They like to tell of the innkeeper under whose leadership the 
 French were driven out, and who, after being elevated to the 
 head of the government, still wore his peasant clothes, and 
 while occupying the palace cost the government five dollars per 
 day for his personal expenses. What a theme for an orator, had 
 he been a countryman of ours! There was a Judas who betrayed 
 him, and Napoleon had him executed in 1810, but they talk of 
 him as if it only happened a few years ago. 
 
 In an old church we saw the tomb of Maximilian, one of the 
 finest of the German Renaissance tombs, finished in the fifteenth 
 century. It possessed a fascination for me, this reminder of 
 Maximilian's time, the turning-point between the mediaeval and 
 modern times. He, the "Last Knight," passed away just before 
 
78 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 the angry billows of the sea of "reform" l)roke over Germany. 
 Near his is the tomb of Hofer, in strong contrast in its simplicity; 
 yet the two were closely bound together liy ties sacred, political, 
 and historic. These monuments conjure up a living past, and 
 thoughts crowd thick and fast; we come out and breathe the air 
 of those mountains "Kaiser Max" loved so well. 
 
 We see the simple folks busy, cheerful, and content; we go back 
 to our inn and watch a different life, the life of the present. We 
 hear the chatter of the English girl, wherein everything is 
 "awfully near," or "dear," as the case may be; the varied con- 
 versation of the newly arrived, and showing it in every sentence 
 — American girl — is amusing, for it has been weeks since we 
 have heard scarcely a dozen words of our own language. 
 
 A party of French people is interesting, also. A pretty young 
 widow wearing a bonnet, the veil reaching to the hem of her 
 skirt, is rather depressing in the dining-room. We respect the 
 length of the veil, and are quiet during meals. Life in its dif- 
 ferent phases is worth studying as it appears at the table; after- 
 wards, also, when from our aeries we look down to a balcony be- 
 neath us and see the widow with two young ladies and a young 
 man sitting cozil)'' together, all smoking long, very long, cigars, 
 and the widow's hat and veil are put away; she laughs and puffs 
 out great clouds of smoke; her sorrow seems to disappear in the 
 thin blue wreaths; so it ends, and so ends our week at Innsbruck. 
 
 We were not greatly interested in Zurich, so pass on to Lucerne, 
 where we arrived late one evening. The winds were chill with 
 the first breath of autumn, making the comforters of eiderdown a 
 blessing in warmth and lightness, and we slept until another day 
 broke, and the shadowy clouds drifted apart, and the peerless 
 Righi and stern old Pilatus loomed grandly above the clear, 
 sparkling waters. 
 
 In the dim distance, a white wraith, so indefinite as to seem 
 unreal, showed now and then. It was some time before I real- 
 ized it was an old friend of long ago, the Jungfrau. The view 
 was enchanting; but there are so many in and around Lucerne 
 that it is impossible to speak of them separately. 
 
 Lucerne has some two hundred thousand people, who yearly 
 visit her walls and towers, walk the streets, lounge along the qua}', 
 listen to bands in the Kursaal, or the grand organ in the Hof- 
 
yWITZEKI.AM). Si 
 
 kirehe; or go to the <rl;u'ier garden and look ujion Thorwaldsen's 
 lion in his rock-hewn niehe, lying with a hroken sliaft in Ins side 
 ahove the quiet water pool. Some love to wander in the past, 
 and so stand on the old wooden Ijridge of the fourteenth century, 
 the bridge Longfellow has made, or helped to make, famous, and, 
 we, the last, almost, of the birds of passage, loiter there, too, antl 
 watch the rapid river Reuss; see the rippling shadows play and 
 dance u})on the walls. And beneath the old eves where many, 
 so many, have stood before us, and so many will come after, we 
 look at the ancient walls and gates, thence to the river again, 
 and see the long line of modern hotels that border the lake and 
 spoil its beauty. 
 
 But the summer birds must l)e housed and their comfort looked 
 after. In a town where the present is so beautiful, we may well 
 let the pasi be forgotten, for Lucerne of the lake and mountains 
 is incomparable. Her people are wise; they build and beautify 
 to please the tourist, and the tourist responds, so money is plenti- 
 ful, shops alluring, and usually kept by a class who do not ob- 
 serve the Sabbath. Open doors are in evidence everywhere, wares 
 are temptingly displayed, and the traveling public attend t(j the 
 rest. 
 
 We sailed around the beautiful blue lake. A continual change 
 of scenery made the day charming and enjoyable — the luxu- 
 riant vegetation of the hills and slopes, with the higher Alps in 
 the distance; villages everywhere, and countless chalets dotting 
 the mountains, even up to the snow-line. 
 
 Lucerne, as every one knows, is noted not only for its wild and 
 })icturesque scenery, but is memorable for its association with the 
 heroic legends of William Tell. We stopped at the chapel, 
 marking the spot where he jumped from the boat of Gessler, and 
 saw the fountain at Altdorf, which stands where stood the tree to 
 which the boy was bound when the unerring shaft was sped. We 
 saw the starting-point of the St. Gotthard railway, and much of 
 the finest scenery along the lake shores, before it enters the tun- 
 nels and starts over the high mountains. 
 
 One day, while at Lucerne, we went with some friends to Minnie 
 Hauk's lovely villa. She is a baroness now, and does not sing in 
 public any more. She sang for us, and her voice is rich and 
 sweet. She is charming as ever, and apparently so happy in her 
 
82 A Woman's Wanpekings. 
 
 surroundings that she does not miss the old life, and differs from 
 Patti in this respect. 
 
 We crossed the Brunig Pass; thence up the steeper grades from 
 Lucerne to Gisryl. the summit, — then to Meiringen, and Lake 
 Brienz, where we took steamer to Interlaken. There had been 
 a fall of snow the night previous, on the high mountains, and 
 they were doublj^ beautiful, as they had ]>een rather bare after the 
 long summer. Rain, lower down, had filled the streams, and 
 everywhere there were falls and cascades, dashing down the 
 rocky defiles, over precipices, gliding swiftly by some dwellings — 
 for by almost every tiny stream one sees the huts and herds, 
 away up even to the snow-line. 
 
 Much of the romance attached to the Swiss rluVet disappears 
 when one visits a home where house. Ixirn, and stables are all 
 under one roof. There are no comfortable, sweet cottages. 
 They are cramped and miserable, ill-smelling, unventilated, l>ut 
 the people have to labor hard, and the most rigid economy 
 prevails. But this much for the people: we saw no tramps 
 and no l)eggars, and that covers a multitude of smells, or sins, 
 as you like. 
 
 Interlaken I should descrilie as a town of hotels and wood- 
 carvers. The array of omnilmses at the station startles one 
 at first, but when we think that no place in Switzerland is 
 so tourist-haunted, we cease to wonder, — in fact, if I were called 
 to answer a question in regard to the country, I would sa}^ 
 that it consists of mountains, streams, and hotels. It imports 
 tourists, exports scenery or] liJ)., according to capacity of carrier. 
 They build magnificent hotels. If there is a point on any 
 peak, however inaccessible, they proceed to make it accessible by 
 running a railroad to the top. There is nothing they will 
 not attempt, and usually succeed in, to make it delightful for 
 pleasure-loving people. This has especial reference to the road 
 they are pushing to completion up that great, beautiful moun- 
 tain, the Jungfrau. 
 
 We went one morning ]>y rail to the beautiful Lauterbrunnen 
 
 Valley, which is literally a valley of springs, past the lovely 
 
 Staubback falls. But falls were everywhere, coming downward in 
 
 chaos, in curves, in leaps, water storming against obstacles, 
 
 oamy white masses, bolting down in a sort of mad joy of utter 
 
SWITZKKLANI). 83 
 
 strength, to (luiet down wlien the river was reached and ripi)le 
 sweetly along the verdant l)anks. 
 
 We changed to a rack and pinion railway, whose cars are l)nilt 
 for steep grades, and the engines, each and every one, 1 remarked, 
 had its back up and head low down to the rails. So we went up 
 the steep slopes of the Jungfrau, above the valley, the falls, up 
 through dense forests, then past those to regions of snow and ice. 
 Again we changed to an electric road, went to the Eiger glacier, 
 and past that through enormous tunnels, to the entl of the road, 
 on which work has been stopped for the season. 
 
 The snows of winter there lay deep on the ground — eternal ice 
 and snow were around us, a gorgeous, solemn world about us. 
 Above towered the Jungfrau, Eiger, Monch, and Matterhorn, won- 
 derful in beauty, in the almost blinding whiteness of the fresh, 
 new^ snows that covered the ground and the glaciers, save the 
 deep crevices. We were some eight thousand feet above the 
 lower world, and had come by magic, it seemed. We realized 
 what these people had done; how easy it was now to attain 
 heights before unattainable, save for the few. In a year or two 
 more, electricity will reach the desired point, and the summit of 
 the Jungfrau be as easily reached as the meadows l)elow. 
 
 We went down the slopes on the other side of the mountain to 
 Grindelwald, returning through the Lutschine, so narrow a val- 
 ley that the sun is scarcely seen at all; down to more level pla- 
 teaus, where the herds browse on the rich meadows, every one 
 possessing a bell, l;)ig or little. Each cow, calf, and goat has his 
 own sweet-sounding klingle-klangle, and the cadence comes to us 
 soft and clear through the still atmosphere. These are un- 
 changed, but the shrill shriek of the engines have driven out the 
 melody of the Alpine horn, and only now and then a faint yodel 
 comes to the ear. Steam and electricity build uj) in some re- 
 spects, but destroy much that is sweet in others. 
 
 Berne, its clock and bears, the beautiful river Aar, came next; 
 then Lausanne and the steep slopes of Mont Jorat, covered with 
 vines and terraces, old walls where the grapes hang in luscious 
 purple clusters; Vevey, Montreux, Chillon, Clarens. This is one 
 of the most talked of corners of the globe. Rosseau, Byron, and 
 others have made it famous. Artists have })ut on canvases the 
 loveliness hard to descri):>e. 
 
84 A "Woman's Wandering?. 
 
 I yield cheerfully, and p luse to re-t at Geneva, which we 
 found rather quiet now. Few tourists are coming so late in 
 the season; many are leaving, and we are glad the rush is over. 
 I pity people who come here next year; there will be such a 
 crowd that it will not be half so pleasant. I am glad we did 
 not arrive earlier, the season being virtually over. At our hotel 
 they knew it also, and desired to make it up, it seemed, for 
 while our rooms were reasonable, we were told we must take 
 three meals per day in the house, or pay double for the rooms. 
 This, being essentially unlike the European plan, suited us not 
 at all. I asked the proprietor if tourists came to Geneva simply 
 to eat three meals per day. He did not seem to know; but 
 when he insisted, I told him he must have better things to eat 
 before we could idle time away and grace his board with our 
 presence, and in this, as in most cases, we were victorious. 
 Fancy such a ruling when one is usually miles away from 
 the hotel at the lunch hour. 
 
 The city is well lighted by electricity, the rapid Rhone 
 affording the necessary power. We saw houses built along the 
 river for laundry purposes. Saw the women here, as every- 
 where in Switzerland, doing the washing in the icy cold waters, 
 down on their knees, in back-breakihg attitudes, scrubbing the 
 clothes on a board or smooth stone. No hot water at all 
 — how they do it or clean the clothes is a mystery; but, look- 
 ing at the poor creatures' hands and arms, blue and purple 
 from cold, many with dreadful sores on their hands, it seems 
 barbarous. They are so up to date in some things, centu- 
 ries behind in others ! 
 
 From Geneva we went by rail to St. Gervais; thence by 
 diligence to Chamonix. We enjoyed the drive and views much 
 better than by rail; but the whole distance will, in a year 
 or so, be spanned by iron rails, and part of the charm will 
 vanish. Tunnels and gorges will shut out much that is seen 
 from the top of a coach. 
 
 I think no one could ever describe the sensations, the emo- 
 tions, produced by the first clear, full view of Chamonix and 
 Mont Blanc. This is the loftiest mountain in Europe; the vale 
 written of in song and in story. Yet how little one knows 
 of it who has not seen it. One is led up to it from one 
 
SwiTZKRLANl). 85 
 
 place to another, enjoying all, each portion of Switzerland 
 in its way, but this is the culmination of all; hope's fruition, 
 peace and rest; things hoped for, and seen and understood at 
 Chamonix. The great white, beautiful Thing rising up out of 
 the worn, tired old world we had come from, pure and fresii, 
 as if just created — it was as if the bolt had been shot l)ack, 
 and through the door of the heart came sights that cannot be 
 described. There was that same silent force, solemnity, and 
 strength accentuated, if possible, when we stood out in the cool 
 night air and saw those heights bathed in the glory of the full 
 moon. The giant outlines seemed nearer than in the liright- 
 ness of sunset; a red light that flashed and burned from the 
 Grand Mulcts over six thousand feet up the slope, gleamed like 
 Mars in the heavens in the dask of the evening, and seemingly 
 as unattainable. Everything was quiet, calm, and peaceful, so 
 sleep was very sweet that night. 
 
 We were awakened the next morning to see the sunrise, and, 
 wrapped in the blankets taken from the beds, for the night had 
 been frosty, we watched the first red bars flash across those fields 
 of snow, faint and roseate first, then a radiance vast, broadening, 
 clearing the white vapors, so that my breath was taken wdth the 
 grandeur and sublimity of the scene. 
 
 Later on we made the trip to the Mer de Glace, accompanied 
 by a part}' of English people, most of whom preferred to go on 
 foot. We chose mules, and two of the party, pitying us, perhaps, 
 because we could not understand the joy of climbing some six 
 thousand feet when a mule could do it better, kindly went with 
 us. We certainly chose the better part, as the way was rocky, 
 steep, and tortuous, nothing like the trail leading uj) to Glacier 
 Point from Yosemite; Init the guide insisted we were safer than 
 on the railway, so we took him at his word; let the beasts have 
 their own way, and arrived at Montanvert after a two hours' 
 climb, in time for a short rest and luncheon. 
 
 Afterwards we sat on the elevated cliffs overlooking that icy 
 sea, which to me looked much more like a river than a sea. It 
 seemed as if we had come into full summer; a soft, sensuous haze 
 bathed the peaks, softening the glory of noontime, sunshine, and 
 silence. This seemed a temple of peace, vast, clear, calm; no 
 discords jarred the harmony; the breeze came warm and mild; 
 
86 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 even in that elevated region the sky stretched away like a beau- 
 tiful sea, unspotted, cloudless, a shadowless day; a day to be re- 
 membered — one that it would be a joy to live again, and yet it 
 is better, perhaps, not to destroy first impressions. 
 
 We walked down the cliffs and on the moraine; then the guide 
 drew stockings over our shoes and we went on the Mer de Glace. 
 From above it looked rather smooth, and I said I knew I could 
 cross it alone. He laughed, and said "Impossible." I knew how 
 impossible when once on its treacherous ice. Slippery under the 
 hot sun, great crevasses yawning everywhere, a single misstep, 
 and there would be no inquest, or need of a consultation of doc- 
 tors to pronounce the case hopeless. 
 
 The guide put his arm around me, took my hand, and tried to 
 force me across a crevasse. It might have been easy, but I had 
 read of one woman who lost her life, she and the guide going 
 down together b}^ such foolishness; so I tore myself from his 
 grasp, and would, perhaps, have been forced, for the fellow had 
 been drinking something stronger than water, had not one of the 
 party interfered. Or perhaps he wanted to frighten me, as I had 
 boasted I could go alone. The wine of the atmosphere was in 
 my veins; I was ready to do and dare anything while on the 
 cliffs. 
 
 It was different down on that vast river of ice, tossed and tum- 
 bled, smoother in the center, but piled high on the sides in all 
 manner of strange shapes. We came up from those billowy 
 masses, in whose crevasses lurk danger, yet looking so lovely in 
 the depths, where glow tints and colors beggaring description, 
 and sat for hours enjoying a scene that was worth the while, the 
 time, and trouble to see. The trip to the glacier was hard, but 
 worth the climb. 
 
 Then we mounted our mules and went down the steep declivi- 
 ties, so much harder in the descent than going up. We left 
 those awful-looking peaks and marvelous, glistening fields; 
 " whiter than snow," the Scripture says, but never before had I 
 understood the meaning until I saw Mont Blanc. It was light 
 materialized and snow etherealized; on, in the delicious coolness 
 of the afternoon breeze sighing through the forests; a faint per- 
 fume filled the air; down from the heights, where grow the lonely 
 edelweiss, to green fields, from a day of isolation on those fields 
 
Gkkmany. 87 
 
 of snow, to tilt' lift' in tlif lit tit' villaiif. Night closftl arDund us, 
 antl. half tlrt'aniinjj,-, I heard the ripijliiiir water of the Arve, antl 
 there stole thrt)ugh the easement a low. sweet, ilro|»pin<i nieloily, 
 a tender somethinsj; of ^[t)zart's. that sootheil the tired hrain, 
 took away fatiiiue, and wafted nie to a harhoi' t)f for<i;etfulness as 
 none other eould. 
 
 Chamonix, the peaceful village straggling alt)ng its one long 
 street, is now a thing of the past. We will never forget the quiet 
 little town on the Arve, or the great frozen rivers of ice that start 
 from unseen heights al)Ove and reach down almost to the green 
 valley. We looked on Mont Blanc through the l>ig telescope that 
 took us up step l)y step past the Grand Mulcts on to the Observa- 
 tory, following a party who were toiling up those terrible steeps, 
 and were well content to follow them through the telescope. 
 
 We went from Chamonix in a private carriage over the Tete 
 Noir. There were masses of white fog filling the valley and deep 
 gorges. But noAv and then there would be a lifting of the curtain, 
 and far up and up into a floating world were peaks showing 
 above those fog-wreaths, the yellow crags piercing the blue vaults 
 of heaven. We had glimpses of glaciers and rivers of ice in 
 lonely, awful splendor — the solemn world of snow — ^a vision of 
 isolation, of desolation, and remoteness that awed me by the 
 majesty of it. 
 
 We found the Tete Noir road the worst we had encountered in 
 Europe. It rained a portion of the way, but we were well pro- 
 tected, and so were comfortable. It cleared up about the miihlle 
 of the day, giving us a good view of the Glacier du Trient, where 
 ice is taken and sent to Paris. It appears they have a prejudice 
 against manufactured ice, so go to infinite pains to get it from 
 the dirty glaciers. 
 
 The descent into the Rhone Valley from there was good. De- 
 lightful windings to and fro among walnut and chestnut trees 
 heavily laden with nuts, gave evidence of a change of climate. 
 Past the old St. Bernard road Ave went down to the l)eautiful, 
 fertile valley and on to Martigny, where we gladly changed to 
 the Jura-Simplon railway, and went on past vine-clad slopes 
 and vistas of far-off mountains, and watched the river glint and 
 sparkle in the light of the setting sun. Viege came, then Brieg, 
 the end of the railroad. 
 
88 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 It seemed we had scarcely slept ])efore we were called tn l)reak- 
 fast — the l)reakfast of the country — In-ead, l)Utter, honey, and a 
 liquid something called coffee. The female gar^on was far more 
 interested in her "tip" than in the making of coffee. We have 
 learned, however, that outside of Germany one need not hope for 
 coffee. Other things than the mere living to eat interest us. 
 
 Soon after daylight we were shown our seats reserved for us on 
 the top of a diligence, and we were on the road to Italy. Forty- 
 one miles in ten hours, at an altitude of some seven thousand 
 feet, was mapped out for the day. It was not so fatiguing as we 
 feared, and it certainly repaid us for the troulile. Iteing far more 
 enjoyahle than the railroad and tunnels on other routes. 
 
 Up and uy) we go over the l)road. lieautiful road that Napo- 
 leon 1)uilt one hundred years ago. We leave the Rhone 
 Valley l)athed in a soft, sensuous light, and the Bernese 
 Alps and glaciers. There were lakes looking like magnified 
 dewdrops in miniature valleys. Then came pictures of more 
 desolate regions. Avalanches and storms are dreadful later in 
 the season, and here, in the midst of this rugged, barren region, 
 is the Hospice, similar to that of the 8t. Bernard. Here we 
 paused to look through the Iniilding, and petted the great 
 dogs, idle now, Ijut in winter often are sent out in the terrible 
 storms, bringing the bewildered travelers to a haven of rest and 
 safety. 
 
 A little farther on, even before I noticed a change in the peaks 
 and rugged hills, I felt the air had just a suspicion of warmth, 
 which comes with the opening of spring, wdiere winter is known, 
 then we entered the Gorge of Gondo, rugged and wild as the 
 Gorge of the Yellowstone, Init not in coloring or l)eauty is there 
 the slightest resemlilance. The Diveria, in pent-up fury, dashed 
 over a rocky bed with savage leaps and surges, threatening to 
 bring down from those perilous, overhanging crags, acres of rock 
 that seem to quiver and shake as the added rum])le of the dili- 
 gence strikes the wall. A sudden turn, and, as if l)y magic, 
 the perils are over. I see the well-remembered trellised vines 
 stretched from tree to tree; see the tints of autumn on the leaves, 
 the great chestnuts and pale grav olives, a warm, sweet, fragrant 
 breath of air, and now I know once again, after so many years. 
 Italy is mine. 
 
ITALY. 
 
 At Domo d' Ossola our route by diligence ends. On the mor- 
 row we went l)y rail to Lake Maggiore, stopping at Palan/.a. On 
 a former visit I made the tour of the Italian lakes. In Fel»ruary, 
 I remember, the daphnes and crimson camelias were in ])lo()m 
 here, and around Como. also, crocuses, snowdrops, and prim- 
 roses were in evidence everywhere. Now September is nearly 
 gone, and there is nothing to show the advent of fall excei>t the 
 vines, loaded with great clusters of purple grapes, and the tints 
 on the foliage; a rich In-own is on the chestnut burrs, all of 
 which proves that in Italy, as in our own state, the meaning of 
 the term " winter " is scarcely known. 
 
 We go by steamer across Maggiore, past the palace and ter- 
 raced gardens liuilt over a century ago by Count Borromeo on 
 Isola Bella, the fairest of all the islands. Then came Arona, — 
 a journey in cars crowded with people, not over-clean, not over- 
 sweet in appearance or manners. 1)ut it was not long ere we were 
 free from all ills and odors. Milan was reached. We asked no 
 more. 
 
 It seemed like home — this wandering about the streets of 
 Milan. First there were the electric cars everywhere. Where 
 the old line of omnilnises used to start from the Duomo. the 
 cars with clanging Ijells now run. There were fruit-shops, and 
 sellers with baskets of grapes, peaches, figs, and pomegranates 
 — only, I must add, more temptingly arranged than at home. 
 Whether in baskets or placed on the taldes. they are always with 
 the leaves of the grape-vines, or other leaves, fresh and green, 
 making the fruit more tempting. 
 
 The Cathedral of Milan comes first, I fancy, for each and every 
 tourist. As seen from the roof, the many pinnacles and thou- 
 sands of statues seem like a bare, white, frozen forest, made 
 beautiful by frost-like network, and an over-abundance of orna- 
 ment, flying buttresses, fruits, flowers, and cherul)S. The whole 
 is of such exquisite finish that it seems more the work of the 
 frost king than of real hands. 
 
 Looking from this vantage-point over the Lombardy plains, 
 level and fertile. I see this, the richest city in Italy, below me. 
 
 8it 
 
90 A Woman's Wandkki.ngs. 
 
 Away toward the west, the Himplon Mountains and Monte Rosa 
 sparkle with eternal snow, and show, as the sun goes down, the 
 roses from wliich it derives its name. There are the roads lined 
 by the tall ])oplars, standing in rows like soldiers; also the mul- 
 berry trees, exclusively cultivated for rearing silk-worms. This 
 is a rich and highly cultivated country of luxuriant vegetation, 
 inclosed in a semi-circle of snowy Alps, with the Apennines fill- 
 ing a portion of the remaining horizon. 
 
 Once more down into the church, I see the great pillars, which 
 still keep up the illusion of a forest reaching to the roof, bare 
 and branchless. I see long shafts of light gleam through the 
 lofty stained-glass windows, touching a sculptured angel here, 
 falling on some pictured saint there, and glowing in mellow rich- 
 ness on the head of a poor old man, worn and weary, as he sat 
 with bowed head, listening to the music that came soft and sweet 
 from the organ. It brought comfort and warmth, and he slept; 
 perhaps his dreams were not of his poverty or hunger, but of 
 that peace that passeth all understanding. 
 
 And then we Avent to Venice — over the Lombardy plains, 
 past villages and villas, thickly dotting the landscape. Trees 
 were everywhere bordering the small fields or gardens. Grape- 
 vines were planted beside them, thus occupying very little room, 
 and were trained in graceful festoons from tree to tree. The clus- 
 ters of grapes were hanging so thick they seemed purple streaks, 
 as we sped by. Great cream-colored oxen, with black-tipped 
 horns, do the work in the fields, instead of horses. Now and 
 then I saw girls in picturesque costumes gathering grapes, and 
 twining vines about the horns of those patient brown-eyed beasts. 
 
 There is a glint of gold on the fallow fields, and the breeze 
 strikes a few of the colored leaves — the first of autumn's reap- 
 ing — to the ground. There are aromatic smells in the air, and 
 the sunshine glitters on the leaves, turning to red and yellow. 
 Birds chirrup and flutter. The children trudge on, singing with 
 the birds. They are poor, often wretchedly so. But it is a poetic 
 poverty — a poverty as unlike Russia as day is from night. 
 There is a touch of sunlight in the soul — a bit of song bubbling 
 up from tlie heart — a cheerfulness, though accustomed to bur- 
 dens and privations — that make life for them a sort of holiday, 
 unknown and undri-annMl of in colder countries. 
 
Italy. 91 
 
 We pass thrDUiili Cremona, which reminds us of the sweet-toned 
 violins made there long ago; and Verona, the birthplace of Paul 
 Veronese, — which also contains the " veritable" tomb of Juliet, 
 
 — a rude sarcophagus, which I remember so well on a former 
 visit. Then to Lago di Gardi, along whose southern shores grow 
 oranges, lemons, and olives, past Solferino and its celebrated 
 battle-field. 
 
 We pause at Padua, famous in its mediaeval days, as now, for 
 its university. Among the alumni of long ago were the names of 
 Savonarola, Tasso, Petrarch, and Galileo, with many others the 
 world has known, and been made richer by their knowledge. 
 
 Then the train runs along a bridge for two miles. There is 
 water sparkling and crisp about us. The smell of the salt seas 
 comes to us, and we are in Venice, ourselves and bags transferred 
 as by magic to a gondola — and we go up that Grand Canal of 
 which the whole world knows, and finally step from it to our 
 hotel, where we must rest and sleep before allowing ourselves 
 time to think further. 
 
 In Venice, and away from the soul-torturing rattle of the cob- 
 blestones, is my awakening thought. No sound of horses' feet or 
 metallic jangle of street-car bells, or ear-piercing whistles as used 
 is cities, are here. My window faces the laguna and Grand Canal, 
 and I dream hours away, dolce far niente, manana — everything 
 that breathes of absence of thought or action I encourage. This 
 is to be the haven of rest from thought or bodily fatigue. I have 
 dropped my anchor in a harbor of inaction, of placid content, and 
 shall not hurry to take it up. What I sliall say of Venice came 
 to me through no effort or will of my own. I simply imbibed 
 
 — absorbed it. 
 
 Venice is a paradise for lazy, gouty, or rheumatic people. 
 There is no need of walking unless one wishes. A gondola, ridic- 
 ulously cheap, is always ready. We would glide out on the quiet 
 waters, past the Ducal Palace, that great work of Venice, past 
 grand old churches and historical palaces, many of which are 
 converted into hotels, while others are used for manufacturing 
 glass, mosaics, silks, and laces. We see Desdemona's palace, 
 Mocenigo, where Byron lived so long, and not alone, either, if his- 
 tory speaks the truth. We see Browning's house, and the Rialto, 
 that for three hundred vears was the onlvbrid"[e across the Grand 
 
92 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 Canal. There are two others now. of steel, and very much in 
 keeping with the small, modern steamhoats which i)ly the canal, 
 spoiling the Venice of old, the city of the sea. 
 
 " /^ 
 
 "SJ 
 
 RIALTO BRIDGE, VEMCE. 
 
 Wlien we have no further excuse for laziness, we go to the 
 piazza of St. Mark's and watch the thousands of pigeons filling 
 the square. They flutter ahout us, feed from our hands, as tliey 
 do always if one secures corn from the sellers, with l)askets filled 
 for that purpose. 
 
 The doves of St. Mark's ! They have been written of so often, 
 and the idea is pretty and poetic. They look timid, Init are not. 
 They are protected l)y the city, however, and cared for. I noticed 
 it took a man, a broom, and cart to clear away the filth, and the 
 man was kept very Inisy, too, keeping the square clean. 
 
 Then we go into the old church of St. Mark's, that has stood 
 there in the sea for nine hundred years, the great composite pile, 
 Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance — a structure to suit varied 
 tastes. We see the pictures in mosaics — a whole acre, the books 
 say. We see gilding, bronze, and marl>le in bewildering con- 
 fusion. Then music steals from up toward the great central dome, 
 
Itai.v. 93 
 
 and we lii^teii, and wattdi the jicojde who come to worship. I 
 look at the myriad of sight-seein<i- travelers armed with red l)ooks, 
 or escorted by guides, who Inisily exjjlaiii the treasures, for they 
 are thrifty, and do not wait for an intermission here. It is 
 allowed and sanctioneil, else it would not be done, but it seems 
 horribly out of place to see a guide piloting a crowd up to the 
 altars where })eople kneel at jirayers. It may suit some if not 
 all. 
 
 I saw a devout sinner in a pretty gray gown come in, cross her- 
 self, and kneel before the great altar, then begin to arrange her 
 veil and pat her hair, all the while looking about to see the effect 
 she produced. If no sacred thought of time and place came to 
 her, she should, for decency, have bowed her head while kneehng 
 there, and given thanks for being permitted to be in the house of 
 God, — one made by hands. And to those hands and the brain 
 that conceived the wonderful edifice, that built and planned its 
 arches, columns, and rods of mosaics, from its tessellated floors to 
 the vast yaulted dome — to that intellect and the giants of the 
 past, she should have worshiped, if no other thoughts came to 
 her. 
 
 But there were others. I saw old men and women come in 
 feebly, the lengthened shadows of life's late afternoon showing 
 on worn faces and bent forms. I saw tiny feet, in stockings full 
 of holes, shuffle across the marble floor. They had not come 
 there to be seen of men, but for peace and comfort. 
 
 And then from the dim altars out in the bright sunshine. We 
 sat in the square and watched the crowds loiter along the arcades 
 filled with shops and restaurants, heard the low " currooing " of 
 the pigeons, saw the great bronze men on the clock-tower strike 
 the hour with massive hammers on the bell, which sounds so 
 loud and clear that it is heard all over the city. There were 
 days spent in the churches and galleries, where is much that is 
 good. The best of many artists are found — Titian, Tintoretto, 
 Bellini, Paul Veronese — too many paintings to even speak of 
 the best. 
 
 I saw them making exquisite lace — old Venetian and rose 
 point, rococo and renaissance — in fact, a wonderful variety. 
 One firm alone has four thousand people at work on laces, 
 brocades, and velvets. The manager kindly took us through 
 
94 A Womain's Wanderings. 
 
 the various departments^. The lace-makers work about six hours 
 a day. Their eyes will admit of no longer hours, as it is such 
 delicate work. They get a trifle over fifteen cents per day. 
 Yet the girls looked neat, tidy, and were happy to get the work. 
 
 We also saw them making the beautiful Venetian glassware 
 — whole chandeliers for gas and electricity — out of the fairy- 
 like material, yet it is strong and serviceable. 
 
 We saw everywhere old palaces now used for manufacturing 
 pur}>oses or depots for storing or selling l)ronzes, marbles, works 
 of art, etc. 
 
 Wood-carving seems to have reached the perfection of art 
 here. It is not a thing of the past. The exhibits of to-day are 
 as good as those adorning churches and palaces done centuries 
 gone by. 
 
 We went through the Doge's Palace as in duty l)ound, which 
 lioasts of the largest picture ever painted on canvas — Tinto- 
 retto's Paradise. I hardly know why they set store ])y it, save 
 perhaps for the fact that Venetians were the first to })aint pic- 
 tures on canvas, and are proud of this eighty-four feet of i)ara- 
 dise. I tliink Tintoretto was the only man who brought a gleam 
 of paradise in that old Iniilding. It is Init a step from those 
 rooms to the old prison, the dreadful dungeons, the old stair- 
 case and lion's mouth, all scenes of deeds in days gone by, that 
 even at the end of this century make one shudder. 
 
 I go out and sit in the streets on the Riva, glad to be out 
 of the dismal place. The bright waters of the Adriatic lap the 
 foundations. There is peace and quietness in the air; people 
 singing, laughing, happy, and content. Yet there are some who 
 say the world is growing worse. I thought of that peaceful vil- 
 lage of Chamonix, where, not so very long ago, men and women 
 were grilled and liurnt alive for so-called heresy. Looking now 
 at St. Mark's Square to the palace and prison, one cannot 
 realize that such atrocious deeds or cruelties could ever have 
 been perpetrated here. 
 
 I see a sunset the radiance of which gilds and illumines 
 the city, the people, and the beautiful sea with a glory that 
 promises even better things for the future, and I am thankful 
 that this is the age of rest and freedom from superstition and 
 like ills. 
 
Italy. 95 
 
 I rememluT a day when we sailed over the l)hie-,<;ray lagu- 
 nas to Chioggia and ssaw the fishermen's fleet. I tliink there 
 can be nothing so i>icturesque in the way of boats in the world, 
 with their sails in all shades of yellows and brownish-reds. 
 There are panels and painted designs in sienna and sei)ia, all 
 in quiet colorings, and nothing that seems glaring or inappro- 
 priate, yet are so distinct that I fancy each boat is known as 
 far as the eye can follow it. It looked much like a forest in 
 autumn, so thickly they dot the waters near the island, sailing 
 in the narrow channels, skimming over the tideless sea; sails 
 that make artists grow wild for the joy of painting. We saw 
 the queer nets used for fishing, and boys — veritable cherubs, 
 clothed only in modesty, and, I was glad to see, without the 
 wdngs and distorted legs as seen on canvas 1)}^ "the old mas- 
 ters" — wading in the water with nets scooping up the oysters. 
 
 The women were washing in the streets, drying the clothes 
 which were always fastened in some way on the front of the 
 houses. In fact, very little work of any kind seems to be 
 done indoors. The shoemaker plys his trade in the open air, 
 food is cooked and put out so the contadini may purchase 
 for a few cents his dinner which he often eats while standing. 
 Others have a loaf stowed away somewhere, and liuying a bunch 
 of grapes, the dinner is complete. 
 
 We saw the immense barges laden with fruit and vegetables 
 coming from the small but exceedingly fertile islands near, 
 which supply the smaller villages as well as Venice with a 
 great portion of all that is needed. 
 
 Then we thought it time for luncheon. I had been given 
 cards before landing, from some hotel or restaurant, stating 
 that the restaurant was noted for '^ punctuality, in helping at 
 table, comfort in cooking, and the utmost cheapness." This 
 cheapness and good English came at six francs. We thought 
 we would go where they knew no English and cared little 
 about punctuaUty. We found a cozy, clean place kept by a 
 native. He was so overjoyed to have us honor him that his 
 gesticulations were marvelous, l)ut I found they were not in 
 vain, for he produced some one who knew just what we wanted — 
 oysters, clams, and the tiny red mullet not much larger than 
 white bait, some wine in bottles covered with curiously wrought 
 
9(3 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 reeds and wire, the outfit looking very artistic and better to 
 me than the contents. 
 
 While we dallied with the luncheon, suddenly through the 
 half-open door came a sound, faint as far-off bugles blowing, 
 sweet and low, then louder, and the sound revealed itself to 
 be some stringed instruments. We opened the door, and two 
 poor, ragged old musicians stood bowing for permission to pro- 
 ceed. We graciously gave assent, and it seemed scarcely real, 
 it was so Avonderful, those weary, earth-worn old musicians, one 
 almost blind, struggling to get up some sentiment of half-for- 
 gotten youth; poor old pensioners, playing for the centessimi, 
 securing l)arely enough, it seemed, to keep from starvation; feeble, 
 treml)ling. jangling notes — for the blind man sang snatches 
 from operas, and in singing seemed to forget. Standing erect, 
 his gesture savored of a past when he had sung before crowded 
 houses, and I am sure he thought of that time and forgot he 
 was old, an object of pity, broken with time's jarring chords, 
 which were all wrong in the poor old throat. I lost interest in 
 the fish just then, for I found my eyes w^ere afloat in a salt sea of 
 their own creation. I declared "time," and begged a respite, even 
 though the guitars were sweet, for the old fingers had not 
 forgotten their cunning, even if the voice had failed. So we 
 made them happy for days to come, for I am sure they would 
 have no thought of the morrow, or a need of it for some time. 
 W"e were pleased to have heard them also with our repast, which 
 was so different from the stereotyped affairs offered on the cards. 
 
 ^ye looked at the great vats used for pickling fish, the corps of 
 men, boys, and girls carrying them from point to point, but the 
 odors were too overpowering for further knowledge. 
 
 At another place we saw immense baskets full of grapes, always 
 carried by two men, a pole through the handle, placed on their 
 shoulders, as I had seen it pictured since wine was first thought 
 of. Idly we watched, and followed to see where they put them 
 as they were unloaded from the barges. In. a large warehouse 
 were innumerable barrels of all sizes, but that was not the at- 
 traction. I saw dirty, barefooted men walking on the equally 
 dirty stone floors, trousers rolled up to the knees, feet and legs 
 grimy and red, as with blood. Farther in, and I saw there were 
 others in cradle-shaped affairs, treading the grapes, the red juice 
 
Italy. 
 
 97 
 
 escapiii.u- through :i[»ert\ires. Now and then, wlu-n one wai^ tired, 
 he would step out t)n the floor, and anotlier, who had been wan- 
 dering about, would take his phu'e. No thought of washing feet 
 before getting in occurred to them. There is fame waiting for 
 some one who will invent a ])arefoot and barelegged dummy who 
 can tread the grapes with clean feet. If so, one might learn to 
 like the wine of the country. They urge the water is bad here, 
 and it is. There is never much ice, and it is unsatisfactory, but, 
 good or bad. I shall always take it, since I have seen the foot 
 that trod the wine-press. 
 
 VENETIAN GONDOLA. 
 
 We were two hours in returning to Venice from this busy, 
 thrifty island. l)ack over still, shining waters and silent lagoons. 
 A gray haze lay over the water, and the sky was leaden with 
 broken clouds, a gleam of yellow sunlight showing now and then. 
 The red and brown sails, phantom-like, showed clear and dis- 
 tinct, some mere shadows, in the dim light. Far away were the 
 dim Veronese Mountains; a cry comes now and then from the 
 
98 A \\'()Man's Wanderings. 
 
 dreamy distance, an echo from those far-off shores, or from the 
 water. Is it the wraith of some old Venetian whose s})irit f(n-- 
 ever haunts tliosc wimhng ways, or the call of some lonely hird? 
 
 Then we jniss the island of San Lazaro, on which is the Ar- 
 menian Convent, where Byron studied and mastered the language 
 in six months, when he lived aniong the silent brothers; past 
 Lido, the bath-houses and restaurants, and its long line of bright 
 lights; on to the Riva, with the lamps burning in the dark; 
 gleaming points of color; a sudden dash of rain, and the day was 
 done. 
 
 Most of all, I enjoyed in Venice the evenings, when the l)and 
 played in the square of St. Mark's. The Venetians crowd the 
 place, for there is no other place roomy or attractive. This s(iuare, 
 which would be small in any other city, is more interesting, I 
 fancy, than any other in the world. 
 
 There were idle hours spent in front of Florian's and other 
 cafes, dreamily admiring St. Mark's; the columns, domes, gilt 
 mosaics, grotesqueness and antiquity mingled and interwoven, 
 yet not clashing. Old, crumpled, and seamed, it is an idyll of 
 some poet materialized. 
 
 I hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the steps as 
 the gondoliers come with their ])lack, silent boats. A chorus 
 faint and sweet reaches my ears from some singers coming from 
 Lido's shores — snatches from Tasso's beautiful poems, lulling, 
 soothing. The hum of voices comes from innumerable tables 
 under the arcades, where families sit throughout whole even- 
 ings, taking coffee, cake, or an ice, perhaps. I saw very little 
 wine. Men — especially young men — sat smoking and taking 
 coffee. Save in rare instances, I saw no evidence of intoxica- 
 tion, as I have rarely seen, for that matter, this side of the 
 Atlantic. One can sit for a whole evening and enjoy the music 
 for a very few cents. Once seated and you secure what you 
 have ordered, you are not molested; no over-zealous waiter 
 comes for further orders unless called; yet the restaurants evi- 
 dently thrive, as they employ the music. 
 
 Our last evening was spent in a gondola, going out in the 
 brightness of the setting sun. I saw it ))urn on the distant foliage 
 of the gardens and flash a rosy line of light over the smooth 
 waters. I saw great l)oats go out of the stream, and sail away 
 
Italy. 99 
 
 over Orient seas. Our gondola hrcaks tlic iilaeid line of light; 
 we watch the f\vM silvery gleam of the new moon. The dusk 
 deepened, but, high up, the two tall pillars of St. Mark's, the 
 winged lion, and the saint surmounting them show strong and 
 clear in the }tale. Iam1)ent twilight, while down in the narrow 
 canals it is dark, and we see long l:)lack streaks that glide ))y 
 silently. A light, like a star in the prow, bespeaks other gondo- 
 las; fresh voices come from some, others silently glide by to some 
 heavenly tryst, or to darker abodes of sin-haunted places. For, 
 though the waters come and go and keep the city clean, there is 
 much, I fancy, as in the world at large, the waves cannot wash 
 away; but of this we know not. We see the city that seems 
 afloat in the sea, and then from somewhere we hear singing, 
 voices soaring heavenward, as though crying to angels beyond 
 the stars, rising triumphantly, bird-like, and cleaving the air. 
 It was as if Israfel, the angel of song, had passed with an invis- 
 ible choir over the silent city, and there was no sin or sorrow, 
 only peace and calm for the listeners. It was only some singers 
 in a boat at the foot of the two columns; only a night in Venice, 
 but an evening that burnt itself into the memory, and a orescent 
 moon that sank in the west and drew the heart with it. 
 
 It seems but a step from Venice to Florence, if one consults the 
 map, but the journey on the railroad is different. One hundred 
 and eighty miles is not much of a trip on ordinary roads, but a 
 day in the cars in Italy is more tiresome tlian a trip from Cali- 
 fornia to New York. A constant jerking from side to side was 
 not only wearing to flesh and nerves, Init I found it almost im- 
 possible to keep my hat on or a hairpin in my hair. The road 
 was not so rough after leaving Bologna, but in a distance of some 
 thirty miles there were forty-five tunnels. 
 
 I think the man who planned the cars in Italy must have been 
 in league with the Evil One, knowing full well the most angelic 
 disposition would succumb after a few trips. I know I was only 
 saved from the crime of murder in going through the tunnels, 
 simply l)ecause the victim I cheerfully would have sacrificed was 
 a man. There were two, I might add, one at each end of the 
 compartment, occupying the desirable seats by the windows. 
 One would have his window closed; the other wished his open. 
 Immediately after entering a tunnel the little, narrow compart- 
 
100 A Woman's WanderIxXgs. 
 
 ment became full of smoke. Such a thing as closing a window 
 on entering, or opening one when out, to get rid of it, was not 
 thought of, so the only thing that saved me from a crime was 
 that they were men. and too large to throw through the window. 
 If there is such a thing as transmigration of souls, and the 
 chances are equal as to size and strength, I shall remember and 
 find them in the hereafter. 
 
 Once through the tunnels and the men gone, we resumed our 
 cheerfulness, and enjoyed the wild scenery of the Apennines. 
 Especially enchanting were the views as we left the higher region, 
 and neared the valley of the Arno. The bases were clothed with 
 olives and fruit trees, vines running riot over old towers, gate- 
 ways, and fine old buildings, and, whether in ruins or preserva- 
 tion, they looked beautiful. In the morning we had come from 
 the strikingly bold and beautiful plains of Lombardy, the rich 
 and well-cultivated country watered by the river Po. But we 
 found the country near Florence in a still higher state of cultiva- 
 tion. Hills clothed with richest verdure; trees and vines, espe- 
 cially the olive trees, grew everywhere. Any little space unfit for 
 aught else has an olive tree and a grape-vine. Heights are stud- 
 ded with villas half-buried in luxuriant foliage, old walls form- 
 ing a picture of great beauty and full of interest. Villages are 
 perched in the most inconceivable situations, antique, venerable- 
 looking, rough and tumble-down in appearance, like battered 
 swallows' nests; an air of faded grandeur and silence, a want of 
 life and activity about some of the old places, yet soothing and 
 restful in a way to look upon, as we sped past them and on with 
 a glimpse in the gathering darkness of the tall Campanile and 
 the great dome of the Cathedral — then we were in Florence. 
 
 The days sped by with wonderful rapidity in this beautifully 
 situated" city. Firenze, as the natives call it, and it seems so 
 much softer than the name we use. The days were not all 
 sunny, but when it rained we went to the galleries, and there are 
 enough pictures in the Uffizi and Pitti galleries to interest one if 
 half the days in the year were rainy, and one had nothing else to 
 do. But few people have the time or strength to devote to these 
 galleries, the most important in the whole world. The Pitti, 
 though having only about five hundred pictures, has a collection 
 unrivaled for quality. The choicest are known throughout the 
 
fAMI'ANILE. FlJJKKXflC. 
 
Italy. 108 
 
 world throujih photograplis— -and ardsts are always there copy- 
 ing: the beautiful pictures — some looking so thin and gaunt and 
 so poorly clad that one is led to beheve they work at starvation 
 prices. 
 
 Pitti. a rival of the Medici, planned and built the palace, which 
 was to be so large "that the doors of the Medici palace should 
 serve for models for his windows." He built the massive old 
 structure in the fourteenth century, l)ut, as often happens, pride 
 and envv fail, so did he and his heirs, for before it was entirely 
 finished it became the property of the hated Medici, who after- 
 wards built the long corridor which leads over the Ponte Vecchio 
 — the old bridge which rivals the Rialto in its shops filled with 
 jewelry and bric-a-brac. An open space in this bridge gives one 
 a glimpse of the river and sky, of fine buildings, roofs and gables. 
 The added corridor above it connects the Pitti and Uffizi galle- 
 ries, but the Rialto spans the canal where flows the clear water 
 of the Adriatic. The Ponte Vecchio is over the Arno, which is 
 muddy as the h^acramento when at its worst. It may be rank 
 heresy to say the Arno is shallow and muddy — the Arno sung 
 by the poets and raved over by people who were neither poets 
 nor painters. But truth compels me to say it; along the em- 
 bankments it is anything but ])eautiful, but away from the bor- 
 ders and seen from some high eminence it looks lovely. 
 
 Thus I saw it from Fiesole. the old Etruscan city that was 
 built on a spur of the Apennines, and flourished before Flor- 
 ence was thought of — so long, in fact, that its origin is lost in 
 the dim, far-away past. Happy Fiesole, whose builders and 
 founders are unknown. If it has been great or splendid in its 
 dead past, there are now no traces left. Fiesole has arrived at 
 the don't-care age, and is so peaceful and supremely happy 
 and indolent that the air is full of it, and one imbibes it 
 unconsciously. There is a large square with its old church, 
 around which cluster a few houses. Small lanes radiate from 
 the square. 
 
 There is a slight attempt at manufacturing baskets, fans, 
 and some fancy articles in straw, but the principal occupation 
 seems to be in asking for tribute from the passing stranger. 
 The natives are never troubled, I notice. But higher up on 
 the plateau in front of the Franciscan church one forgets the 
 
104 A Woman's \\'anderings. 
 
 beggars in the splendid and extensive view of the Vale d' Arno. 
 Florence below, with its cupola and Campanile, standing in 
 the valley, with the Arno winding through the city and along 
 the public drive, the Cascine, leading through tall trees, is lost 
 in the hills in the misty distance — is a thing of beauty, and 
 is fair enough to merit all that has been said of it. 
 
 I linger, for the place is enchanting; V)almy winds come up 
 from the fields now rich with autumn's early tints. A murmur 
 of rustling leaves is heard with the patter of falling nuts; an 
 amethystine haze hovers over the sloping hills, mellowing the 
 In-ight blue of the skies, unspotted, save where a few foam}'-, 
 billowy masses of vapor show upon the far-away peaks. A 
 great wave of joy and happiness fills my being, that I have 
 been permitted to come once again to these places my heart 
 has so longed for. Whatever the future may hold for me 
 there will be remembrances of unclouded days; clays that are 
 written on my heart with sun-glints that nothing can wrest 
 from me. 
 
 The streets of Florence are narrow. Init clean. The town 
 has a well-built, prosperous look. There are comparatively few 
 beggars. There are innumerable arcades filled with splendid 
 statuary free to all. Galleries and museums have many free 
 da^'S. I often saw mere children in churches and galleries. 
 They become familiar with these works of art from infanc,y, 
 and are refined and cultivated in a way, for they have a full 
 knowledge of the works of the old masters. It is absorl)ed 
 and becomes part of themselves. They take })ride in their pos- 
 sessions, and well may they. 
 
 We visited the Monastery of K?an Marco, and saw. among 
 much that was interesting, the cell and relics of Savonarola, 
 his desk and sermons, his hair shirt, and a fragment from the 
 pile on which he was burnt. We had seen the spot in the 
 puldic square — the Piazza Delia Signoria — where, in the four- 
 teenth century, the flames consumed, in that Medici-haunted 
 city, the body, Itut could not quench his undaunted soul. 
 
 In a museum we saw the collection of Arras tapestries, show- 
 ing the development of this art in Tuscany. They were so l)eau- 
 tiful that one mourns th(^ lost art. But the manufactory was 
 closed when the Mi dici dvnasty came to an end, and the art of 
 
Italy. 105 
 
 making, or interest, ceased when the last of that ilhistrious 
 family passed away. 
 
 In the Etruscan rooms we saw an old sarcophagus, so old that 
 I will not attempt details. But, to show there is nothing new 
 under the sun, and how closely the far-away is wedded to the 
 present — I will say that the lid of this sarcophagus was a carved 
 recuml)ent female figure resting on one arm; in the other hand 
 was a looking-glass. There was a tray containing Ijrushes and 
 iiecessar}' adjuncts for finishing the toilet, rich in detail, the 
 drapery graceful in the extreme. It is interesting in the history 
 of costume to know the feminine fancy keeps near the l)order 
 line of ages long past. 
 
 We saw the old church where Boccaccio lectured on the '' Divine 
 Oomedy" in the thirteenth century; also, Santa Croce. There 
 is no display of gilding in this church. Everything is simple, 
 save the monuments, and they are what the traveler wishes to 
 see. It is well there is nothing to detract from the interest cen- 
 tered in them. Here are the tombs of Dante, Michael Angelo, 
 Garibaldi, Galileo, among others of the illustrious dead. The 
 Bonaparte chapel I remember well, for it was there I saw, years 
 ago, the Empress Eugenie and the young Napoleon Avhose tragic 
 death the world mourned. 
 
 There is so much in the way of sculpture, painting, churches, 
 and buildings of historical interest that I could not attempt to 
 enumerate them. Besides, it is better to remember a few things 
 and know them well than to rush about and see for the sake of 
 seeing. A gentleman who lives in Scotland told me that it was 
 scarcely worth while going to Venice. He had been there for 
 two hours once, and did not care for the damp place! 
 
 The Duomo and Campanile, made of red, while, anil black 
 marbles, in delicate mosaic effects, would seem inappropriate else- 
 where, but they suit Florence and the people. There is nothing 
 jars upon one's sense of enjoyment, and the longer I live the 
 more I learn to appreciate and believe in the fitness of things. 
 
 I shall not forget the Medici Chapel, nor those masterpieces by 
 Michael Angelo — "Day and Night," "Twilight and Dawn," — ■ 
 nor the Trilmne of the Uffizi, with its masterpieces in sculpture 
 and painting. But we turn over the leaves, close the l)ook, and 
 go out in the streets. We see the famous medallions of infants in 
 
106 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 swaddling-clothes by Robbia high up on the arcades, and in the 
 streets below see the peasant women with their bambinos wrap- 
 ped in the same style as they were in the days of old. There is 
 a lot of good sense in the style for babies, I fancy, for, cry as they 
 may, they can't kick, and I saw no bow-legged children in Italy. 
 
 The books tell us the time to enjoy Tuscany is in the autumn. 
 One might say the same of any place, for that matter. But 
 it was especially charming while we were there, for heavy 
 rains had settled the dust of the long summer and tempered 
 the heat. The days after the rains were perfect, as with us 
 after the first rains. So it was pleasant to wander outside the 
 gates. 
 
 The country is beautiful near the city, and electric cars are 
 here, too, in Italy, of very recent date, but useful. The roads 
 are smooth as floors, lined with great chestnut trees, dropping 
 the nuts with every passing breeze; children busy collecting 
 those that had fallen. They are well tutored, evidently, for I 
 did not see a boy in any tree. The foliage of the trees were 
 still a deep green, in strong contrast to the pale gray of the 
 olives. There were long lines of stone walls, neat villas, and 
 tumble-down houses; old palaces which have the appearance 
 — which is peculiar, and seems to run through everything in 
 Italy — of having seen better days. But it is wonderful the 
 effect the vines produce. They grow in graceful untidiness 
 over the poorest hut as well as on a castle. They hang in fes- 
 toons, creep up and twine lovingly over arches and balustrades, 
 riot in perfect abandonment, in avalanches of reds, greens, and 
 brow'ns. It is wonderfully alluring, and it is not strange that 
 every man in Florence who is able to purchase a small piece 
 of ground does so, and builds a small dwelling where he can 
 live a portion of the year — which, with them, does not, I 
 learn, mean a summer resort, but an autumn outing. And 
 surely they are wise, for it is far more enjoyable than in the 
 scorching summer days, even for these indolent, sun-basking 
 people. Yet even with the poorest of them there is always a 
 touch of brightness in a patch of flowers, bright hued, green 
 foliage of a grape-vine, if nothing else. Their lives are dull 
 and hopeless in a way. Their homes may be mere hovels, 
 huddled together and dominated, overshadowed by castle or 
 
Italy. 107 
 
 tower, but their natures seen] to be of the sunny chmate; they 
 show it in the songs that burst from the lips of old and young, 
 in their care for trees and vines which grow about them, and, 
 like charity, cover a multitude of evils. 
 
 I think often of the contrast between the poor homes here 
 and some in our state. I know of nothing more desolate, 
 more calculated to make one long for mansions beyond the 
 clouds, than a house in California set in a sun-baked field, with 
 never a tree, shrub, or plant to show an idea beyond greed or 
 hard labor. Here, where the people are so poor they have little 
 to wear and less to eat — a hard loaf is the workman's dinner — 
 I have seen many of them eat a bit of bread only — yet they 
 are cheerful and are ever desirous of making the l)est of life, 
 and try to bring as much of light and beauty into it as pos- 
 sible. Picturesque misery is applicable here in Italy. 
 
 From the terrace where stands the beautiful bronze statue 
 of David, by Michael Angelo, I saw some pictures not catalogued, 
 but they are older than the oldest. The coloring, arrangement, 
 and harmony are so perfect, that the old masters loved and 
 imitated, but never equaled, the fair environs of Florence. The 
 river flashed brightly in the distance; a rich glow was over 
 the hills; a mixture of light and shade softening and beautifying 
 the whole. 
 
 There was Galileo's tower, where he lived for a time and 
 where he used doubtless to watch the sun at morn and eve, 
 meditating on the question of sunsets — whether the sun went 
 down or the earth turned away, like a tired child, from the 
 glare, for rest from toil and heat. He solved the question, 
 but then, now and forever, the sun will set, and there is no other 
 term for us. 
 
 The Vallambrosan hills show in the distance, as do the peaks 
 of the Carrara Mountains. Nearer are spurs of the Apennines, 
 rising out of a violet mist, glittering in a sky of pale prim- 
 rose, the Lucca hills forming a fitting background to the pic- 
 ture. The ever-changing light is varying on the beautiful gar- 
 dens and the fair meadows. The hum of life comes up from 
 the streets across the river, the songs of happy children come 
 floating up to us. Beyond is the Via Crucis, San Miniato, 
 and the quiet cemetery where some are buried in somber cor- 
 
108 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 ridors of the church; others under phiin shibs or ehiborate 
 monuments in the grounds outside; their strength and siiiews 
 He moldering; some in forgotten nooks. Side 1)y side with 
 hving nature this freshness of life about us rise the walls of 
 the old, old church, a petrifaction of thoughts, hopes, aspira- 
 tions of the long buried and forgotten dead. What pictures 
 to remember — scenes ineffaceable. 
 
 And then from the town and a half-dozen villages on the 
 crags of the Apennines come to me the notes of the angelus, 
 tremulous and sweet, so harmonious that it thrills the heart 
 with a pleasure akin to pain. The sun was setting as I go down 
 to the city, in an atmosphere of lambent flame, pale pink, and 
 deepening into tones like the rich red seen in the heart of the 
 rose, something like an Alpine glow, but warmer and threaded 
 with golden light. The air and sky and distant hills with 
 clustering houses and detached villas were indescribal)ly bi^auti- 
 ful, soft, and dreamlike. Strange how the magic coloring of a 
 sunset enhances the beauty of a landscape, as the glamour that 
 often makes the plainest face beautiful to the lover. 
 
 Through the gates, among the throng, stumpy little soldiers in 
 slouchy uniforms stride ])v. VegetaV»le-venders are pushing 
 carts filled with green things. Horses and vehicles are in aston- 
 ishing confusion. Bells are jangling, poor women, world-worn 
 and old, but still erect, carry heavy baskets on their heads. The 
 pestilential mosaic dealer and the post-card sellers follow us 
 with the persistency of gad-flies; milk-carts pass, filled with bot- 
 tles of milk having a bit of green leaf twisted in the necks in lieu 
 of stoppers. 
 
 Fine equipages are jammed in between dog-carts and omni- 
 buses. Priests and cowled monks go bv silently amid the wran- 
 gling crowd. Natives and foreigners are there. Then the sun's 
 last beam strikes the tower of the Vecchio. In a moment the 
 air darkens, and we hasten through the narrow streets to all the 
 comforts of a home, which we find not in our hotel. 
 
 If the preceding day was perfect, so was the following morning, 
 in the way of a perfect downpour of rain such as I have never 
 seen in October. We left Florence for Rome at an early hour, 
 thinking it miglit be only a shower, but throughout the entire 
 day it was something terrible. The rain came down in sheets. 
 
Italy. 109 
 
 Tlu' bills are steep, and the country was soon flooded. Many 
 small farms on the slopes were lately i)lowed, and it seemed as 
 tlu)ugh tliey werel>eing literally washed away. The streams ran 
 mud. Twice we were stopped hy the roadbed being washed 
 away, and here we found again at its best or worst what the pas- 
 senger-car is in Italy. The storm beat in oli all sides, as the win- 
 dows were made in that mysterious way that they must either 
 remain closed tightly or slide the full length within the door. 
 In other countries the compartment car is voted a blessing in dis- 
 guise — always disguised in such a manner that the l)lessing 
 is not apiparent, and there is a long leather strap with holes 
 punctured so the window may be lowered a few inches. But 
 there is a scarcity of l)rass pegs or leather here, for there is not a 
 vestige of anything of the sort in Italy. There were eight of 
 us in one compartment, shut in so tight, we could only open a 
 window at the expense of some one getting drenched. Between 
 us and the other compartments the seats were cushioned far 
 above the head when sitting. The boards above on both sides 
 were closely joined and solid in the extreme, but, strangely 
 enough, the roof was faulty and the water poured through. 
 Traveling-rugs and waterproofs were brought out, and so we sat 
 through nine hours, traveling in Italy. 
 
 Only a few days before, I had heard of an American woman 
 who said she preferred the cars here — sleepers included^ to 
 those at home. Somebody surely is answerable for turning loose 
 a woman of that sort; the central block of some insane asylum 
 awaits her coming. 
 
 We saw the yellow Tiber — a raging river of mud — tearing 
 through valleys and orchards, carrying away whole stacks of 
 hay, the lal)or of long summer hours. It seems the storm was 
 unprecedented and the people watched helplessly or tried to 
 stop the overflow. But still the rain poured in torrents, and 
 though we were three hours Ijehind time, we finally reached our 
 destination. 
 
 Our landlord, an American, had preceded us, going on a day 
 ahead, being the proud possessor of two hotels, and as an especial 
 inducement of our coming to this last and best hotel, he had 
 l)romised to wait luncheon for us and to have a bottle on ice for 
 our coming. AVe had endured the horrors of the day with pa- 
 
110 A Woman's Wanderinos. 
 
 tience, arriving late luit still cheerful. We were driven in the 
 teeth of the storm to tlie hotel. A warm grasp of the hotel hand 
 greeted us. We ate and drank the vin du jiays. our host prais- 
 ing his viands and especially the 1)ottle that had known ice, 
 though I thought it tasted like a siphon of soda after the gas had 
 esca})ed. But then the w^elconie was warm — if at an inn. Why 
 cavil at little things when hospitality was so unbounded? So 
 we repined not. But when Ave settled our bill later on, the 
 luncheon, wine, etc., were charged up to us in full! Such was 
 our welcome, so we paid for it and the lesson. It was worth it. 
 Something new is always worth learning. 
 
 Three weeks of ideal autumn days have l;>een spent, in which 
 wandering about old Rome seemed far more beautiful than in 
 any other season. The chilly nights and cool mornings have 
 touched the leaves, so that among the trees and vines are bright 
 dashes of color. 
 
 The tree-lined paths, parks, and gardens are tilled with fhllen, 
 rustling leaves; the days are warm, bright, and sunny, neither 
 too hot nor too cold, and there has been none that was not 
 charming and a delight to be out in and enj(\v. 
 
 The air of mystery of the old enchanted i)laces, the strange, 
 brooding shadows hovering over every ruin, breathes of dead 
 years and of a bygone past the subtle consciousness which re- 
 ceives it knows and feels in all its inmost depths; but when ex- 
 pression is demanded most of us fail, as we know how utterly 
 impossible it is to give an idea to those who have not seen the 
 charm and the fascination Rome possesses. 
 
 It is not all charming, however; there is much in modern Rome 
 that would not be tolerated in any other city of its size. Her nar- 
 row streets and sunless alleys contain filth beyond one's imagining. 
 The streets and palaces, rich in history, bring up recollections that 
 kindle the soul; but the thousands of evil smells l)ring a gloom 
 and a feeling that depresses. "Do as the Romans do," is a say- 
 ing whose origin, like many other foolish saws, is either un- 
 known or never understood. Those who have never been here 
 could not understand it; those who have would be the last to 
 wish to emulate the Romans. 
 
 The streets, save for a very few exceptions, are narrow, ill- 
 paved, and dirty. There are no sidewalks except narrow strijis; 
 
Italy. Ill 
 
 more often, none. Tlie little S(]^uar(', nnevcn Mocks of stone 
 occupy the whole of the street; the peoi)Ie walk amid the carts, 
 carriages, street-cars, and vehicles of all sorts, yet there seems 
 but little confusion, and no accidents. It is jiartly owing to 
 the fact that most of the horses are so overworked and so poorly 
 fed that they have not enough si)irit to run over one. The 
 steady jog-trot, goaded on ))y the merciless lash, is all they 
 are capahle of. I have never in all my wanderings over the 
 world seen such cruelty shown to l^easts as here. 
 
 We avoid carriages, more especially tlie omnibuses, going, 
 when possilde, in the electric cars, which now ha})pily take 
 one alx^ut Rome to many of the most important places. I heard 
 one gentleman de[)lore the fact, saying electric cars si)oile<l the 
 city for him. How any one can prefer to ride behind a horse 
 that is beaten half the time, to riding in a clean car, going with- 
 out jolt or jar, swiftly through the streets. I know not. I only 
 know that common sense need not of necessity be banished V)y 
 sentimentality. I know, too, that Rome is slowly awakening to 
 the fact that it behooves her to kee}) up with the times, and I am 
 glad that it is so. And of one thing else I am sure — if I were 
 Italy's Queen, I should start a humane society at once. History 
 tells us that Caesar's horses, which he had used at the passage of 
 the Rubicon, refused food and shed tears when he fell. The 
 horses of to-day would scarcely refuse food, but I can well ima- 
 gine them shedding tears if they could. 
 
 We are located so near the Porte del Popolo — The Gate of the 
 People — that I may speak of it first. What hordes and armies 
 have camped outside the walls and entered here. From the 
 Etruscan Mountains came the Gauls. Among the emperors 
 came Constantine, and with him came the light of Christianity, 
 a light that needed no Vestal Virgin to keep alive, for from that 
 time pagan altars were doomed. Here, too, was Nero's tomb. 
 
 At the foot of the Pincian Hill, and in the center of the square, 
 stands the old obelisk telling of unnuml)ered centuries. Brought 
 here before Christ was born, its hieroglyphics tell of the time of 
 the Rameses, and dates back over thirteen hundred years before 
 the Christian era. Oldest of old things in Rome, one looks at it 
 with wonder. Transported from the Nile, it was there when 
 Moses and the Children of Israel left Egypt and began their 
 
112 A Woman's Waxdekings. 
 
 wanderings in the desert. If tliis grim old shaft could speak, 
 it would probably echo the longings and yearnings the Chil- 
 dren of Israel expressed for their lost Egypt. 
 
 The Corso, so famous in times gone by, leading straight from 
 the gate and obelisk, is a long, narrow street, with nothing beyond 
 the ordinary to mark it, save a palace now and then. The 
 Dore Pamphili is by far the most magnificent of all the 
 palaces in Rome, and probably the largest in the world, as 
 this private dwelling is almost two thirds the size of St. Peter's. 
 The shops are poor, for the modern portion of the city extends 
 in another direction, and the best are found in wider and 
 better streets. I saAV one very large department store, however, 
 near the end of the Corso. It was quite up to date, with an 
 elevator, and three or more floors filled with goods. Yet in 
 that large store we could not get a spool of sewing-silk. 
 
 Above the Piazza del Popolo is the Pincian Hill, where we 
 go often, even though the books tell us malaria lurks amid 
 the dark groves of cypress and ilex trees. We have heard 
 that oft-told tale at home, and know how senseless much of 
 it is. We fret not our hearts, '^ut look over a city fair enough 
 to take chances. The band plays here in the afternoons, when 
 the crowds gather, and all of Rome drives, walks, chats, and 
 visits. There is no distinction here, as in London. The poor- 
 est drive or walk on the Pincian along with the nobles. 
 
 These gardens, commonplace enough now, have served far 
 different purposes in times past. What bacchanalian festivi- 
 ties they have seen! They were once the voluptuous gardens 
 of Lueullus. Then came a woman who made vice alluring in 
 her wild orgies, and her wine-press was presided over by 
 bacchantes dressed in tiger-skins. AVhat dances they had in 
 the moonlit nights, with vice and folly in one continual round, 
 until her blood was justly spilt upon the ground she had 
 acquired by murder, the ground often made red with wine 
 flowing from overfilled cups she had helped to drain. 
 
 One does not always think of these things, though recollec- 
 tion will surge up now and then. It is as well to note the life of 
 to-day, to walk the beautiful paths and watch the fountains glit- 
 ter in the sunlight, and look at the trailing vines wreathing the 
 great trees; to see the terraces, liahistrades, statues, and the 
 
Italy 
 
 113 
 
 lovely flowers, and then \o sit on the terrace overlooking- the city 
 and watch the sun sink low hehind St. Peter's, and the lon<!; line 
 of huildings that we know is the Vatican stretching from the 
 huge dome. The })urple mists of the evening back and beyond 
 serve to throw them out in bold relief. The red light beyond the 
 yellow Tiber flames brightly on the dome, and strikes grim old 
 Castle Angelo, the tomb of a i)agan emperor. 
 
 Voices come up gayly from below, for a group of young people 
 are singing and chatting. Youth is happy everywdiere. Memories 
 of the past do not trouble these people. So it should be — 
 youth has the best of it, for theirs is the right sense — that of 
 laughter, and of singing the hours away. There is sadness enough 
 
 'is^'.' 
 
 CASTLE ST. AXGELO, ROME. 
 
 depicted in the sorrowful faces of the rows of Dacian captives in 
 carved stone lining the road leading up the Pincian, which in 
 mockery seem to echo the light laughter. 
 
 The Piazza di Spagna, with its grand flight of steps, its old 
 fountain and models located in picturesque attitudes, greets 
 us daily, for this is known as the stranger's quarter. The banks 
 are here and firms are besieged daily for mails. Near here, too, 
 are the cars, and the square is filled always with carriages for 
 hire. It is never hard to decide on what to do at Rome, for 
 
114 A ^^^)MA^■'s ^^^\^•I)Kl{I^'(•;s. 
 
 there is somctliiiiLi- to see and enjoy, no matter how h^n<i one 
 remains. 
 
 We go to the Forum and spend hours there, locating the various 
 columns and temples; we watch the excavations, and the men 
 collecting old bits of stone and marble, and l)roken pieces of 
 sculpture for archaeologists and wise men to pore over. We 
 have all sorts of descriptions, each writer following in the foot- 
 steps of those gone before him, or else he varies to suit his taste. 
 The guide-books change veTy often or tell different stories, but 
 what does it matter? We have all read and know something 
 about the history of the old city, and each must think his own 
 thoughts or the thoughts of others. 
 
 Writers have spent years and years studying Rome, and some 
 tell us it is impossible to know Rome in ten years, Avhich 
 makes it very discouraging. Some people live a lifetime and 
 know nothing. I know there is a man who has lived here twenty 
 years, who did not know that a street-ear line took us near the 
 Coliseum, or that another line ended at Santa Paola, outside the 
 gates; yet it took us less than a week to locate all the lines and 
 to find them. 
 
 One can see much, understand and feel with the heart — -for in 
 deep feeling there is more human truth than in a little knowl- 
 edge. I am satisfied with a little history and much legend, with 
 rough warp of fact and rich woof of old-time fancy. What care I 
 about tracing the foundations of Nero's golden house? I can read 
 of the dimensions, its capitals and walls incrusted with gold and 
 mother-of-pearl. I only know it does not now exist; that it was 
 pulled down, that enchanted palace, for the people's sake, and for 
 their sake, also, the ashes of the dreaded monster, the matricide 
 who dared to do everything save taking his own vile life, were 
 scattered to the winds after a thousand years — years in which 
 the people still feared him, as they lielieved his ghost still 
 haunted the city and terrorized them. It seems the very irony 
 of fate that after the ghost was exorcised, and the ashes scattered, 
 the urn in which they had been placed was afterwards used as a 
 public measure for salt in the market-place near the Capitol. 
 History does not say that they objected to the measure or the 
 salt. 
 
 One thinks of manv things, loitering here, for thoughts steal in. 
 
Italy. 
 
 115 
 
 and endless recollections come and go. I have sat upon the old 
 walls of the Forum and had my day-dreams. I have huilt up 
 Ivery temple, and have peopled those temples; have built walls 
 that not only echoed back Ca?sar's footsteps, l)ut gave back also 
 the sound of reproach to the man who made the name of friend- 
 ship more infamous than any one since the time that knew of 
 escariot's kiss. In my meditations I have heard Antony's ring- 
 ing speech. I seem to hear the sobs of strong men who wept for 
 Cajsar, and of those who mourneil Augustus. Then I saw Pom- 
 
 FORUM, ROME. 
 
 pey, Catiline, Cicero, and Hadrian; and after these came the 
 Gauls, Goths, and Huns, and the hordes of barbarians. One has 
 read of them from childhood, until they seem familiar, some- 
 thing we have known always, and it does not seem strange that 
 they pass and repass, an endless throng. And then a voice 
 pleads, '-Poverina. signorina, poverina." ''Grazia" is breathed 
 with a sigh of delight as I drop a soldi in the beggar's dirty 
 palm, and the day-dream is over. What matters it whether the 
 
116 A Woman's Wandkhingb. 
 
 dream castles were like those of long ago? They were real to 
 me as the stars, and I am satisfied with my building. If I err 
 in my location of columns or arches, I have at least had my en- 
 joyment, and am satisfied. An architect can scarcely do more. 
 As for the rest, I leave it to the archaeologists. I can lean on an 
 old wall, build and people it at will; for Rome must be enjoyed 
 according to the disposition or fancy of each traveler. 
 
 And then I turn from the Forum and watch the life svir- 
 ging through the narrow streets; look into doors blackened by 
 time and smoke, and see the cold, dirty stone floors. Men 
 and women sit at the doors or in the street, which is as clean, 
 and far more cheerful, oftener, than indoors, and I wonder 
 what their life must be; a life utterly unknown even to the 
 poorest in America, for in dark, gloomy, and damp habitations, 
 Rome excels beyond any city of which I have any knowledge. 
 
 Still, the people seem cheerful, and are good-natured and 
 kind. We have found much genuine kindness and politeness 
 in shops and eating-places. I remember going into a restaurant 
 where men were seated at different tables. We sat down, and 
 the proprietor said something and whisked the men into another 
 room, closed the door, and then came up smiling for our order. 
 Just why he did it we did not know, but he seemed delighted 
 to have us honor him. Perhaps he , rarely had strangers eat 
 there; but we have learned a good deal of life outside of hotels, 
 and like to take luncheon wherever we happen to be at the noon 
 hour. 
 
 One day we were in a restaurant when some soldiers, two 
 lieutenants, I believe, came in and ordered a glass of wine 
 each. After they were served I was astonished to see them 
 take some packages out of their pockets. It proved to be the 
 hard bread of the country, which they ate with the wine, and 
 after the repast one put the remainder of the loaf back in his 
 pocket for another time. Fancy one of our lieutenants doing that. 
 I learn, however, that the most rigid economy must- prevail, 
 as the lieutenants get about four francs, or eighty cents, per 
 day, while a captain gets about one dollar and a quarter, in 
 our money. The common soldier receives two cents per day, 
 so it is not strange that they buy a handful of roasted chestnuts,, 
 as I have seen them do, or lunch off a hard piece of bread. 
 
Italy. 117 
 
 The average restaurant is not remarkable for good cooking, 
 and is nothing Uke the Italian restaurants in California. Cooking 
 may be another of the lost arts, for in the time of Rome's greatest 
 triumphs it was said that it was carried to such perfection, that 
 a pig would be roasted on one side and boiled on the other. It 
 may be only another myth we read of, but we are sorry these 
 days bring us no such delicacies. 
 
 So much is crowded into one day here, that it is hard to arrange 
 or specify things. I can only speak of a few. Loitering in Rome, 
 idly speculating on or accepting things as they are without for- 
 ever inquiring why, saves some shoe-leather, and the wear and 
 tear of brains at times. In a church where Pius IX is buried, I 
 saw a lady eagerly scanning her guide-book, then looking at some 
 pictures on the ceiling. She asked me if I could see a lizard and 
 a frog anywhere in the vicinity. I told her I could not, l)ut if 
 there was a frog's legs in sight, even if painted, I thought I would 
 like to see them. " But why this anxiety? " I asked. Well, she 
 had read the artists were not permitted to put their names on 
 the pictures, so the combined or mixed-up reptiles meant the 
 name of the artist. We were in the church some time, and when 
 we left she was still gazing at those painted vaults with a field- 
 glass. She probably found what she sought, but forgot the jiaint- 
 ings, and forgot the most interesting part of the church — the 
 crypt, where a simple, Init chaste and beautiful, sarcophagus 
 holds the remains of Pius IX. 
 
 People seem to grow wild over certain objects of art, and like 
 sheep jump over an imaginary fence l)ecause somebody made a 
 skip centuries ago. An old broken torso, a dilapidated out-of- 
 date Venus, is raved over because some one who knew and under- 
 stood painting and sculpture ages ago saw the Ijeaut}' of the 
 portions, and knew enough to build them up piece by piece. And 
 to this interest, this knowledge, we owe much, and the world owes 
 more to such students. 
 
 There is a class of people who read but little and think less, 
 who feel called upon to gush over every object a guide points 
 out. It sounds like culture, and they will dilate on the expres- 
 sive face of the marl)le elephant bearing the obelisk on his back, 
 that stands patiently in the Piazza Delia Minerva, and is likely 
 to keep the same expression for several years to come. 
 
118 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 It is better to be candid and confess, as did an English- 
 woman here, who felt she must see something each day, whether 
 she thought about it or not. She came from her lovely home 
 on the Thames, and went out in quest of objects of interest 
 each day. She wandered into the church of the Capuchins 
 one day, and saw that beautiful painting, Guido Reni's "Arch- 
 angel Michael Slaying the Demon." At dinner that night 
 she said, with a very complaisant air, '"Well, I have accom- 
 plished something to-day, I have seen 'Michael Angelo Slay- 
 ing Sin.'" She returned home, doubtless well satisfied with 
 the memory oi that picture, and the artist had not wrought 
 in vain, if he gave the impression that some mortal was able 
 to slay sin. I might have been less wise, but with pleasanter 
 recollections, had I followed her example, and ^gone out with 
 the pleasant memory of that picture. 
 
 We followed one of the Capuchin monks downstairs into 
 a long corridor, whose walls, roof, and a numoer of chapels 
 
 a-i^^m^z^-' 
 
 
 T*!^ 
 
 ^f^^*,*^,^***'*' 
 
 CKYI'T IX (HriHII OF CAITCIUNS. 
 
Italy. 119 
 
 openiii*;- from it are piled with l)oiies of some four thousand 
 of tlie deceased brother monks in all sorts of fantastic devices. 
 Ugly and grotesque designs of chandeliers made of bones hang 
 from arehes. Bones are placed in every conceivable shape and 
 tastefully arranged, if skeletons and odds and ends of long- 
 dead humanity could look well. There are skeletons dressed 
 in the lirown garments of the order, as if to accentuate this 
 " bonery." The place has always held a fascination for the 
 brotherhood, each looking placidly to the time when he for a 
 while would become one of the "lay" members; that is, until 
 his time came to help in the decorations and some other one 
 would lie in his place. It is rather hard for them, for no 
 one save the King or the Pope may now be buried within 
 the city's walls. These Capuchins ask for nothing better than 
 to lie here, if only a short time, for the earth in these chapels 
 is consecrated and was brought from Jerusalem. A few years' 
 l)urial here, when the longest dead must make room for the 
 newcomer, is dearer to them than any other resting-place. I 
 was glad to get out and look up into the blue sky. In that 
 jilace of skulls and bones it is liard to think of anything save 
 the earth, earthy. 
 
 Modern Rome is not at all interesting. They have had their 
 boom and regret it, for progress has destroyed romance, and that 
 which one does not expect of Rome greets us in the new quar- 
 ters. We see long lines of cheap, unsafe buildings, cracked and 
 miserable stucco, tenantless blocks, the result of a rage for specu- 
 lation, from which it will take time to recover. 
 
 Tl)e founders of Rome did not so l)uild. I was in a palace 
 here, built liefore America was discovered, that seemed as perfect 
 as if just tinished. but there are thousands of buildings, walls, 
 and monuments that speak of solidity and strength. Therein 
 lies the charm of the old city, with her twenty centuries and 
 more of history. There are monuments upon monuments, road 
 upon road, grand ruins upon the Palatine Hill, and the palace of 
 the Caesars, where walls are intact and frescoes stand clear 
 and bright after more than seventeen hundred years, and mosaics 
 and decorations of rooms that are still l)eautiful. They laid the 
 solid foundations of these giant structures, and ])uilded better 
 
120 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 than they knew. Yet their idea of greatness seemed only that of 
 size and strength. They Iniilt roads that also have lasted for 
 decades of centuries, as they did aqueducts and fortifications. 
 All they built and planned was solid and very practical, but it 
 seems rather hard on those old Romans that, when it came to 
 beautifying and decorating, they had to call upon their Greek 
 slaves to do the work. So it went on for centuries. They 
 watched and tried to imitate, l)ut it was a poor imitation. The 
 Romans were never original in art; that they were in crime goes 
 witliout saying. 
 
 The solidity of their works is shown in the Coliseum, that 
 huge circle of stone, brick, and mortar that looks as if it might 
 endure for ages to come. One does not think much of the work 
 which we see; the walls, which rise heavenward to such great 
 height, nor of the men who hewed, lifted and put those stones in 
 j)lace. We know it to be the work of men's hands; the work of 
 men's hearts; that unnumbered captives died, but what were 
 slaves for in those days? The w^onderful building strikes us not 
 
 r^ 
 
 COI-ISKTM, ROME. 
 
Italy. 121 
 
 so forcibly as the motive, the purpose for which it was l)uilt. I 
 muse more upon those who fought, died, and left no word of 
 themselves. 
 
 Scenes come before tlie mind, crossing and recrossing them- 
 selves like spider webs. I think of the slaves and prisoners who 
 gave their lives here in the open space where I sit, and watch 
 the l)right sunshine flooding the old arena, whose sands drank 
 the blood of beasts, of men and women, that the rulers might en- 
 joy a pleasant hour. I gaze into dark, dreary vaults, through 
 apertures dimly seen; into old arches and cells cut in the tufa 
 rock, where hungry l^easts were starved to make them more fero- 
 cious, or, if it suited the mood of the ruler for the hour, they were 
 fed on human beings. I think of the five hundred years this 
 carnage was carried on; the years that followed after Christ 
 walked this earth, of the martyrs who died for their faith — and 
 am glad to see it in ruins; glad to know that in all the centuries 
 since it has been only a monument of all that was fiendish, cruel, 
 and vile in man. What else could one expect of those rulers of 
 the world, save bestiality and cruelty? When Aristippus pul)- 
 licly taught "that sensual enjoyment was the only good," what 
 wonder that Christians died for faith and truth and purity? I 
 am not here, however, hunting up records for morals. The deso- 
 late ruins, the ghastly deeds of the past, teach much or little. 
 
 I saw a savage wretch, who looked as if he might be a direct 
 descendant of Romulus' wet-nurse, beat a poor beast here one 
 day, and the crowd looked smilingly on, showing that the spirit 
 of torture which existed in the days of imperial Rome is extant 
 to-day. I saw a man beat and choke his wife one night, and 
 try to throw her from a window. The crowd in the street seemed 
 to enjoy it. I saw several women fighting under my window 
 late one night, while the men applauded, and so the world goes 
 on. So I say again, it is better to enjov that which is enjoyable 
 than delve too deeply in past history, taking the best, and leav- 
 ing the worst, for there is much to be enjoyed. 
 
 We leave the old place with its ghostly memories and go out 
 through the arch of Constantine. and lieyond the walls where the 
 breezes blow fresh and sweet from the Campagna. We watch 
 the coming and going of the jieople. see the river turning west- 
 
122 A Woman's Wandkhixgs. 
 
 ward, and the cool shadows quench the hright Hght of the sun, 
 and we let our thoughts and dreams run forward instead of back- 
 ward, until the cool breezes of night warn us that it is time to 
 leave the lanes and go l)ack to our hotel. 
 
 And so the days i)ass quickly, something new calling one out 
 every day; or if not new, the same things may be seen time and 
 again. One does not tire here, and in this lies Rome's chief 
 charm, for the city means, if one reads the meaning rightly, ages 
 of plunder, murder, agony, and death. Almost every church 
 holds its tragedy — mystery, carnage, and terror greet us on the 
 threshold and in the old ruins, and the magic of mystery draws 
 us to her with such force, that one's whole being is enthralled and 
 enchanted. A bit of sculpture, a line, a sketch, engrosses the 
 mind; for they breathe the threefold mystery of love, eternity, 
 and death. 
 
 And then there comes into the senses an hour of retrospection 
 amid the groves of the Medici villa, out of the dust and gloom of 
 churches and chill palaces, away from streets and the busy life 
 below me. The evening sun flung its mantle over the city, 
 snatches of song, natural as bird notes, strayed through the sweet 
 wildness, and it seemed as if there were no sin, sorrow, or troubled 
 past; that the golden age of man had come. Pan was playing 
 on his pipes, l)ut it was only the contadini going home to the 
 Campagna. 
 
 November is ended; we had our Thanksgiving turkey under 
 difficulties, for the idea of serving a bird whole appalled our 
 German landlord, but we insisted on having our way. The din- 
 ner served in the privacy of my apartments was a success; our 
 flag floated above the wishbone of that bird, foreign no longer, but 
 naturalized under our Stars and Stripes; we had mince pie, though 
 the pie cost nearly as much as the turkey; this we obtained from 
 the English tea-rooms. They staggered when I ordered pumpkin 
 pie. They knew what custard meant, but pumpkin pie was be- 
 yond their comprehension. 
 
 Six weeks in Rome, with never an idle or disagreeable day, 
 yet interest never flags. Her treasures are inexhaustible, and 
 it is well, for we are here for a much longer time than we 
 expected. The jilague is wandering al)Out in an idle sort of 
 way in Egypt, sufficiently strong to make t[uarantine a neces- 
 
Italy. 123 
 
 sity in places, so we will proliably l)e ()l)li<j;e(l to tinish the 
 year in Italy. 
 
 We have had hut little rain so far. The days have been 
 warm and bright, with slight frosts at nights and chilly mornings. 
 The chrysanthemums show the effects of frost. Other than 
 tliat, there is little evidence that winter is near. 
 
 People who do not know California, coming from the East- 
 ern States and northern Europe, rave over the climate, and 
 bring up the price of paper by writing home reams of nonsense 
 about matchless skies, sunshine, etc. We who know so well 
 what warm sunshine and blue skies in autumn mean, take it 
 for granted. It is home-like, and we bask in the sun and love 
 it as well as the most comfort-loving Italian. I know that 
 for the time of the year it is colder at nights than in Sacra- 
 mento, although the days are delightful; but whether in the 
 streets, on the hills, or down in subterranean Rome, it has 
 been charming to be out in the open air. I can only single 
 out a day now and then to write of, though each day would 
 fill pages if written as I see it. 
 
 First, 'I will speak of the Capitohne Hill, Rome's sacred 
 fortress, where Romulus and his men carried off the Sabine 
 girls. Here are the museums and galleries, which contain much 
 that is good in painting and sculpture, the Venus and Dying 
 Gaul being more widely known and copied than any others, 
 save those best known in the Vatican. The church with the 
 celebrated Bambino is near here also. We go from it to the 
 Tarpeian Rock, which bears the name of the girl who for the 
 promise of a golden trinket willingly opened the gate of the 
 fortress for the Sa1)ines — who slew her after they entered; thus 
 showing their contempt for treachery, even though they profited 
 by it. It is not much of a hill now. A good athlete might take 
 his chances and try the jump at no great risk. The place is fenced 
 in, and the streets swarm with beggars. We pay to have the gate 
 opened, and have a respite for a time. But. looking over the 
 wall and into an open covirt below, surrounded by tenement 
 houses, are other hordes of children, turning somersaults and 
 crying out for money. They are so insistent and saucy that it 
 jars upon one. 
 
 The place is utterly unlike what one expects from the vivid 
 
124 A Woman's Wandkri.nxis. 
 
 de5cri})tioui^ some romantic writers have given lis. A low 
 stone wall runs along the edge of the hill, marking the place 
 where men were hurled from the rock. Trees, flowers, and 
 tangled vines are in the fragrant garden, where in the Middle 
 Ages men were drawn, quartered, hanged, and butchered until 
 even Rome sickened of it, and the place of execution was 
 changed. Nature has been good, and for four centuries has been 
 purifying the place. It is quiet and peaceful now. The flowers 
 bloom, ])irds sing, and children play. 
 
 I think sometimes people who do not read are spared a good 
 deal of pain. So are those to whom the past is a sealed book. 
 Is it better to know and suffer because others have suffered, or 
 live in ignorance of it? 
 
 From the hill we went down to the Mamertine prison, where 
 Peter and Paul were imprisoned. We were told many absurd 
 stories; saw the miraculous spring that gushed from the rock 
 that they might baptize their converts; saw the black dungeon 
 where Jugurtha was lowered through a hole and left to starve 
 while his captors feasted. There may be some truth and much 
 fiction, but we question not. We know that in his lifetime Paul 
 wandered about the streets in Rome; that he lived, loved, and 
 wrote to the Romans; and that his life ended here. 
 
 One must have faith to believe in the three miraculous 
 springs shown us far out beyond the great, beautiful church, 
 Santa Paola — which sprang into existence where Paul was 
 beheaded. Just as we must believe, also, when in the small, 
 circular chapel upon the crest of the hill where Peter was 
 crucified, we are shown the hole in which the cross was planted. 
 A grating covers it and a lamp suspended above it burns 
 always. A lirown-elad monk gravely lifts a l)it of sand from 
 the six feet below with a tiny hoe and tenders it to us. We 
 pay him for his trouble and refuse the sand which since 1499 
 has been given out as the sand that was at the foot of the 
 cross. It is sand, pure and simple, and suits the demand of 
 the tourist who cares for such things — so what matters it if 
 a few tons are carried away in the course of centuries? 
 
 It is only a short step from the prison and around the Forum 
 to the Palatine Hill, where are piled ruins upon ruins, the 
 chosen and once-loved site of Rome's mighty rulers. Angus- 
 
Itai.v. 
 
 125 
 
 tus' splendid palace was a foundation for that of the followinji; 
 Csesars, which covered eventually the whole hill. Under Nero 
 it extended still farther, covering more ground, each trying to 
 outdo his predecessor. I despair of describing the multitu- 
 dinous array of chambers, columns, temples, baths, halls, and 
 frescoes, which are in bewildering confusion. I saw the dining- 
 room where Nero sat at dinner, eating while his step-l)rother 
 drank the poisoned wine he had prepared for him. 
 
 Near the great dining-room, we saw a small but disgusting 
 memorial of the imperial life in Rome — the Vomitorium, whither 
 
 t^„^^^ 
 
 iVW i'Ai.AIINK. IHLMK. 
 
 the feasters retired when sated to tickle their throats with 
 feathers, returning afterwards with renewed vigor for more 
 feasting. 
 
 The frescoes are still bright upon the walls of Livia's rooms, 
 she whom Augustus took from her husband, a willing or unwill- 
 ing wife, we know not. Caligula lived here, too, and for pas- 
 time fed the wild beasts of the arena with slaves when other 
 food was scarce. We went through the rooms where he was 
 murdered. 
 
126 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 For hours we wandered tliroULdi ruins heapL'il ui)()n ruins — 
 fragments of Rome's once glorious temples — went down in deep 
 underground vaults, looking on walls and arches still firm 
 enough to last for centuries — stood on ghost-haunted thresholds, 
 where, on beautiful bits of mosaic floors, lizards bask in the 
 sun, and weeds and grasses grow where the world's rulers walked. 
 I sat in tlie shade of the ilex trees, which grow now where 
 the sacred grove once stood. Here lived the Gracchi, and here 
 lived Romulus in his ca1)in of reeds, happily enough, perhaps, 
 before ambition seized him — liefore he l)egan the great wall 
 farther down on the slopes, and ])efore he slew his l)rother, 
 Remus. What tales these ancient, In'oken walls tell us ! The 
 gloomy caverns, grottoes, dungeons, ruined porticoes, and temples 
 
 — what bacchanals, pollution, folly, horror, and brutality have 
 they not witnessed. Strange, wondrous walls, — each stone has 
 echoed the roars of revelers, the last shriek of agony, of crime, 
 or the faint sweet whispers of love. 
 
 Then there is Nero's golden house reaching to the distant 
 Esquilline inclosing the Palatine and Coelian hills. There 
 were lakes, forests, subterranean galleries, cool halls for heat 
 in summer, baths with water from the sea, and sulphur liatlis 
 
 — everything the world could give in the way of luxury and 
 adornment. Greece was robbed and beggared for the golden 
 palace. Now only faint traces remain of the splendor of the 
 dead past. 
 
 The Coliseum is all that is left in this vicinity to show what 
 it must have been. And while its walls are stanch, it shows 
 the marks of the despoilers. Human woodpeckers have bored 
 holes in the walls until they look like trees where the birds 
 vStore acorns. Only the human vandals, after taking the marble, 
 extracted every l)it of iron or Itronze that could ])e found in 
 the walls. 
 
 All is silent u})on the old hills. The melancholy chirrup of 
 a cricket in the grasses comes to me. The winds sigh softly 
 among the trees. I pluck a branch of laurel leaves and think 
 of the garlands that wreathed the ])rows of the long dead. 
 Solemn thoughts Hit through tlM' l)rain as we leave the deso- 
 late arches, broken and cdoven l)y long centuries, where delicate 
 creeping vines twine about fragments of glorious Sculpture. We 
 
Italy. 127 
 
 tread the very ^oil where the world's ,<ireat?st traj^edies were 
 enacted. It is only in Rome that the mind can realize these 
 strangely distinct visions which pass and repass in endless 
 confusion, from a wonderful past. Grai)hie and vivid are the 
 pages of history written here. Each stone, each pillar, is asso- 
 ciated witli a past that transfixes us, as reflections, persistent 
 and unbidden, come and go. 
 
 Down lielow the Palatine is where Ca?sar fell. I think how he 
 and his rival, Pompey, disi)Uted the empire of the world, and 
 how one fell l)y the hand of a slave, the other l)y his best-l)eloved 
 friend, ending his career at the foot of his rival's statue. In 
 blood they lived, l)y violence died. The unerring hand of Jus- 
 tice rights things in the end. Their glory has dei)arted. Those 
 who ruled in wisdom or folly are gone. Medieval shadows wa\ap 
 their abodes in gloom and mystery. 
 
 We go V)ack through the arch of Titus, wdiere captive Jews, 
 with heavy hearts, were forced to place the stones and put in 
 shape an arch to commemorate the downfall of Jerusalem. Like 
 so many other things here, it has been restoreil until little of the 
 original is left — though some bas-reliefs and the seven golden 
 candlesticks stand boldly out on the little remnant of the ancient 
 arch. 
 
 We pass along the Via Sacra, wdiere Roman armies passed and 
 captives groaned. Cicero had walked over those same flat stones, 
 and Horace's feet probably kept time with the ode in his mind. 
 
 We go past the Forum, and from these scenes and thoughts of 
 the Caesars the mind flies to a father — a Roman father in the 
 truest sense of the w'ord — and to the stream of l)lood that flowed 
 from the breast of Virginia. Death before dishonor! How dif- 
 ferent her father to that of Beatrice Cenci. 
 
 Imagination runs riot now, groping in the dim aisles of tradi- 
 tion, and taking strange fanciful excursions into realms of the 
 past. At every turn there is something to appeal to the mind. 
 We read inscriptions that tell of love and sorrow that have so 
 long survived the hands that WTote, the lips that uttered them, 
 and a thrill of sadness comes over one in looking on ruined 
 tomljs. 
 
 There are days and days spent in such scenes as described or 
 among galleries, museums, and churches. We go home at night, 
 
128 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 tired of walkinu- over tIr' uncomfortable rough little squares of 
 lava with which the streets are paved. It is, I think, penance 
 enough for most sins to walk much in Rome's intricate streets, 
 through narrow alley-like ways, where the sun never shines and 
 the chill winds swee|) around the corners; where women sit in 
 the shop doors with little l)raziers of charcoal, Avarming their 
 hands. Sucli a thing as a stove and a good fire in a shop I have 
 not seen. The damp of dungeon-like churches is in our lungs. 
 We grow so tired of the great, tall, yellow buildings, and weary 
 of clim])ing endless stony stairs. 
 
 (to where you will in most places where there is anything 
 worth seeing inside of walls, it is damp and cold, and sometimes 
 we wonder if it is worth the time and discomfort. Yet a single 
 night's rest, and it is wonderful how changed is everything. I 
 know by experience how soon one forgets all that is disagreeable. 
 
 In all the years gone by since I passed another winter in 
 Rome, my heart-strings have in some mysterious way been pulled 
 toward this old city. People who go al)out hurriedly with a 
 guide, seeing the principal places in a week, can never know or 
 love Rome. It is only in a long acquaintance, like a friendship, 
 that grows and takes firm root in the heart proves lasting. Thus 
 it becomes engraven on the affections, and a familiarity with its 
 solemn walls, the varying sunshine of the hills, and days of com- 
 panionship with the buildings and remnants of temples, make it 
 dearer than any other city in the world. 
 
 The hurried glance at huge basilicas, churches, and tombs, 
 filled with a sort of sameness in gaudy ceilings, columns, and 
 monuments of marble, is scarcely worth the time. It is the 
 gradually acc^uired knowdedge of the history of each and every 
 place worth seeing; the moldering frescoes, the ancient toml)s — 
 each having a meaning if one cares to find it. It is hard work, 
 certainly, yet wisdom is bought often with care and pain, and it 
 is worth the trouble. Those who come to enjoy life in Rome as 
 in other cities can never love her. The distances between the 
 great points of interest take up much time. The more one reads 
 and studies, the better one understands and appreciates the his- 
 torical city. There is much to awaken and elevate the mind. 
 The memories will sink deep into the heart and become a part of 
 one's self, never to fade in after life. 
 
Italy. 129 
 
 \\\' have (»ur }>lay days, however, -wlirn out bevoiid the walls 
 on the Campagna we lie for hours on the soft sod, and lind joy in 
 mere existenee. 
 
 The country that lies al>out Rome cannot he dull or unin- 
 teresting to any one who has read and iniderstands history or 
 possesses an appreciative soul. Lying in undulating lines, l)are 
 and treeless, are the })lains, stretching northward where rise 
 a line of bare mountains, like our Coast Range. They are 
 the Alban and Sabine mountains, gleaming blue and misty. 
 White villages shoAV here and there on the slopes, l)ut always 
 on some spur and alcove the level of the Campagna. The long 
 lines of ])roken aqueducts lend a charm. There is a picture 
 wherever you turn — a wonderful changing panorama, now soft- 
 ened into the yellows and browns of autumn, though the grass 
 is green and the sod is covered with daisies. 
 
 Everywhere we see the reddish-brown pozzolana earth, which 
 lies about Rome. This volcanic dust shows an abundance of 
 iron, besides other minerals. This material, mixed Avith lime 
 anil water. ft)rmed the wonderful cement used by the Romans 
 for Iniilding their enormous domes, vaults, etc. The strength 
 of the walls of the l)aths of Caracalla, built of thin brick and 
 this compound, seem to resist Time's destructive forces better 
 than any Iniilt of stone. The dural)ility of the work done is 
 shown perhaps lietter in the Cloaca Maxima, the ancient sewer, 
 made by some unknown engineer two thousand fou]' hundred 
 yeai's ago. Xo puldie work ever done in Rome surpasses in 
 utility the Tarquinian sewers. Why they should have been 
 called monuments of tyranny any more than those vast edi- 
 fices put aboveground is strange, for they alone have been in 
 use all the years since built. This sewer is easily traced through 
 the city, and in a new wall l>uilt above an old arch I saw the 
 sluggish current emptying into the Til)er. 
 
 Even the wonderful stone arches of the aqueducts were broken 
 and destroyed years ago. Though some have been repaired, 
 others are new, for there are four different aqueducts now in 
 use, l)ringing into Rome daily an amount of water ec][ual to 
 one hundred and ten gallons of water for each soul. No city 
 in Europe has anything like this supply. Small wonder that 
 this should be termed a city of fountains. There is ever the 
 
130 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 sound of falling water in one's ears in Rome. They flash and 
 sparkle rainl)OW-hued in tlie sun, or show liazy and misty in the 
 moonlight. There is no stint or limit of water. In tliis tlie 
 Romans have shown good judgment. The Claudian aqueducts, 
 finished in 50 A.D., were ten in numlier, and were carried a 
 length of forty-six miles aboveground. Others In-ing it now a 
 distance of sixty-seven miles. They never thought of using the 
 muddy waters of the river, hut went to the mountains, bringing 
 it clear and pure into the city. 
 
 AI'l'lAN W \^ AM) (i.AlDlAN AQVEDUCT, ROME. 
 
 There is one road that leads from the old Forum through and 
 beyond the gates that is known throughout the world — the Ap- 
 pian road. This and the aqueducts bear the name of the censor Ap- 
 pius Claudius. The road that has been excavated and resurrected 
 after a burial of a thousand years, is in fine condition now for a 
 distance outside the gates — but three miles beyond narrows to 
 the ancient width of fifteen feet. 
 
 We drove out to the Catacombs over this old road, the Via Ap- 
 pia, which once led to Greece, to Asia, and to Africa. We went 
 into the subterrannean passages, tier al)ove tier, through tunnels 
 
Italy. 131 
 
 and streets, sad, silent avennes. There wen- skeletons of mar- 
 tyred Christians, eaeh with his lachrvniatory, now dry, and the 
 little lamps that went out more than tifteen centuries ago. We 
 passed in and through sunless lal)vrinths, dark and gloomy. 
 But little is left of all that was found in these numl)erless miles 
 of narrow, intricate passages, and the chapels where early Chris- 
 tians worshiped in secrecy, away from their cruel persecutors. 
 It is damp and cold. ^^^' shudder, and are glad to return to 
 the surface, to be in the l)lessed sunshine. We go on and on 
 along that old tomb-lined way, past Cecilia Metella's tomb, 
 wdiicli, like Hadrian's, Augustus', and so many others, have 
 been used for other purposes. The first tAVO were used as 
 fortresses and the last for a circus. 
 
 Turning from all that is retrospective, we observe life on the 
 celebrated old road. It is filled with vehicles of all sorts — 
 peasants in picturesque head-gear, adorned wdth cords, tassels, 
 flowers, and peacock feathers, with ragged waistcoats of any 
 hue, pockets patched, but with a bit of color. There is a touch 
 that is picturesque, from the piece of sheepskin wound about 
 the feet and laced up as far as the knee. Anything else would 
 be out of place. They suit the In'oken fragments lining the road. 
 
 Strangely enough, for the artist or poet there must 1)e a 
 degradation of something, wdiether it l)e an old ruin, a l)roken, 
 blotched fragment of sculpture, wall, or stucco, a line of clothes^ 
 flapping against a wall, a torn and tattered cloak or hat, frowz}^ 
 unkempt hair all a-tangle over a forehead the color of mahog- 
 any, or a pair of wonderful eyes gleaming from under locks 
 one w^ould not care to touch. But all these fire the soul of 
 the artist, and we Iniy the pictures, but are careful to avoid 
 the models. Thrift and cleanliness are ever at war with the 
 picturesque. The world would be the loser if the artist and 
 poet were not content with the unkempt and unclean contadini. 
 
 The entirely new, though comfortable, is prosaic, but daubs 
 of grays and yellows, broken l)its of mortar, and houses wdth 
 barnacle-like attachments of barred windows, look w^ell in }iaint- 
 ings, as do the shepherds with pieces of goatskin over their 
 shoulders, being the very type of the mythic Pan watching 
 over their herds. 
 
 Horses go by in carts adorned with bright rosettes and feathers, 
 
132 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 each horse shorn of its taih wiiicli very often is tied in a bunch, 
 adorned with l)right-eolored yarns and liung between his fore 
 legs. We ean no more tell why they do this than we could say 
 why they put the long tails on the caps of the King's guards, 
 or why the soldiers riding in the lanes and parks use the tails 
 of horses, which are mounted on a short stick, for brushing away 
 the flies. Nature has a poor show here in some respects. In- 
 dividuality and variety count for something, and if the beasts 
 suffer, that is not considered in Italy. 
 
 But the sun shines over all; the skies and clouds are not 
 for any nation. It is beautiful here beyond telling. So rich 
 is the coloring, the painter dare not put on canvas the shad- 
 ings of the olive groves or the changing tints of the lush 
 growth of weeds. 
 
 The peculiarity of peasant life is motley and curious, but 
 always pleasing. We follow the heavy carts drawn ])y superb 
 gray oxen, which plod steadily along, with the drivers fast 
 asleep, a long line and an endless throng, through the gates 
 and into the city. 
 
 We pause at the door of the church where is the Scala 
 Santa — the sacred stairs brought from Jerusalem, up which the 
 faithful go on their knees. No feet are allowed to climb these 
 steps. And then we listen to vespers in St. John Lateran. The 
 music is so sweet, so restful. Beautiful melodies stream through 
 those dim aisles and flood the heart — tones that call up lost 
 and forgotten remembrances, rising up and up, filling the blue 
 arches of the old church. A pensive melancholy steals into 
 one's soul. We slide into a world of dreams until it is all over, 
 and we go out to find the day swallowed up in dark, chilly mists. 
 
 A soft gray is over the city. The sun has faded into cold 
 ashes, and w^e feel how futile the effort to try to tell anything 
 about Rome. Poets and sentimentalists have described every 
 thought or emotion one can feel or has felt. Archaeologists and 
 antiquarians have finished the rest. One longs for new words, 
 new ideas to express the satisfaction and endearing thoughts that 
 fill one in Rome. 
 
 I saw two processions when here, — the first was King Umberto 
 and Queen Margharita in all the pomp of decorated carriages, 
 footmen and coachmen in scarlet, gold and silver, with powdered 
 
Italy. 133 
 
 wigs, superl) horset>, and ordinary-looking oflieials. It was a 
 long, glittering line passing through crowded streets — the Queen 
 gracious, smiling and bowing to her undemonstrative subjects 
 — the King following after on the way to open Parliament, 
 and seeming to be more interested in the cares of state and 
 the line of soldiers than he Avas with liis i)eople, many of 
 whom did nothing l)Ut stare, a man now and then taking off 
 his liat. Yet I fancy these peojile are as fond of their rulers 
 as are those of most other nations. 
 
 I could not l)ut notice the line of soldiers and iiojice, as 
 they seemed so undersized. Standing near them,Ave found no 
 difficulty in looking over their heads. What we would call an 
 ordinary-sized man is looked upon here as l)eing remarkably 
 tall. But the men throughout Italy are decidedly below the 
 standard in size. I think it might he a good thing for Italy 
 if history could repeat itself, and in lieu of another rape of 
 the Sabines, the Italian women could make a raid on some 
 other nation and carry off a few fine, athletic men, and so 
 raise up a new generation of soldiers. They might be as use- 
 less as these of the present day, luit would look l>etter in 
 trousers. 
 
 The other procession was more demonstrative, if different. 
 There were the same crowd-filled streets, with soldiers guard- 
 ing the line along AA-hich came the hearse bearing the dead 
 mayor. Such an almndance of floAvers I have never seen excei)t 
 at a floral festiA^al. The hearses are a sort of two-story affairs. 
 There were tAvo of them — Avhy, I knoAv not — literally covered 
 Avith fioAvers, eml)lems, and l»road ril)bons. There Avere innu- 
 merable carriages Avithout occupants, filled Avith bouquets and 
 wreaths, often one Avreath lieing of such immense size that it 
 completely filled an open carrage. Among the floAvers Avere 
 some of the most magnificent orchids I have ever seen. Other 
 designs required the strength of tAA'o men to carry them. 
 Then came state and church officials, societies, bands of music, 
 soldiers of state, or I suppose so. They Avould have been all 
 right at a masked ball, and Avere more fantastic than the SavIss 
 Guards at the Vatican. The crowd laughed and had fun with 
 the stragglers, and gave quiet cheers for the music after the 
 hearse had gone by. There were many feeble old men and 
 
134 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 women, and little children too, all from charitable institutions, 
 I think — although I wondered why it was necessary for them to 
 be in that long line, requiring more than half an hour in passing 
 us. 
 
 There is one custom in vogue this side of the Atlantic which I 
 very much admire. No matter how hurried a man may be, 
 when a hearse goes by with the dead, there is always a pause, and 
 the hat is lifted from the head. 
 
 This cortege seemed in a way less solemn than the other 
 procession, and while the crowd pushed and jostled each other, 
 they were good-natured and apparently easily managed. The 
 over-abundance of Bersaglieri and Carbinieri may have had 
 something to do with it. 
 
 The streets are never without the latter. One can look in any 
 direction and never miss one. They are omnipresent. The 
 small, wiry Bersaglieri, with hat loaded with cock's plumes 
 lodged on one ear — the slender, quiet Carbinieri in uniform of 
 black with silver trimmings — theirs is the duty to preserve peace 
 and order throughout the kingdom. Always in pairs, as if born 
 twins, they not only fulfill their duty, but protect each other in 
 emergencies and lead a more sociable life than do our solitary 
 policemen. The Carbinieri corps is composed of soldiers who 
 have served three years of obligatory service and escaped the 
 slightest military punishment. Their promotion from the ranks 
 means fine uniforms and a salary of about twenty dollars per 
 month. They are quiet and gentle with the crowds, and I hear 
 no " Move on!" as I did in Ireland. 
 
 On All Souls' Day, when all of Rome seemed to be at the ceme- 
 tery, or in the streets leading thereto, one poor fellow had done 
 something, so was arrested. His wife, hearing of it, threw her- 
 self from an upper story and was killed. The Carbinieri who 
 arrested him told me of it, and seemed to regret that he was the 
 indirect cause of the suicide. " We must do our duty," he said. 
 
 We tire often of the crowds and the streets. The sunny side 
 is warm and bright, the shaded side chilly in the extreme. Often 
 there is ice in shaded streets until noon. It is the sudden changes 
 from heat to cold that make Rome disagreeable in winter. But 
 always when the sun shines one can get out and up to the hills. 
 Their sunlit, pine-crowned heights beckon us from the city. So 
 
Italy. 135 
 
 we prowl along ylopes ami go through parks and gardens in the 
 warm, mild air, without wraps, when it would be impossible to 
 do without them in the streets. 
 
 I remember one walk across the Tiber, in Trastevere, the old 
 part of Rome — crossing a bridge that has spanned the old river 
 for more than eighteen centuries, good and substantial yet — so 
 well they builded in tho§e days. I wandered among people who 
 look different, and keep more to the old customs than elsewhere 
 in the city. 
 
 In Trastevere is the Farnesina Palace, which Raphael deco- 
 rated. I noted here, as in so many of his paintings, the face of 
 his loved Farnesina, the woman who was his life and whom he 
 loved beyond art. Where her grave is I know not. His is in the 
 Pantheon, and is as much sought after as is that of Victor 
 Emanuel. 
 
 Bevond the spot where the fair Margaret used to watch and 
 wait for her artist lover, I saw, in an old church, Tasso's tomb. 
 The one fresco in Rome of Da Vinci's was not the attraction for 
 me. I thought of the life torn and harassed, the humiliated, 
 slighted, and imprisoned man, who rests peacefully here now, and 
 muse on the strange vicissitudes. Was it through the weight of 
 oppression — his wrongs and his woes — that the world is the 
 richer for his harmonious ''.Jerusalem Delivered"? 
 
 Near here is the Corsini Palace, containing, besides its gallery 
 of paintings and sculpture, one of those dreadful shafts, closing 
 by a balanced trap-door that once dropped its victims out of 
 sight forever. Christina, Queen of Sweden, lived here once — the 
 only woman, it is said, who ever outdid Lucretia Borgia in all 
 her ways. I shiver over it all — the horror of the old, cruel times 
 — and tire of undraped Venuses and leafless Apollos. 
 
 I leave the cold halls and go up the slopes to the tree-crowned 
 Janiculum, where the immense statue of Garibaldi overlooks the 
 entire city. From this place there is no better view of Rome; the 
 vista is sublime of the terraced Pincio, and thick foliaged trees of 
 the Borghese gardens, whose green crests bound the eastern hori- 
 zon. The sun is warm and bright, and a haze lingers over the 
 housetops and streets. To the north rises the great dome of St. 
 Peter's, against a slate-colored sky that 1)lends and harmonizes 
 perfectl3^ The stone lantern surmounting the dome, white and 
 
136 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 glistening, gleams bi-ightly in the evening sun. The Vatican — a 
 long line of yellow walls — stretches liack from it, and shachjws 
 brood over the Pope's rooms, as if sheltering and protecting the 
 aged occupant of that mighty multitude of rooms. The Vatican 
 hills are bathed in the warm, rosy light. Men are at work in 
 the field, and gray oxen plod slowly along, turning the rich soil. 
 All is quiet and peaceful. 
 
 I look from St. Peter's across and beyond the river, over a city 
 where the Apostle took his last, long, lingering look. I see the 
 remnants of old Rome, and the undulating line of new l)uildings 
 covering the hills beyond the King's palace. The Caesars have 
 passed away, and so have barbarism, myths, crime, madness, and 
 chaos. Peace, love, and good-will have triumphed. And the sun 
 sank toward Ostia along the way where went 8aul of Tarsus. 
 The whole western world glowed in rich, flame-colored banners, 
 mingling with masses of lowering purple clouds, which in turn 
 passed away, and a golden, transparent light enslirouded the 
 earth. In that light it seemed the countless multitudes of earth 
 might travel on in peace and harmony forever. 
 
 A tour in Italy is a journey through all periods of history. It 
 is hard to write of it save in a historical sense, for at every turn 
 one is confronted with something that dates back into the past, 
 — - that is, if it be worth the telling. Rome gathered from the 
 whole world that which was most useful to her. Religion and 
 art ornamentation she stole from Greece, her women from the 
 Sabines, her swords from Spain, from the far East her arches and 
 obelisks. Etruria furnished the bows. Her slaves builded, and 
 her ruins now interest us. 
 
 There is ever something in the past. The knowledge is worth 
 acquiring and enjoyable in the finding. This is of interest to 
 one who lives any length of time in Rome — yet prosaic, per- 
 haps, to those who have not been here. 
 
 So I leave it for another prowl over the Campagna, which 
 stretches in undulating slopes to the olive-crowned heights of 
 Tivoli. There is wondrous harmony in shades of green and 
 bronze of the short, crisp foliage. Those writers who call it 
 desolate and a " veritalde desert " have not known our Amer- 
 ican deserts. There are but few straggling houses along the 
 car line, which is run by electricity, as are all the lines in 
 
Italy. 137 
 
 Rome. Tivoli furnished the longest-distance power known until 
 Sacramento distanced her l)y a couple of miles, when the power 
 was brought from Folsom. There are no farm-houses to ))e 
 seen, for, though the soil is rich, it is extremel}' hot and 
 unhealthy in summer. I see. in lieu of houses, wigwam-sha])ed 
 affairs. Innlt of reeds, thatched with brush and straw, looking 
 like the Indian wickiups along the Carson River, in which the 
 peasants live and care for the herds that are now feeding on 
 rich pasturage. 
 
 It is well known that the Campagna is unhealthful during 
 the hot months, l)ut as soon as the cool autumn breezes tem- 
 per the heat, the people come from the hills, till the soil, sow 
 grain, and reap the harvests before the hot days come again. 
 
 The stacks of hay and fat. sleek herds do not V^espeak desert 
 life. It is more beautiful than any uninhabited region I know 
 of — a plain prosy enough, if one looks at it as any other level 
 bit of land — as one might our immense valleys by the sun- 
 down seas. But the setting, the environments, make it a sea 
 of dreams. 
 
 Here, again, history forces itself on one. where every rod is 
 historical — rimmed in l>y the Sabine and Alban mountains, 
 old tombs, and always the l)roken lines of the great high arches 
 of aqueducts. For it was from Tivoli's slopes the first water 
 was carried into Rome. 
 
 There are c^uiet valleys near the hills where are great tufa 
 caves leading into subterranean galleries. Many of these caves 
 are used as habitations by the poor, who eke out a scanty 
 existence. 
 
 Here are swift streams, overhung by drooping reeds and 
 willows, broken arches of antique bridges, showing sun-looped 
 shadows of ivy-crowned openings, through w^alls rent by cen- 
 turies. Here are wondrous deeps of violet-hued distances, and 
 then, through a sort of gray mist, the road winds among inter- 
 minable forests of gnarled, twisted, fantastic groves of olives, 
 resembling the trees of our knowledge only in the peculiar 
 grayish green. 
 
 We go through Tivoli. the old city, l)arnacled like last year's 
 swallows' nests, to the side of the hills; go down into the rainbow- 
 tinted gorge, tilled with foaming waterfalls and cataracts; ihen 
 
138 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 into the Syl)irs Temple, and listen in vain for a voice — surren- 
 dering ourselves to the mystic, pathetic charm of the silent old 
 place. The stillness is broken by the soft cadence of the falls of 
 the Anio River. A fiock of doves circle above. But no voice 
 tells of what the future may have in store. We go away, as wise 
 perhaps as those who listened to the prophecies of old — through 
 the miles of olive trees centuries old. 
 
 We arrive at Hadrian's villa. This, his country house, was so 
 large that for years after found and excavated, it was thought to 
 be a village, it and the grounds occupying several square miles. 
 This marvel of architecture and landscape-gardening dates back 
 to 138 A.D. After the death of the art-loving and far-traveled 
 Emperor, it was unused until the invasion of the Goths, when 
 Alaric utilized it for a fortress, some six hundred years after 
 Hadrian had occupied his tomb, now called Castle St. Angelo. 
 All the centuries following, it has proved a valuable mine, fur- 
 nishing materials for palaces and churches, as well as works of 
 art, many of the most beautiful being in the Vatican. 
 
 Not far and up on the hills to the east are traces of the villas 
 of Cassius and Brutus, and farther down toward Rome is where 
 Palmyra's Queen Zenobia lived. There is always something of 
 interest, and wherever we go it is the same story. The dead seem 
 to be of more consequence than the living. In fact, life appears 
 so trivial that these monstrous walls and ruins seem to look pity- 
 ingly down upon so slight a thing. Slight as it is, we risk none 
 too much in the damp corridors, for the mosaics hidden all these 
 centuries are most beautiful, and the remnants of treasures are 
 lovely beyond the imagination. . 
 
 We were driven to the car line, which follows the identical 
 ancient Via Tiburtina, and go back, while the rose of sunset 
 lingers on the snowy covering of the Sabines, and tinges the far- 
 away Apennines, and then it is gone. 
 
 The scene changes. The night is chill. The city lies a color- 
 less picture. Bereft of the sun, it is an etching framed in blue- 
 gray hills. A background of white misty clouds is in the dis- 
 tance, and far up, seemingly floating in the sky, is one of those 
 pines — " islands in the sky," some one called them — only one on 
 the crest of a hill. But it is real. It represents life and strength, 
 and there is comfort in the thought. 
 
Italy. 139 
 
 It i8 l)etter not to think too much or feel too mucli. The life 
 and light of the city were pleasant and cheerful. It seemed good 
 to be alive and have a fine appetite for dinner. And by my own 
 little wood fire I musetl, thinking after all that there is nothing 
 but ashes, and that the ashes of those mighty rulers of whom we 
 study and ponder weigh no more in the balance of the universe 
 than do the nameless unknown who perished, but count for as 
 much now in the gravitation of the glol)e as of earth's greatest. 
 
 Ashes, aslies! And the tiny brushwood branches they call fire- 
 wood here burn and fall apart, the embers die out, nothing but 
 ashes after all. 
 
 Hadrian's palaces are in ruins. His sarcophagus — that was 
 to be imperishable — two thousand men toiling fully three years, 
 it is estimated, to bring it from the far-off African deserts, and 
 polish and prepare the red porphyry for his remains — is gone. 
 And it seems odd that the lid of his sarcophagus, after svirmount- 
 ing another emperor's tomb, should eventually be transferred to 
 St. Peter's, and now used for a baptismal font. 
 
 It is good to get away from the old and revel in the new, the 
 up-to-date reading-rooms and libraries, to go to the tourist offices 
 and make life a burden to the indolent clerks by asking daily for 
 mail, and inquiring about the plague in Egypt. We are as soli- 
 citous as a physician over a pauper patient who won't die, yet 
 must be looked after. The sellers of tickets to Cairo and up the 
 Nile are wary. They are anxious to have people go, yet dare 
 not say the quarantine is off. And I am anxious to start, but 
 fear to do so at present. 
 
 It is irritating to see in the shop windows cards with great 
 letters saying, " Christmas presents." What have we to do with 
 all these things — strangers and wanderers — and our own duty- 
 loving revenue officials on the other rim of the Atlantic keeping 
 us from sending anything worth while home? Fortunately, words 
 are free and thought unchained, so I can enjoy much in thoughts 
 of all that might be, if nothing else. 
 
 In a great many shop windows are black veils, labeled " To 
 Visit the Holy Father." But the Pope is aged and weak. They 
 ate guarding him carefully for the Christmas week, when he is 
 to open the Porta Santa, or holy door, which has been closed for 
 seventv-five vears. 
 
140 A ^^'oMAN^s Wanderings. 
 
 This is the Jubilee Year, and there are now 100,000 applica- 
 tions for admission to St. Peter's on that day. Though so many 
 applications have ])een made, there is not the crowd in the city 
 expected to be here. Italy depends so much on the tourist sea- 
 son that a wail goes up from those who are benefited thereby. 
 The hotels are not nearly filled, shops are not crowded, Roman 
 pearl-sellers display the white strings and red corals to great 
 advantage, but find few purchasers. 
 
 They ask double here for an}" article of a stranger. Those who 
 live here, and know, can buy things very reasona])le. The '' fixe I 
 prices " mean nothing. Anything having a money value here is 
 subject to change. Mone}^ is variable as the weather, and we ar3 
 quite industrious in finding the market value. High and low 
 means for us how much we can get for an English ixnuid, or 
 five dollars in our money. 
 
 We have had a great many rainy days, l)ut there always 
 are some places to go where one can pass the time. There 
 are so many churches that the oft-told story of four hundred 
 may be correct. There are a score or two out of the number 
 worth visiting. Their gorgeousness, the splendor of mosaics 
 and marbles, make them good show jdaces, Imt somehow chill 
 the warmth one desires to feel in a church. They produce a 
 feeling more of wonder than devotion. 
 
 Especially so is that feeling of wonder uppermost in visit- 
 ing St. Paul's, the great, beautiful, show}' church beyond the 
 walls. The altars of malachite, the quadruple rows of immense 
 columns, the exquisite floors and w^alls in various precious stones 
 and pictures in mosaics are wonderful indeed. But it is nothing 
 after all but a show place. 
 
 No seats are visible, no chairs, as are found in most otlier 
 churches. In only one church have I found pews — this refers, of 
 course, to the Catholic churches. In these smaller edifices 
 chairs and l)enches are used during service, and always taken 
 away afterwards. So the floors are easily cleaned. And it is 
 well; for if they have sanitary rules or ordinances regarding 
 expectorating and other ills, they are not observed. Churches 
 are not exempt any more than street-cars. Omnibuses and all 
 public conveyances fare as do the sidewalks, wherever there 
 are anv. 
 
Italy. 141 
 
 But the <;litter android of the altars, the ean.Ues, sculpture, 
 paintings, domes, columns, pillars surmounted and upheld by 
 angels, the suffering Christ everywhere, as is the Virgin and 
 Holy Child — are fascinating to the eye, and many, who know 
 only care and toil, go; and it is like another world to them. 
 They feel and believe it is something different. And so, if it 
 brings comfort, a little lightening of the heavy burdens, a 
 drifting into the shadow of Paradise, it is good. 
 
 We have been in several churches on certain days when special 
 service was held. I recall vespers in St. John Lateran, and an 
 evening in the Jesuit Church, where the masses gathered, and 
 the long hne, bearing candles, banners, and swinging censers, 
 showed priestly groups, their gold, crimson and purple robes 
 flaming back an answering glow through the incense-misted air. 
 Then came the music. There were no discords, no jarring notes, 
 a soft, sweet contralto, then high, pure, clear soprano voices min- 
 gled with tenor, bass, and baritone. As no woman's voice is ever 
 heard in these churches, it is almost beyond belief how it is done, 
 or how they are trained. I know not, yet I have never heard 
 more perfect melody. The great organ pealed and throbbed, 
 and there were no lost chords there. The soul of the music 
 was a living sound, uplifting and carrying one on its mighty 
 waves, sweeping on and on past all perplexing and ragged edges 
 of hfe and its cares, toward some great central soul — strains sad, 
 tremulous — then the triumphant notes of the hallelujah — a 
 motif that seemed to die away, then reappearing, harmoniously 
 and exquisitely sweet as though spirits in that great vaulted 
 dome had returned and were singing praises to the Most High. 
 There was a mournful wail, an undertone that threaded the 
 melody, a remembrance of the loved of earth, l)ewailing their 
 absence. The choir stationed aloft was invisible in the dusky 
 light and the sounds that swept those vast arches were the 
 wailing notes of the " Miserere," yet unlike any that I had ever 
 heard. 
 
 And strangely enough my mind went to a spot seen a few days 
 before — the Protestant Cemetery and the quiet graves under the 
 shadow of the Pyramid of Cestius, the old pagan toml) that 
 stands guard over the graves of Shelley and Keats. Some notes 
 of the music were like the soft breeze sighing through the cypress 
 
142 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 trees, and through rents in the ohl walls. The sorrowful, tremu- 
 lous notes were to me an echo of the hurdened life of Keats, 
 whose last breath, a sorrowful wail, wished inscribed on his 
 toml): "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." 
 
 PR0TE8TAXT CEMETERY AXD PYRAMID OF CAIUS CESTIUS, ROME. 
 
 Life's bitterness and woes seemed as nothing with the last 
 grand peal; for in the flood of harmony all the heartaches of the 
 countless multitudes of the whole world had gone heavenward. 
 As Ave left the church, a voice in our own language said. " Bless 
 A^ou, my children." One of the fathers we had chanced to meet, 
 who knew our western state, recognized us. Amid all that throng 
 of strangers, amid strange tongues, it was sweet and comforting 
 to feel that some one cared enough to l)estow a thought and a 
 blessing. 
 
 We have visited the places we liked ])est again and again, es- 
 pecially the Vatican, wherein is stored so much that is interest- 
 ing -— the best, and some very mediocre. We know the whole 
 world contril)uted to the galleries and to 8t. Peter's, and the 
 magnificence is unciuestioned. I suppose every one has some 
 special fancy in the vast rooms, amid the sculpture or the paint- 
 ings. Everyliody sees, of course, the " Apollo Belvidere," the 
 "Laocoijn," " AntiniJus," and a few others, and go away and 
 think that is all worth seeing. It is excusable, perhaps, for those 
 
Italy. 143 
 
 who spend a week in Rome. Yet who eould know or uiidcistand 
 without study or research? 
 
 St. Peter's and the Vatican have l)een so talked aliout and 
 written of that I have avoided any description thus far. The won- 
 derful, mysterious old church! In entering, the heavy leathern 
 curtain is so weighty that one has scarcely the strength to push 
 it aside. We give a glance toward the far end, stretching dim, 
 huge, and gray into interminahle perspective, with marbles, 
 bronze columns, and vast arches glittering in gold and bright 
 colors. One knows how futile the task, how empty description is, 
 to convey the slightest idea to those who have not seen. 
 
 A strange feeling possessed me, and yet St. Peter's was not new, 
 but a pleasant and delightful recalling of what has so long lin- 
 gered in memory. The great, high altar is unchanged, and the 
 lights burn forever around the Apostles' shrine. The mighty 
 dome rises above it. The enormous pillars and magnificent 
 statues in mysterious niches seem to answer back the softest 
 whispered word from one to another across the silent aisles. All 
 is unchanged. The singing from some of the chapels comes 
 soothing and restful, as if that, too, is an echo of the past — soft, 
 with a ring of Heaven in it. It is not the music of the present 
 day — not suitable for the stage or satisfying to the Wagnerian 
 craze — but music for moonlight, or some lonely, echoing street, 
 — full of strange fatefulness, enchanting, charming, in perfect 
 accord, and belonging to the time and place. 
 
 We went often to the Vatican, whiling away hours among the 
 sculpture and the picture galleries. Here are Raphael's '' Trans- 
 figuration " and his " Loggia," wherein is much of his best work. 
 The Sistine Chapel shows the bent of Michael Angelo's mind. 
 His figures seem to struggle, to suffer. They express the inten- 
 sity of power, of sorrow, for he depicted as he felt. He preferred 
 sculpture, but was forced to paint this old chapel, now black- 
 ened by the smoke that has gone up in that room since the 
 fifteenth century. It needs a careful survey to appreciate the 
 labor and the struggles that called to earth once again the heroes 
 of past ages. Here are scenes in the life of Christ, and the crea- 
 tion of the world. His later and best, the "Last Judgment," 
 cannot be forgotten, once seen, but remains fixed in the mind like 
 something in a landscape; a gnarled old tree; an isolated peak; 
 
144 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 a melody that is not forgotten; a line of poetry that is sweet with 
 the sweetness of life; a memory with the bitterness of death. 
 For this man wrought so well in his loneliness and bitterness, 
 that as long as color, form, and conception are left in that chapel 
 he will stand peerless as that one Titan of art, who only was ca- 
 pable of the " Last Judgment." 
 
 I shall not speak further of St. Peter's except to describe 
 the ceremonies I saw on Christmas eve, when the holy year 
 of 1900 began, by the opening of the sacred door by Pope Leo 
 XIII. Our party were in some fonunate way favored, for we 
 had i)laces among the mightv. and within a few feet of the 
 seat where the Pope sat, or reclined rather, after being brought 
 in on the shoulders of the men who carried him in a chair, 
 with a silken canopy over his head. There were seats for ladies 
 and standing-room for men, prepared in the j^ortico of St. 
 Peter's, only about eight hundred being admitted. There were 
 something near one hundred thousand applications for seats, 
 so we felt ourselves very fortunate indeed. The men were all 
 in full dress, ladies in black, with lace veils. Ambassadors, 
 princes, the nobles who have stood by the church, cardinals 
 and bishops were there. I despair of description. It was all 
 far more gorgeous than any royal procession I have ever seen. 
 It was like some grand transformation scene on a stage where 
 scenic effect is sought after. All of the Pope's court, ambassa- 
 dors, etc., were gorgeous in orders, decorations, jewels, and bright 
 colors — scarlet, purple, gold, and crimson — in strong contrast 
 to the black-veiled women who sat in the seats and boxes. 
 
 We had gone early, leaving our hotel at nine o'clock, wish- 
 ing to secure good seats. We found the S([uare in front of St. 
 Peter's filled with ranks of soldiers, by order of the King, but 
 against the wishes of the Pope, who prefers that this, his own 
 dominion, be left to his control. The government, desirous 
 of peace, and knowing the people, look out that no trouble 
 ensues, and is wise, doubtless, for it kept the solid ranks busy 
 to hold the crowd back. Our tickets admitted us without 
 question, for the color proclaimed we were of the elect. Early 
 as we were, we found the seats filled, except a few in front. 
 Again we were fortunate, for those who had preceded us were 
 put in the rear seats, so we had the very best after all. 
 
Italy. 145 
 
 The crowd waited patiently for nearly three hours, and then 
 the sound from silver trumpets eame faint and clear through 
 the dim distance, and the high, gold-fringed canopy appeared 
 coming from the Sistine Chapel. There was but little thought 
 for the gorgeous array that preceded him. All interest was 
 centered in the white-faced old man, so near the boundary 
 where pomp and glory, as well as human care, shall be dropped 
 and eternal rest be his reward. 
 
 Near the close of the century — here, in Rome, amid her ruins 
 — in the dim old church, decorated as he, in all the glitter of 
 gold, silver, and precious stones — the white-seamed face that for 
 ninety years has looked upon the sun and the stars, was in har- 
 mony with the surroundings. A young and jjowerful man, a 
 bronzed face, would have spoiled the picture. It was exquisitely 
 artistic. Such a scene could be witnessed but once in a lifetime. 
 There was the long procession in gorgeous robes — then the Pope, 
 clothed in white, and wearing the pontifical ornaments, came into 
 the portico surrounded by the Sacred College of Cardinals and 
 Court, heralded by trumpets, with the great canopy and gorgeous 
 flabella waving behind him. The crowd here Avas silent and re- 
 spectful. 
 
 But a short time only was given for prayers. Then the Pope 
 took the golden hammer, and, approaching the Sacred Door, 
 knocked three times, repeating some verses, to each of which the 
 choir responded. Then followed similar ceremonies, after which 
 the Pope intoned the Te Deum, the door was opened, and he 
 headed the procession into St. Peter's, through the Sacred Door — 
 the first time this hns been opened for seventy-five years. 
 
 Although the crowd was great, there was nothing like what 
 was expected. There were no thrilling scenes such as writers 
 have depicted. There w^as no frantic tearing of raiment, or 
 throwing jewels and money as offerings. True, when the doors 
 were thrown open after the Pope had entered, there was a wild 
 rush by the people who had cards to the church only; and it 
 was quickly filled by a crowd who were not easily pacified or 
 controlled. They were noisy and struggled for places to see. 
 The Pope's private guard kept them back from the line fenced 
 off for the procession. 
 
 The benediction from the marble statues of the Popes, standing 
 
146 A Woman's Wani)Erin(;s. 
 
 high in niches, came from hands no whiter than he held up to 
 bless the multitude — the treml)ling hand extending as though 
 appealing to the century approaching and giving a benediction to 
 the one so nearly ended. The white angels far up in the dome 
 looked down from on high. They seemed vilirating with strength 
 and vitality, ])ut it was only the moving, wavering, incense-filled 
 air. Banners floated, and the great altar glowed. Then came 
 the benediction, for which the people waited, and it was over. 
 A shout went up for the Pope as they carried him away — a 
 vision of the venerable face, white as the robes he wore — and 
 then the crowd rushed from the church with the haste usually 
 seen at theaters. 
 
 A few tried to cheer the King, Vait were silenced. It was some- 
 thing I did not hear when there was a fine opportunity in the 
 streets when the King was passing. There was none of the 
 royal family present at the opening of the Porta Santa. 
 
 All the other ceremonies were of small import to us after this. 
 We enjoyed a quiet Christmas, had our own little tree and gifts, 
 with a blessing on the cable that l)rought " Merry Christmas, and 
 all well," from home. 
 
 Now I am ready for Naples. My companion so far on the 
 tour has decided not to take the long journe3' I have planned, but 
 plague and quarantine and necessary hardships frighten me not. 
 I am in the cars and out of the Roman station through the Servian 
 and Aurelian walls — the old walls that Hanni]>al, traveling from 
 far Africa, came to see, but turned away disheartened. Not so 
 with me; cheerfully I go trusting that when the spring comes, I, 
 too, will live to see those tumble-down picturesque heaps again. 
 
 There are glimpses of other broken arches and old villas, and 
 as we go on farther. At the Campagna, we cross the Albano 
 and Frascati roads leading to the Alban Hills — passing the 
 drained lake where Castor and Pollux fought for Rome — fly 
 under an ancient city high up above the road, from which the 
 princely house of Colonna derives its name. 
 
 I remember it more for the caves at the base of the hills upon 
 which the old tottering towers stand — for in these miseral)le 
 holes in the rock dwell the poor. The country was sodden and 
 overflowed liy rains. There seemed no attempt at flooring, or 
 comfort, for that matter. Some of the people we could see well, 
 
Italy 
 
 147 
 
 and the mud and water were thiek when- thev lived. Men, 
 women, and ehildren, ehickens, donkeys, and goats, were liuddled 
 together in these eaves. These people work in the field, pruning 
 the vines and preparing the soil when dry enough for spading. 
 There is but Httle effort at plowini:, most of the patches 1)eing too 
 small. 
 
 Near Naples the country changes, the soil Ix'ing rich and 
 fertile. The air is soft and balmy, so different to the chilly 
 winds in Rome. The vines crossed and recrossed are a per- 
 fect network lietween the trees. All grape-vines are staked 
 
 or so trained here, because it is too damp for grapes near the 
 ground. Then a sudden turn, and before us is Vesuvius send- 
 ing up a column of smoke. 
 
 A mixture of houses, streets, green gardens, flowers, a glimpse 
 of the Mediterranean, and we are in Naples. The few days 
 spent here have been glorious. Much as I enjoyed Rome, this 
 has been a delightful change. There everything is old. The 
 people are quiet and dull, one might say. The Neapolitan 
 life is different. They are erratic, fickle, and vicious too, at 
 times — these degenerate Greeks, living under the smoke of Vesu- 
 
148 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 vius. They sing and laugh while the old mountain threatens, 
 and live without dread, Iniilding up high on the sides of the 
 volcano that l)uried Herculaneuni and Pompeii. 
 
 The people are temperate here, as in all Italy, for that 
 matter. A bit of bread, fruit, or some shell fish from the bay 
 forms the chief })art of their food, when they tire of the omni- 
 present macaroni. They need few clothes in this balmy atmos- 
 phere. The life-giving sun warms and bronzes them. How- 
 ever poor they are, they do not seem unhappy. It is different 
 to the poor in other cities, for here they have the beautiful 
 country around them — the Apennines and Vesuvius, the glo- 
 rious bay whose celestial waters sing to them while they draw 
 the finny food from its shining bosom. 
 
 Our hotel is on the rim of the bay. Our rooms almost 
 over the water command a view of Capri and Vesuvius. There 
 are other isles in the distance, showing their heads among the 
 fleecy clouds of the divine Mediterranean. At night, when we 
 dine, musicians stand under the windows and sing for us. 
 They are poetical and musical, without culture, but they impro- 
 vise verses, sentiments of passion, eloquent, and spontaneous 
 as the flowers that spring up like magic — for they are like 
 the flowers, born of eternal spring. Their senses are not dulled 
 or w^asted in this life of emotions. So we hear them in the 
 evenings. 
 
 So I heard them at Capri when we visited that enchanted 
 isle. While we were driving up the summit of Monte Solaro, 
 the melody of the songs of the c^uaintly clad fishermen came 
 up in the breezes which rippled the sea, touched the fronded 
 palms, and brought with the soft cadence a breath from the 
 gardens and orange groves. 
 
 I avoided all ruins on that particular day. Tiberius and his 
 villas tempted us not. Neither did the Grotto of the Persian sun- 
 god. For was there not a glorious sun overhead that no sun- 
 worshiper ever adored more than I? We drove down from Ana- 
 capri, upon whose heights the violets bloom and rose-scented ter- 
 races are warm and fragrant on the sunny slopes, while farther 
 up the trees are all aslant and swept with the winds. Below us 
 the sea was ruffled by the breeze and variegated by the changing 
 light into emerald and sapphire blues. There were transparent 
 
Itai.v. 141) 
 
 waves and glorious reflections of U)vely shores. The l()(|Uat. the 
 palm and pine, exhaled a delicious aroma, and every movement 
 of the fragrant air was like a low sigh of love. 
 
 We went in small ])oats to the Blue Grotto, of which the world 
 has heard. The entrance being only three feet high, it is difficult 
 to go in, even when the sea is smooth. When rough or ruffled, it 
 is not possil)le for the small boats to enter. The steamer an- 
 chored near, and, two by two, as they went into the ark, we were 
 allowed to get in the boats. Not caring for company, I iiad a 
 boat of my own. We got near the aperture, and as the swell 
 receded the lioat was forced in, the boatman clinging to a wire 
 cable while the incoming wave shoved the boat through. Eacli 
 of us was told to slide down in the bottom of the boat, so our 
 heads would lie below the sides of the boat. It was necessary, 
 for the row-locks of my boat touched the top of the opening. But 
 we were in like a flash, and then, through a blurred and dim 
 vision, as b}' a sudden change from glaring sunshine into a milky- 
 blue mist, blinding for a moment — the eyes became accustomed 
 to the wonderful interior. High overhead were the ragged, gray, 
 arching walls and roof. The silvery blue waters were calm and 
 quiet inside. I cannot describe it. It is marvelous, wonderful, 
 and well deserving all I have ever heard or read of it. Peaceful, 
 calm, restful, away from the stormy seas, yet a part of it, it 
 seems to say, " After labor, rest and peace." One has a peculiar 
 feeling there, a sadness, as when looking at some boat fading from 
 the vision, or the last glimpse of the setting sun. 
 
 We returned by way of Sorrento, which is picturesquely situ- 
 ated high up on cliffs above the sea. We drove from there to 
 Castellamare over one of the most noted drives in Europe. The 
 road is amidst groves of orange and lemon trees. The midberry 
 trees and vineyards are leafless now, as are the fig trees. The 
 olives are silvery green, as they ever are. There are aloes and 
 pomegranates at every turn. Whether looking seaward or tow- 
 ard the hills, the scenery is matchless. 
 
 I saw here the house where Tasso was born, now a hotel. His 
 favorite view was shown me — all, doubtless, as he saw it. 
 " Nature alone has eternal youth," and what l)etter place than 
 this to fire a poet's fancy? The In-oken, ragged shore, the beauti- 
 ful, ever-changing sea; the unrivaled bay; the changing, varying 
 
150 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 clouds in tlic sky. with tlie smoke-crowned Vesuvius — possess 
 a charm indescril)able. There are such richness of tones, of 
 colors, such .gradations from the clear azure of the bay to the 
 violet and dee]) amethyst of the sky and sea welded on the hori- 
 zon's verge. The hills are rosy-tinted as we reach the city, the 
 promontories are of burnished jasper, while the seamed and 
 cracked sides of the old volcano are black and shining lava. 
 
 Having made the ascent of Vesuvius long before a railroad 
 defaced its slopes, I do not intend to destroy the illusion by an- 
 other. 
 
 I revisited Pompeii and found many new excavations. The 
 glamour and interest surrounding this city can never die out. 
 The tragedy took place over eighteen hundred years ago, when 
 the molten lava flowing down the sides of Vesuvius buried Her- 
 culaneum and the showers of hot ashes and water fell on this 
 doomed city, covering it in liquid mud. We walked through the 
 silent streets lined with roofless houses, saw the names of those 
 who lived in them, when terror and death overtook them, saw 
 houses with the sign that signified they were for rent, and 
 through all the centuries they have so stood. There are tem- 
 ples, theaters, and places for amusement. There, too, are the 
 darker aliodes, where vice and sin flourished, the seeds of which 
 are not burnt out, and oh ! the pity of it! 
 
 I noticed leaden water-pipes with bronze cocks cropping up 
 through scoria?, throwai aside near the footpaths. The many 
 fountains and public baths show they understood perfectly the 
 means of supplying them with water. The telephone was 
 imitated in a way, for in order that the voice might reach every 
 part of the house, little bronze cups were suspended at intervals 
 under the seats. The few frescoes left are beautiful. The best 
 found of every variety of utensils, decorations, food, in fact, all 
 the necessary articles used in a city, have been removed to the 
 Museum in Naples, but enough is left to interest the tourist. 
 
 We wandered one afternoon through this ruined city, until 
 night came and the shadows became dense in those sad streets, 
 and the vapors wreathing the top of the old mountain were 
 tinged with internal fires. It is easy to repeople this town and 
 see the lurid flames shoot up, to imagine the terror, despair, and 
 dreadful downpour that buried city and people. Now we, among 
 
Italy 
 
 151 
 
 tlu' thousands who come here, look ui)on all that constituted life 
 in that time. The evidence is here, the life gone. The poor, 
 distorted forms of men, women, and children, and of animals, 
 are here in their coating of ashes, so well preserved that the 
 agony of the moment shows clearly on their faces and in the 
 distorted limbs. It is, without doulit. the most mournful and 
 pathetic ruin in the whole world, and as such will ever be of 
 unfailinu' interest. 
 
 ^IKEET SCK.NE IX POMPEII. 
 
 Away from the saddening, ghostly place, and in the solemn 
 hush of the evening, we sped back to the city, where it is as 
 bright, cheerful, and gay as they were in their hour. We have 
 driven over this beautiful city of Naples and up on the heights, 
 and from Capo di Monte looked down upon the fair city and 
 out over the unrivaled bay. I try to forget the misery in the 
 streets, forget the garlic-scented cafc.^ reeking with the fumes 
 of that everlastingly detestable smell mixed with tobacco. Well, 
 it is a comfort to know that when death claims them and 
 they leave their macaroni, they cannot carry to heaven their 
 garlic-laden breaths with them. 
 
152 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 Baiee and Puzzuoli, the grotto of Posilippo and \'irgirs toml) 
 are interesting. I drive through this historic and chissic region, 
 see the nearly extinct crater of Solfatara that for twenty cen- 
 turies has belched forth fire and steam. 
 
 The Sibyl's cave I was not anxious to explore. Virgil selected 
 this as his avenue to the infernal regions; .Eneas and the 
 Sibyl here offered sacrifices. Perhaps their offerings were of 
 the same nature as ours — oysters from Lake Lucrine were 
 offered us and sacrificed to hunger's needs. They were deli- 
 cious, as they probably were in the old Roman days. It may 
 be, however, that Virgil was unfortunate and ate a mor])id 
 bivalve and thought of avenues infernal; I had no unpleasant 
 experiences, and no desire to starve myself, as Hadrian did in 
 the "brave days of old" ; my motto savors not of starvation. 
 
 I thought of Nero here in this fair spot, planning the death 
 of his mother, and of Baia?, which was once so vile a place 
 that it was said that Neapolitan ladies who grew weary of 
 leading virtuous lives came here and were cured of the habit. 
 There is nothing now indicative of past greatness, good or 
 bad — they are all dead. We are satisfied with the present, 
 then why waste any regrets? We are alive and enjoying our 
 day. 
 
 It seemed a different atmosphere fanned my brow, when on 
 the castle-crowned heights of Puzzuoli, where St. Paul stopped 
 some time after he had been shipwrecked on his way to Rome. I 
 looked aM^ay down that wonderful coast line toward Amalfi, where 
 a short time ago the dreadful landslide occurred, burying the 
 hotel — once known as a Capuchin monastery — with its occu- 
 pants, under thousands of tons of earth and stone, ushering 
 them from this earthly paradise into one more beautiful, let us 
 hope. 
 
 And now, to-night, the last of the year, I look out on the quiet 
 sea. The old year dies away. A new one steps in. If there is 
 noise in the town, it reaches me not here. All is silent now, and 
 the stars are bright in the blue vault al)ove, while the stars of 
 Memory and of Hope flash and burn and the heart is comforted. 
 The vast expanse of water is silent. And in the solemn moment 
 between the old and the new yivir the heart feels Heaven's pro- 
 tecting arms. 
 
EGYPT. 
 
 Christmas in Egypt ! One is not often l.lesscd with two within 
 one month. I had spent our Christmas in Rome, and it was 
 rather puzzling until I realized the dift'erenee hetween the old and 
 the new "styles that is known as the Gregorian and Julian years. 
 
 From Naples to Brindisi, thence across the Mediterranean Sea 
 to Alexandria. This, one of the greatest cities in the world under 
 the Ptolemies, is not now remarkal)le, l)ut the domed mosques 
 and slender minarets, the long yellow sands rimming the l)lue 
 waters, the castellated forts, gayly colored feluccas and lateen 
 fishing-boats, delighted our eyes as we landed. 
 
 Then came the drive through the town, which has been famous. 
 Here the lovely Cleopatra and adoring Antony held high revels 
 hundreds of years ago. Here, too, lived and died the ])eautiful 
 Hypatia, and here we saw Pompey's Pillar and the Mahmudiyeh 
 Canal, upon whose waters float the barges from Upi)er Egypt, and 
 which brings the waters from the Nile to irrigate the land. There 
 were such crowds in the streets ! This old, old land was yet so 
 new to us. It was as if we had been transported to an unknown 
 world — it was unlike anything we had ever seen. The noises in 
 the streets were confusing. 
 
 There was a sprinkling of Europeans, but mostly Orientals 
 with baggy trousers and braided jackets. There were barefooted 
 fellaheens in long blue shirts and skull-caps, with Greeks, Per- 
 sians, and Bedouins in flowing garments. There were black and 
 white striped stuffs of every description, and all sorts of head- 
 gear, high caps, red fezzes, head-shawls, and simjjle white tur- 
 bans. There were dervishes in patched coats and tangled locks 
 streaming from under odd head-coverings. 
 
 Then there were the native women of the poorer classes, in long, 
 tattered garments of blue or black cotton, barefooted, and mostly 
 slender, dark, dirty, and grimy. But the love of decoration is 
 apparent, even among the poorest, for they wear silver anklets, 
 rings on fingers and toes, and bracelets on arms. The face is 
 covered with a narrow l>lack strip of veiling attached to a 
 spiral brass or silver piece, which is placed directly between the 
 eyes, the veil covering all the face below the eyes, which are 
 
 153 
 
154 A Woman's Wandering?. 
 
 darkened with some pigment, while the nails are stained with 
 henna. 
 
 There were blue-hlack Abyssinians, Armenian priests, beg- 
 gars, and soldiers in bewildering confusion. The streets are 
 decorated, and although it is the Greek Christmas and Sunday, 
 there is no evidence of a holiday. Work goes on, as it must, 
 among the poor. They have no time here for holidays. 
 
 Alexandria is picturesque, but there is little to detain the 
 traveler now in the city, which flourished two thousand ye&vs 
 ago; which was old before Cairo was thought of. 
 
 We leave it and go through the emerald reaches of the delta, 
 watching the palm-fringed landscapes and the receding city, 
 where the world's greatest lore was given to flames; where 
 Csesar forgot, in Cleopatra's arms, all except her for a time. The 
 place is an infinite background to all the play of passions. 
 There are yellow sands, fronded palms, gardens, palaces, a long 
 expanse of bright green plain, broad canals, a forest of slender 
 minarets and domes — the train stops, and we are in Cairo. 
 
 I cannot attempt an orderly description of my time in Cairo, 
 but the first day was the last of the Christmas festivities — the 
 8th of January — and a birthday or something of the Khe- 
 dive. The city was in gala attire. Great Avreaths of flowers and 
 vines trailed over doorways, and the Star and Crescent showed 
 everywhere. We saw the Khedive drive by our hotel, and much 
 of Oriental grandeur from the broad shaded piazza of the world- 
 known Shepherd's Hotel. There were officials in all the gilt and 
 insignia of office, English people of wealth, and all kinds of 
 vehicles filled with all sorts of people. 
 
 Especially strange were the Saises, running before the carriages 
 of royalty. Clothed in fluttering white robes reaching only to 
 the knee, in gold-embroidered waistcoats, and with Greek cap, 
 they fly with wand in hand, clearing the way. Bare-legged, 
 alert, and strong, they keep ahead of the swift-trotting horses. 
 They, beyond doubt, go at the pace that kills, for they are said 
 to die young. 
 
 Ladies in transparent Turkish veils go by — Egyptian, Arab, 
 Turk — a medley mixed with the poorest half-naked beggars. 
 Some you see have scarcely a garment. Others are clothed in 
 finest embroideries and rich Eastern stuffs. Veiled women carry 
 

Egypt. 
 
 157 
 
 their children astride the left shoulder, the little ones being veri- 
 table bronze Cupids, that seem to know hoAv to clinii on without 
 falling as soon as they are able to sit erect. 
 
 Coal-black Nul)ians, and mahogany tints and colors of differ- 
 ent nationalities crowd the streets. Tliey are from deepest black 
 to every shade of golden-brown, and to chocolate. There are 
 
 BEDOUIX PEASANTS. 
 
 fellahs and donkey-ljoys. An air of good humor pervades the 
 masses. Laughter and a babel of dialects mingle witli odors of 
 Araby and the smell of an unsavory crowd. We gazed until our 
 eyes ached at the mixture, the strange phases of a life unknown, 
 even with a preconceived idea from tiie Midway Plaisance of our 
 Chicago Fair. 
 
158 A "Woman's W'andkkixos. 
 
 Afterwards I saw the l)azaars, as a matter of course. In and 
 out of the narrow streets we went, where in small niches sit the 
 silent, cross-legged owners of precious goods. There is every- 
 thing to tempt the strangers — embroideries, the quaintest of 
 quaint designs, tempting one to buy. It is well we have no 
 heav}' luggage, otherwise I might not have Ijeen able to resist 
 temptation. 
 
 My dragoman took me in one place where there was scarcely 
 room enough to seat three. But in a moment coffee and lemon- 
 ade were served. And tlien we were shown such l)eautiful work, 
 yet not urged nor importuned to l>uy. 
 
 Picturesque as are the bazaars, they were the least interest- 
 ing to me of all I saw in Cairo. We entered the Citadel and 
 Mosc^ue, where we put on shoes over ours, for no Christian- 
 shod foot is allowed to enter the holy place. 
 
 The Mosc^ue of Sultan Hassan is the finest existing speci- 
 men of Arabian architecture. The palace of the Pasha and 
 Mosque of Mohammed Ali were intensely interesting, l)ut the 
 culminating glor}' of the whole was the entrancing sight that 
 greeted my eyes, for it was from the Citadel's heights I first 
 saw those wonderful Pyramids, standing in silent majesty far 
 out on the tawny Libyan Desert. 
 
 Our stay in Cairo was not long enough to see all that I 
 wished. That must come later on. But in the few days there 
 was a vision of the Muski,the covered luizaars, and dim alleys; 
 fountains and the splashing sound of water, fairy kiosks and 
 arching tropical trees, the songs of the l)irds in the gardens, 
 and the music from cafes. There were strange people and strange 
 ways, whether at work or Ij'ing sleeping in streets or on pave- 
 ments. One often stumliles over a long black bundle, which 
 is invariaV)ly a man covered in his long garment. The road 
 or the hard cold stones are as good a bed as he desires. He 
 is always in the dust, and is used to it. Often we saw men 
 dismount, kneel, and hi}^ their foreheads in the dust of the 
 roadside. In the Citadel I saw the faithful wash in the fountain 
 in the square l)ef()re going into the Mosque to pray, and the 
 merchant kneel in his little shop. And wherever they were, 
 they seemed oblivious of the presence of any one. 
 
 I talked to a guide and guardian of thi' Moscjue in the Citadel. 
 
Egypt. 161 
 
 He seemed not to like the presence of the EngHsh soldiers. 
 I asked him why they were there if tliey did not wish them, 
 and why they did not keep them out of tlieir country. " It 
 is because our Khedive was had. But Allah is good. He 
 knows his own business, and it will be all right in time," he 
 said. Then, to my astonishment, for he was quite reticent 
 until he knew I was an American, he said, "By the way, 
 the Boers are doing some good Avork in Africa." 
 
 I do not think he could read or write. He had picked up 
 a little English, and seemed to know or had time between 
 prayers to find out something of the news of the world. 
 
 I made but one excursion outside the city before going up the 
 Nile, and this was to the Pyramids of Gizeh. Out of the town 
 and across the river, whose waters rocked Cleopatra's barge, and 
 rippled among the rushes where Moses lay in his cradle, I see 
 the broad stretch of water where fly the ever-graceful boats with 
 wing-like sails. The river's brink presents a busy appearance. 
 Throngs of people are here, washing and bathing, men and boys 
 are filling huge pigskins for use among the poor, and women and 
 mere slips of girls carry immense jars of water on their heads. 
 A tiny girl will carry a load that I could scarcely lift. 
 
 I saw men go down in the water, divest themselves of their one 
 robe, wash it, and then bathe themselves. It takes but a few 
 minutes for the drying in the hot sun. They do not mind being 
 wet, for their garments never seem dry. That pertains, of 
 course, to those who carry the water and do their laundry work 
 in the river. 
 
 The magic Nile waters we have read of so often seem anything 
 but fanciful or poetic here, as the Avater is yellow and muddy. 
 But people and animals drink, bathe, and love it as if it were the 
 clearest and purest. It is all and all to them. Why not? 
 
 We drive on over that beautiful road towards the Pyramids, 
 that for seven miles is lined with the great lebbeck trees, arched 
 and meeting over the well-sprinkled avenue — a blessing in this 
 country, which scarcely knows rain — until the road ends, and 
 we drive up the long sandy slope. The desert and rocky plat- 
 forms are reached, and we are under the shadow of the Pyramids. 
 
 I know that this is Cheops, towering in unexpected bulk and 
 majesty above my head. I think, however preconceived one's 
 
162 
 
 A Woman's ^\^\^•DERI^•f;s 
 
 ideas may be, the effect is different from all imagination. I had 
 not that sense of delight often experienced in gazing at some 
 gorgeous landscape or towering mountain. Here the senses seem 
 overpowered. One is emptied, so to speak, of words, of ideas. 
 It is the mystery of ages gone by. I am awed b}- the silent, end- 
 less, tawny desert, where no thing of life is seen to grow beyond 
 the borders of the river. And these Pyramids, built of huge 
 blocks of limestone, i)iled high upward, and seen against the clear 
 Egyptian sky, standing so long in the warm, dry air, are the 
 color of the sands — seemingly tiu^ color of gold against the lilue 
 of heaven. 
 
 The impressions of tliat visit can never i)ass from my mind, as 
 I stood there touching those massive blocks that have stood in 
 place over six thousand years. Its immensity, and the long, vast, 
 rugged wall that is rooted in the sands and reaches so far above 
 
 me, is strangely over- 
 powering. My mind 
 seems fighting the 
 solid phalanx of 
 years that have gone 
 by since these Pyra- 
 mids were created. It 
 is a ])lace that, what- 
 ever it may mean to 
 others, struck me 
 iluml). 
 
 It was as well to 
 rest in silence, for 
 all my strength was 
 needed for the as- 
 cent. Although we 
 were told it would 
 be too hard to climb 
 that steep slope to 
 the top, which is 
 four liundrcd and 
 eighty feet from the 
 base — and though 
 i:\mN(; chkoi-.s. each block measures 
 
Egypt. 163 
 
 almost three feet in height — we would not listen. I had three 
 Arabs to assist me, and though much has been said about their 
 dishonesty and extortion, we found them kind and encouraging. 
 Block by Ijlock up that mighty wall, where many men falter and 
 only few try, I went. And although it was fearful, worse even 
 than the ascent of Vesuvius, I finally reached the summit. I 
 know nothing about the feelings or sensations of others who 
 toiled up that weary way, luit I felt much as I did once when up 
 in a balloon. There was the same sensation — as though one was 
 suspended in air. 
 
 The broad, stretching, undularing desert; heaps of l)roken 
 masonry; yawning pits; rifts showing here and there; and the 
 number of smaller Pyramids can only be thoroughly appreciated 
 from the top. The Sierra-like ridges of distant hills, Cairo, 
 Mokattam hills, the Citadel, and glittering domes and minarets 
 show clearly, as if at our feet. There were the gray-green palm 
 groves and the emerald, fertile Nile Valley, which I saw and ap- 
 preciated for the first time, in all its blossoming beauty beating 
 up against the sands, the living, joyous stretch of river keeping 
 back the drifting sands that seem the very embodiment of death 
 and desolation. Other Pyramids appeared in the distance. There 
 were Memphis and Heliopolis. Mystery broods over that coun- 
 try — the mystery of death. The sun illumines the hot, dry 
 sands and the territory of the dead. The shadow of the Pyra- 
 mids tells us it is time to leave. 80 we go down that slope very 
 much quicker than we went up. 
 
 At the base we found my dragoman had procured camels, and 
 Ave rode those beasts — so essential here — silent, soft-footed, and 
 sure — until we paused before that strange monument of bygone 
 ages, the Sphinx. In the half-light of the afternoon's glow I saw 
 that mystery, part couchant and partly buried in the shifting sands, 
 facing east. What strange dawns and stranger nights have bright- 
 ened and shadowed that placid face, that seems waiting in silence, 
 mysterious and sublime. I forgot Time as I stood before that 
 mighty face, older than the Pyramids, resting on that lonely 
 desert, where no single l:»lade of grass or thing of life is ever 
 known; gazing ever eastward where the sun breaks the gray 
 mists that hover over the silvery winding Nile and the moving, 
 animated life. The l)i'eath from the fragrant fields is wafted 
 
164 A Woman's Wandehinos. 
 
 up here to tliis helpless form, through halmy evenings and moon- 
 tranced nights. A touch startles me, and I am led to the kneel- 
 ing camel, a great white beast — Rameses II. they call him — and 
 we go back to the carriage and return to the city from that des- 
 olate, ghostly region. I pass through the fields, green and blos- 
 soming with flowers, where the camels go with such heavy bur- 
 dens, and the long-necked black buffalo work in the fields or 
 stand in the water of the canals. Men and women in long, 
 loose robes, veiled and turbaned, add to the strange picture. 
 And then the day is done. 
 
 We visited, among novelties of Cairo, the Howling Dervishes, 
 and saw them sitting in a circle, intoning in a strange, solemn 
 sort of chant or undertone, the voices rising and falling. "Allah! " 
 "Allah! " they repeat, their heads inclining with each repetition 
 — slowly at first, then, as they increase in rapidity, the voices 
 rise, the whole circle become frenzied and give vent to shrieks, 
 groans, rocking to and fro — the leader cheering then on by new 
 intonations and gurgles that increase the madness, until one's 
 head is turned and we think it time to get away from the horrible 
 sight. 
 
 We were not in among the crowd, as our dragoman had seats 
 for our party on a porch. We thought it a part of the building 
 wherein the Dervishes held their carousals, until a slave came 
 out and we were invited into a gorgeous chamber where a Sheik 
 sat in state. He received us kindly and asked us some questions 
 while his servant served coffee. It was an honor seldom accorded 
 strangers, and if entirely unexpected, was appreciated, for these 
 people are conservative, and care but little about strangers. 
 
 Wherever we went, in and around the city, it was always the 
 same, something new here, where the East and the West join 
 hands in strange confusion, where guides and Saises, veiled 
 women and stately Pashas jostle the foreigners. It is a life in 
 the abstract, unlike any known to us. Yet we see so much in 
 nature familiar to us. 
 
 Oranges and lemons are plentiful and cheaper than with us, 
 and as delicious as are ours at home. Nowhere outside California 
 have I found an orange worth eating until we arrived here. 
 Those of Italy were filled with seeds and too sour almost for eat- 
 ing. The only ])alatable oranges there were the small mandarins. 
 
Egypt. 165 
 
 In Egypt there are no seedless oranges, but they are very sweet 
 and luscious. 
 
 I saw watermelons and strawl)erries, while at every tvu'n were 
 great baskets of fresh, ripe tomatoes. There were fields of blossom- 
 ing peas and beans; acres of l)ananas with ripening fruit; i)onie- 
 granates, oleanders, sycamore trees, and much we are accustomed 
 to see, only more abundant and farther advanced than witii us 
 in January. 
 
 We drove over the road that ends at the Palace, and along the 
 Nile, where one sees the fine ec;[uipages and gray Arabian horses, 
 and saw the tombs of the Caliphs, and Heliopolis — On, of 
 Scripture. Mary, the Christ-child, and Joseph rested here when 
 they entered Egypt. We saw the Barrage clu Nil, the largest 
 weir in the world, where the water of the Nile is kept at the same 
 level in all seasons, so as to oljviate the necessity of the old-time 
 machinery for irrigation with its great expenditure of labor. The 
 navigation of the river is carried on Ijelow here by means of spa- 
 cious basins and locks. 
 
 From the top of the Mokattam Hills we took our last look on 
 Cairo for a time, as I leave soon for a long trip up the Nile. For 
 twenty clays we shall be on that mystical old river we now see 
 flowing in sinuous ways in and lieyond the city. 
 
 The gleaming points of the thousands of minarets are before 
 us, the picturesque Citadel and Mosque, where we saw the faith- 
 ful at prayers, prostrate, with forehead touching the floor, as one 
 sees them everywhere, for that matter. The far-away Pyramids 
 are clothed in an atmosphere of tender half-light. Violet shad- 
 ows are creeping over the yellow Libyan sands, now looking con- 
 fused and tumbled like the waves of a troubled sea. We are in 
 a land of liewildering dreams, creaking shadoofs, and drifting 
 feluccas, while there comes a faint cry of jackals out on the sands. 
 Then we find ourselves down in the streets, with the sound of 
 stirring waltzes floating up from cafes, and the Esbekiyeh gar- 
 dens, which are brilliant in lights and music. We are back from 
 the desert, which is symbolical of death, to a life of soul and 
 senses, gay and splendid in this city of half a million souls, for- 
 getful of the years, the dead past, that lie out there on the sands 
 so near this throbbing, teeming, and joyous existence. And I 
 slept and forgot, but my dreams were of a past that was " aeons 
 of thought awav." 
 
166 A "Woman's Wandhf^ings. 
 
 I am oft" for a trij) of six hundred miles up the Nile, on the 
 An<rlo-American steamer Puritan, the very finest and best boat 
 that plies these waters. It gives me a sort of '' homey " feeling 
 to see our own Stars and Stripes floating above my stateroom, 
 and makes me feel less lonely in this strange land. 
 
 Starting from the Kasr-el-Nil, the fine drawl)ridge at Cairo, 
 we soon passed the island of Rhoda and the Xilometer. The 
 domes and minarets, the palaces and gardens, ai*e soon left be- 
 hind. The Citadel shows clear and distinct. The sharp, clear 
 outlines of the grand Pyramids are seen against the sky; and 
 with an "Ah!" of delight and admiration I breathe a heartfelt 
 sigh of gratification that at last I am off and away on the longed- 
 for trip up this magical old river — a river that has no equal in 
 all the wide world. The promenade deck is luxuriant with easy- 
 chairs and couches. Beautiful foreign rugs are on the floors, and 
 all is as comfortable as a drawing-room. We walk and sit, or, if 
 we prefer it, here are our staterooms, if we wish privacy, on the 
 same deck, with the most enchanting views to be seen from my 
 own cozily furnished room. 
 
 A wide valley spreads before us, its low banks lined with clus- 
 tering or detached clumps of the tall date palms, lifting bare, 
 rugged, and leafless trunks to a height of eighty and one hun- 
 dred feet before the fronded branches are reached. To the right 
 and left, the horizon is bounded by ranges of yellow mountains, 
 in whose recesses lay soft violet shadows. I see cuttings fresh 
 from the limestone rocks glittering and white, that after a time 
 turn a beautiful yellow color. Houses, white and glaring at 
 first, after exposure to the air assume beautiful chrome hues. 
 The mountains, the Pyramids, the sands, are all the same color, 
 — nothing else would suit Egypt. 
 
 Soon the swift steamer stops at Bedrashayn, and Ibrahem, our 
 dragoman, who boasts of the blood of the Prophets in his veins, 
 takes our party for our first excursion. 
 
 We are glad the fear of the plague has kept the bulk of the 
 tourists away. We are the the first of the year. Quarantine is 
 removed, and they are coming in swarms now. Our boat accom- 
 modates eighty people. We number seventeen. So it is charm- 
 ing for us, but very bad for the company. 
 
 We are hustled on donkeys, and each of us has a barefooted 
 
sS 
 
 
 1"' n 
 
 \i; \i; viLi.Ac.i-; i>\ .\ili-; 
 
E(;ypt. 1()9 
 
 runner to steer the lieasts and jtrod them. None are briiUe-wise. 
 Amid yells and cries we were hurried across a dusty flat until 
 we arrived at Bedrashayn, and realized what an Arab village is. 
 At a distance it had looked very pretty amid the palm groves, 
 but the squalid misery apparent everywhere took away the poetry 
 at once. Brown, half-nude children thronged the wayside, and 
 the cry of " Backsheesh " rang in our ears. 
 
 We stared into eyes half eaten out with sores caused by flies 
 which are never Ijrushed away. Superstition, some say, is the 
 reason they are never molested. Laziness and indifference are 
 nearer the mark, I fancy. Be that as it may, half the male popu- 
 lation have something wrong with the eyes — some crossed, 
 scarred, lids half eaten, one-eyed, disfigured. We could not 
 judge the females, for all, save the young girls and very old 
 women, are veiled. 
 
 We went through a dense grove of palms and knew we were on 
 the site of Memphis, the capital that King Menes founded four 
 thousand years before the Christian era. No capital in the world 
 has so long kept a place in history or dates back so far as this. 
 It began with Egypt's first king — l)efore whom all are myths. 
 We know he turned the river to build his capital, which, after 
 him, all the Pharaohs helped to adorn. There is but little left 
 now of Memphis, that once could sieze — 
 
 " From ancient Thebes the crown of fame 
 And wear it bright throngh centuries," 
 
 — only broken bits and fragments of statues. The statue of 
 Rameses II., which stood at the entrance of the Temple of Ptah, 
 has been dug out of the Nile mud. We looked in vain for some- 
 thing to remind us of the splendor of a place that extended over 
 a space that required half a day to cross in any given direction. 
 Mounds and rubbish arise, trees and grain grow above the ruins. 
 The artificial lake is only another name for a pool. We tarried 
 only a short time here. The Memphis of Cheops, Cephren, and 
 the early kings who built their pyramid-tombs out yonder on the 
 desert, is now only a name for desolation and decay. 
 
 We went on over green fields of wheat, barley, and rice to the 
 Pyramids of Sakkara. Here were miles of monuments, from the 
 lofty Pyramids to rock-hewn caverns. The step Pyramid is one 
 of the oldest monuments in Egypt. It is built of poor stone, and 
 is nothing like those of Gizeh. 
 
170 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 From those we went to the Tombs of Apis, the sacred bull of 
 the god Ptah. These bulls were embalmed like human beings 
 and interred with great pomp. We were shown subterranean 
 passages and large granite sarcophagi, some twenty or more, I 
 believe, where they were entombed. But in every instance the 
 massive lids had been removed and the remains taken away. 
 Some of the sarcophagi are said to weigh sixty-five tons. How 
 they were brought into these narrow chambers, where there is 
 scarcely room to pass around them, is a mystery. They were 
 put in, however, and sealed up so well that when the tombs were 
 excavated and opened, the footprints of the men who finished the 
 work were, after three thousand seven hundred years, as distinct 
 as if only a day or so had elapsed. 
 
 The tomb of Tih, near here, is four thousand five hundred years 
 old. On the walls are mural reliefs faithfully representing the 
 life of Tih. who was a priest, and a very wealthy man and proud, 
 8o the wliole of his pleasures and treasures were engraved 
 upon the walls. First, he is shown about ten times the size of 
 his slaves. Then follow all sorts of people, animals, birds, etc. 
 We see them plowing with the same sort of plow we see used 
 now in the fields. The oxen are tied up by one foot, even as they 
 tie the poor little donkeys, oxen, and camels now. Rams are 
 treading the corn ; men are reaping, winnowing, or sowing it. Some 
 are feeding the stock and fowls, others fishing, sailing, or ship- 
 building. Women are carrying great loads on their heads, as 
 they still do. There are dogs, crocodiles, and wild ducks wing- 
 ing their way through the marshes, all so faithfully represented 
 m transitory movements and spirited and fleeting action, that 
 one is led to believe they had Landseers and Bonheurs in those 
 days, who carved and painted on walls in colors and rough stone, 
 and so well that Time seems to touch them not. 
 
 The dewless and rainless district has everything to do with 
 their preservation, for the sands are forever dry. It was like a 
 furnace, almost, in Tih's tomb. The sands deep down in that 
 underground retreat burnt my feet. The air was hot and stifl- 
 ing, almost as hot as I found it once in a mine in Virginia City, 
 three thousand two hundred feet below the surface. This was a 
 dry, intense lieat, yet not one hundred feet deep. It seemed cool 
 and pleasant when we emerged, though the sun beat down on 
 tlie sands of the desert. 
 
EdYPT. 171 
 
 We remounted and went back toward the river and saw yawn- 
 ing places where excavations had been made and tombs rifled, 
 but the shifting sands fill up the work of months. We pass the 
 walls of the Pyramid, the oldest, perhaps, of all buildings on the 
 face of the earth. Then there is a hurrying l)ack, for there is a 
 four-mile ride, and the day wanes. 
 
 We passed camels laden with all sorts of goods. These poor 
 beasts, ill-fed, are patient even in their complainings. Growl as 
 they may and do, they do their work well. Ther-e are the long- 
 necked, queer-shaped cattle they call the buffaloes, brown and 
 shaggy, as are the sheep. 
 
 Men, women, and children are here. Donkej^s are braying. 
 The cry of " Backsheesh," meaning a gift, is ever ringing in our 
 ears, and Ave are back to our boat, and know our first day's excur- 
 sion is ended. 
 
 After Memphis we went on up the wonderful river, — a river I 
 found in all its length to be full of interest, and never monotonous. 
 While there is no startling scenery, there is a coloring here that, 
 like Yellowstone Park, cannot be told or painted. It would be 
 hard to find colors to match the shades of yellow seen on the Lib- 
 yan rocks, mountains, and desert sands — tints ranging from old 
 gold to brighter yellows, warm maize, salmon, and rosy hues of 
 the ripe apricot. These exquisite tones run against a sky that is 
 at all times beautiful, through an atmosphere which is to me 
 marvelous, for though there is scarcely ever a shower of rain, the 
 atmosphere is clear as in the spring-time wdth us. 
 
 " There, drowsing in golden sunlight, 
 Loiters the slow, smooth Nile, 
 Through slender papyri, that covers 
 The wary crocodile. 
 
 " The lotus lolls on the water, 
 And opens its heart of gold, 
 And over its broad leaf pavement 
 Never a ripple is rolled." 
 
 Except now and then, when a few clouds were in the sky, there 
 was only the burning indigo-blue of the zenith, shading off to the 
 horizon into paler shades of violet, with gray and opal tints. 
 The shadows that nestle in the sand-rifts and serrated mountains 
 
172 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 seem to take the place of forests, while ever he3'ond the green 
 water-mark of the Nile stretch the sands, where no single living, 
 growing thing is seen. 
 
 Going up against the stream, I find my most vivid impressions 
 begin with Memphis, going on and on until the mind is confused. 
 This land of Egypt is puzzling. We go l)ack against centuries as 
 though they were days. We read, and visit ruins, and talk easily 
 of what we see, and walk under arches put up four thousand 
 years ago, knowing that, try as we will, it is not possible to fully 
 comprehend or understand. 
 
 We go on past objects of interest during the day. The boat 
 always anchors for the night, so we miss nothing worth seeing. 
 There are changing scenes at every bend of the river. The date 
 palms are everywhere, — those same palms on which the govern- 
 ment demands a tax of twelve and a half cents each, yearly, 
 whether they bear or not. There are ever the tall, dark-robed 
 men and boys in fluttering garments, busy, or sitting silently in 
 the sand. The women are forever carrying jars of water, and 
 carefully putting a corner of the square drapery covering the 
 head and shoulders over the eyes. 
 
 Little patches of lupins, barley, and wheat grow along the 
 river. Doora, or Egyptian corn, will he planted later. Much of 
 the soil usually sown is now bare and cracked, like our adobe 
 lands, as the Nile is unusually low this year and there will be 
 much suffering before the country is flooded this C3ming summer. 
 
 Every few paces are the shadoofs for irrigating the lands near 
 the river's edge, fashioned like a well-sweep, with long pole and 
 basins of tin or leather. The}' are worked by men and carried 
 up in terraces as the water recedes. Four men are now required 
 to take the water from the river to the level of the banks, and 
 when the top is reached, one pail of water must be passed through 
 the hands of the four men. Buch is the primitive way they irri- 
 gate the small patches. In a few places we saw jars attached to 
 endless chains. These belong to the few who can afford a ]>it of 
 machinery and have cattle to work them. Some of the larger 
 fields are irrigated by these sakkiehs, but most of the small 
 strips or squares along the river's edge are irrigated by men, 
 who ai'e cheaper than animals. 
 
 A man or boy works for about one piastre a day, or something 
 
Egypt. 173 
 
 over five cents, and furnishes his own food. Their clothing 
 counts for but Uttle, as they are mostly nude. In the blistering 
 sun and fierce north winds they work as I have never seen man 
 or beast work, subsisting on the hard bread, partly sun-dried, 
 partly baked, and the pith of the sugar cane, which grows so 
 abundantly here. 
 
 Wood is not known, only as it is imported. The few trees are 
 kept for shade. The stalks of the Egyptian corn are used for 
 huts and thatching roofs, with the palm leaves, and also for fuel. 
 This same corn is threshed out by flails and winnowed by tossing 
 it in the air. The blades are used for fodder. Nothing is wasted 
 
 here. 
 
 The small villages are built of sun-dried bricks, or the stalks 
 of the corn are put up and plastered with mud. It does not rain, 
 and they literally live outdoors the year round. Any inclosure 
 that is ample for the household, and their flocks or poultry, — if 
 they possess any —for the night is all they wish or need. 
 
 And then we come to Beni-Hassan, where we visit some curi- 
 ous tombs, which are similar to others. 
 
 I shall only say that here, too, were the tombs of cats sacred to 
 Pakhst, the patron goddess of the region. I thought I was fortu- 
 nate in securing one of those mummy cats from our dragoman. 
 Later on, I knew in all faith that, while the nine lives were gone 
 without doubt, there were more than that many smells attached 
 to this sacred Maria. I was the envy of the whole boat, and 
 could not acknowledge my mummy's failings. So one night, when 
 the boat was anchored, and all were asleep, the moon and stars 
 shed a tender light on a funeral without music or mourners, as 
 my cat, with a weight tied to its toes or its brown-yellow wrap- 
 pings, went down into the Nile, let us hope for good and forever. 
 
 There were days of calm, bright, and perfect weather — nothing 
 like the heat we expected to find. But this is an unusually cool 
 season, for which I am thankful. We stopped now and then to 
 visit ruins, sugar factories, or villages, going through bazaars, 
 and always learning something. 
 
 The primitive way many of these people live would shame our 
 Indians. They eat httle and wear less. They are clothed in 
 modesty — modesty, however, is scarcely the word to use, — the 
 climate rendering superfluous clothing unnecessary. Their in- 
 
174 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 nocent indifference, I thought, phicecl them on a par with animals, 
 until one day a gentleman threw a half-worn shirt to one of the 
 Bisharins. Shortly afterwards he reappeared, dressed in the one 
 garment, but a portion of the tail had l)een torn off to decorate 
 his head. The antics he cut and the envious glances of his 
 friends proved that pride lurked Ix'iicath the seeming indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 At last we reach Assiout, the capital of Middle Egypt, where is 
 made the beautiful red and black pottery. We were scarcely 
 landed before all sorts of people, with all kinds of wares, were 
 squatting, toad-like, on square bits of cloth, with articles for sale. 
 Again we took donkeys and rode through the town, which was 
 like all visited — dirty and filthy — yet looking so beautiful in 
 the distance. 
 
 We reached the desert and the hills, where were more tombs 
 and grottoes. Here the wolf was worshiped, and the remains of 
 these animals and human beings were scattered all over the 
 ground. A black vision stepped in front of me and said, "Anti- 
 chi." I looked at the antique, who might have stepped out of 
 an overlooked mummy-case. He was so wrinkled and shriveled 
 that for a moment I wondered it could speak, until I realized the 
 outstretched hand held the head of a wolf and the fragment of a 
 mummied hand not much worse-looking than his. No; I was not 
 searching for any more remains. But, turn where I would, I saw 
 similar sights. The remains lie scattered about on the dry lands, 
 and the years seem not to change them. 
 
 I am not loth to leave the tombs, and take a view from the 
 heights said to be among the finest in Egypt. Below lie the heaps 
 of limestone and dihris of the plundered tombs. Beyond, the fields 
 are green with grain and blossoming clover. The towers of the 
 town show amid the waving palms. The river glistens and is 
 lost in the distance, while around the horizon's rim lies the 
 boundless desert. 
 
 We saw two funerals, one where the women went l)v, wailing, 
 and throwing dust over their heads like mad cattle. Their dead 
 had been buried, but they were going to visit the departed, and, 
 it seemed, were desirous of being heard. The other procession 
 comprised men, carrying a form covered with an old shawl, on 
 their shoulders. They, too, were chanting and wailing. There 
 
E(!YPT. 175 
 
 is little ceremony boyoiul the wailing. They have no coffin. A 
 piece of cloth is placed over the body and it is i>ut in the earth. 
 It was unspeakal)ly sad and mournful to me. 
 
 I saw much of it, later on — pitiful, desolate little mounds in 
 the hot, lifeless sands — no stone or mark of any kind except, 
 perhaps, now and then, a rough stone picked up from the dust to 
 mark the place. There is a strange contrast between the tombs 
 of the rulers, whereon is all that wealth could lavish and deco- 
 rate, while for the poor a bed in the sands seems all that is de- 
 sired or expected. 
 
 From the river I glanced V)ack to Assiout, whose Moslem towers 
 and minarets alone are new. The long, green stretch shows the 
 blessed influence of water. The mountains, like the rest, ever 
 new, yet old as the oldest, are Init little changed, perhaps, since 
 Moses, the meek, returned after killing his man, and daringly led 
 the Children of Israel from the land of leeks and unbaked bread. 
 
 What memories crowd and till the mind! Rameses died, under 
 whom the Israelites were scourged and the bitterest liondage 
 felt. Then came the plagues, then the death of their first-born, 
 and Pharaoh had Indden them go forth from Goshen. Yet, 
 strangely enough, after they were delivered they longed for the 
 fish and melons, the leeks and onions, asking for bondage, and 
 preferring to die in Egypt rather than in the wilderness. With 
 it all, they perhaps loved Egypt, the old, mysterious country, the 
 land of the ibis and lotus. They had helped Inuld some of tliese 
 imperishable tombs, and so remembered the graves. 
 
 Paradoxical it would seem, but one gets used to such things 
 here in this strange land, with its stupendous tombs, its ruins, 
 and its antiquities. The mighty have fallen, but in the fall there 
 is so much of grandeur, a marvel in the mysterious monuments 
 that speak of remote ages, a fascination where are seen things 
 too strange for solving. The strangeness of the rainless climate 
 and equally strange clearness of the atmosphere, the strange 
 miracle of the all-powerful, life-begetting river, whose annual 
 miracle represents resurrection and teeming life from lifeless 
 sands — all impress the stranger strongly. Small wonder this 
 river is still loved as of old, if not so worshiped. Paganism gave 
 way to Christianity, that in turn to Islamism, and while they 
 now bow not down to the crocodile, wolf, snake, or thousands of 
 
176 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 strange gods, they love the all-powerful river, as they should, for 
 it certainly is true that prosperity and water go hand in hand 
 here. Egypt is the gift of the Nile — beautiful with it, nothing 
 without it. 
 
 And so we go, like the history of Egypt, up and on through this 
 wonderland of river, and cliffs, and valleys, where nestle the mud 
 huts, and the lupins edged the water's rim. There is ever the 
 belt of cultivated soil, whereon are raised three or four crops a 
 year. The fringe of feathery palms means so much to the natives. 
 They would, indeed, be desolate without their dates. The winged 
 boats, like huge birds, are ever seen on the river. 
 
 The glory of the sunsets charms when the shadows in the hills 
 turn to deeper violet, the rocks burn like gold and the great 
 yellow Theban hills are bronzed against the sky as the sun dips 
 behind the distant hills. Then almost instantly the scene 
 changes, for there are no lengthy twilights here. The glow fades, 
 and the stars come out brighter than I have ever seen them else- 
 where it seems to me. 
 
 It is all beautiful and tranquil. There are subtle gradations 
 of tones and shades. Only once did I see flame-colored clouds or 
 anything approaching the gorgeous colorings one sees in countries 
 where there are showers and accessories of cloud and vapor. The 
 atmosphere is too dry in Egypt. 
 
 I have progressed but slowly in our upward journey. Abydos 
 came next, buried under its mounds, and dating to a period so re- 
 mote that there is little to guide archaeologists. Here King 
 Menes, who is first in the list of Egyptian Pharaohs, was born 
 This was once a very important city and was revered, for here 
 Osiris was buried. Here, too, are the Temples of Sethos and 
 Rameses, regarded as being among the most beautiful of Egyp- 
 tian ruins. There are sanctuaries, pillars, halls, corridors and 
 columns of alabaster, porphyry and sandstone. All the gods the 
 Egyptians ever worshiped seemed to be carved upon the walls, 
 which were bright with that wonderful coloring which is so mar- 
 velous, in that it is as fresh as if newly put on, though exposed 
 in many places to the scorching rays of the sun. Kings are rep- 
 resented as bowing before some strange god, such as crocodiles, 
 frogs, dogs, double-headed geese, and too many others to remem- 
 ber. Of the offerings l)rought the kings, among necklaces, orna- 
 
Egypt. 177 
 
 ments, and incense, was an offering of salve for the eyes. Evi- 
 dently, kings were not exempt, but, like the people of to-day, felt 
 the ill effects of the flies in Egypt. These temples are eight miles 
 from the river, and this was our longest ride. It was not tire- 
 some, for the donkeys cantered at a very easy pace, and were good 
 enough when the boys let then alone. But an Arab boy is not 
 happy unless he is twisting the tail or beating the poor beast; 
 yelling and saying all sorts of things to keep in practice. The 
 donkeys do not seem to mind it. 
 
 We rode over the ancient plain of Thinis, which is like some 
 of our vast green fields. The beans and bearded barley 
 were high as the donkeys. The plain is more than six miles 
 wide on this side of the Nile, and more prosperous than any other 
 section I have seen. 
 
 The wind was warm and sweet over the undulating fields. 
 There were the huts built of the stalks of the corn. Sheep and 
 goats, tethered, were feeding on the fragrant clover. Long strings 
 of camels, with gawky necks and humped backs, were going along 
 unseen paths, undulating above the surface of the grain like ships 
 upon a sea of green. Birds were singing in the air. Bare- 
 legged brown men were in the fields at work. A sheik, the owner 
 of the fields probably, rode by us, like Boaz among his people — 
 only it is scarcely time for reaping yet, and the Ruths were at 
 home or carrying the water. The people and the herds go on the 
 same round they did thousands of years ago. That which we see 
 depicted on the walls of tombs forty centuries ago we see now in 
 the moving life about us. And as of old, when Moses heard the 
 Voice amid the flame telling him to go to the land of the 
 Pharaohs, as he went from Horeb's mountain, so we went down 
 the sloping hills over the level valley and the voice speaking to 
 us was the steamer's whistle. The blue, misty smoke hovering 
 in the distance might have been a wreath left of the pillar of fire 
 that guided the wandering Children of Israel as it guided us to 
 the river, and we, too, went on. 
 
 The navigation companies, the successors of the Pharaohs on 
 the Nile certainly make it charming and delightful for all who 
 travel with them. It would astonish old Rameses lying placidly 
 in the Boulak Museum, if he could awaken and take a trip up 
 the river, with its luxury, comfort, ease, and good living. In 
 
178 A Woman's Wanderin(;s. 
 
 fact, all that could 1)6 desired in the way of efficient service was 
 ours. 
 
 The Nubian servants who waited on us at table in their (quaint 
 garb, red fezzes, and red shoes, were quick, alert, silent, and re- 
 spectful. I wish there were more like them in the world of 
 hotels. The crew, who put down the awnings at night, trans- 
 forming the ])oat into a cozy, canvas-tent sort of arrangement, 
 thus protecting us from cold winds, did the work well mornings 
 and evenings, putting them up or down, washing decks, going 
 about noiseless as cats — were astonisning to me. In landing, 
 taking up or putting out the anchor, they had such a musical 
 chant, it was pleasant to listen to them. They call upon "Allah" 
 in all their work. Their chant of " Yalla Yassalim " ("heave 
 away, you're safe") as they tug at the ropes, in soft melodious 
 voices seems to be in keeping with the time, and the river, where 
 everything is harmonious and quiet. 
 
 There are no jarring discords, except at landing-places, when 
 some excursion is to be made and dozens of donkey-boys crowd 
 and jabber. It is a change and amuses us. Our dragoman, a 
 large fellow, goes among the crowd and makes his selection, lash- 
 ing men and beasts unmercifully — beats them, tumbles them 
 over the bank of the river, but all to no purpose. They are up 
 and back like swarms of flies. It gives variety to the voyage, 
 though that is never lacking in this country, which, with all its 
 charms, is odd and unique. 
 
 Everything seems to go by contraries- here. The people write 
 from right to left. The daughters make provision for their par- 
 ents. Here, men and lieasts live together. I saw men spinning 
 and weaving and attending to the laundry business. The women 
 may not ])e hewers of wood, for there is no wood to hew, but the)^ 
 certainly attend to drawing or ladling the water from the river. 
 
 One of the donkey-boys said: "I am sorry I can't make much 
 money. If I could, my wife would not have to carry water on 
 her head." It did not seem to occur to him that between times 
 he might take a turn at it himself. 
 
 The men and boys usually carry the pigskins filled with water 
 to what might be termed the public fountains, which are large 
 jars that answer the pvu'pose. I saw some of these with cups 
 attaclied, near a Coi)tic schooh The children may drink, Init I am 
 
Egypt. 181 
 
 sure they never think of washing. I have seen the men wash 
 hefore praying. What the women and children do I cannot tell. 
 
 The cliildren learn to read a little, and write on slates made 
 from pieces of tin cans, but are never so l)usy or so afraid of their 
 teachers that they will not sto]) and cry, " Backsheesh." 
 
 But this is a country of sur})rises, there is so much of the old 
 and odd. There are such startling contrasts and grotesque results 
 as nowhere else could be seen outside the fellaheen of Egypt. It 
 is hard to designate or explain unless more time w^re given than 
 I have to devote. 
 
 The growing needs of the day irk not the mind of the })easant. 
 They are content with little knowledge, and their l)read, leeks, 
 and lentils. The whole world may turn topsy-turvy, but if the 
 Nile only rises to the desired level, there seems to ])e nothing 
 else to wish for. 
 
 Each day l)rings changes and something new, as Egypt and 
 dullness are incompatible. It has an ineradicable charm. It is 
 never commonplace as we go on, for there is undying romance on 
 everv hand. This river, historical and mysterious, stretches 
 from the Mediterranean Sea to the very heart of Africa, beginning 
 in Victoria Nyanza and flowing three thousand miles till it is 
 lost in the lilue sea at Alexandria. 
 
 We stop at the sand-drifted temples of Denderah, after passing 
 the fruitful soil, breathing fragrant breezes that come warm and 
 palpitating from the fields, then on and across the dry sands 
 until the temples built on the barren cliffs are reached. What 
 had fruitful lands, telegraph wires, and signs of life and civiliza- 
 tion to do with this, the shrine of Hathor, the woman creator, the 
 nurse of Horns? We are here in the haunts of Osiris, of Sesos- 
 tris, of Cambyses. Unspeakal>le mystery of temples ! Men who 
 were learned built, planned, and carved these wonderful majestic 
 ruins long before the Infant foretold had been born. All the 
 older arts are here — sculpture, painting, design, wonderful carv- 
 ing, etc. What music has lieen heard within these grand temples! 
 Mirth, gayety, sorrow, love, and joy have been heard, seen, and 
 felt, before the Pyramids were, or the Sphinx was thought of. 
 The gods held high carnival in the superb temples of Hathor. 
 Much of their life is depicted on the walls, with its tombs and 
 prehistoric tombs back of it. Isis and Horus bind the links of 
 
182 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 history of Moses and Him who died for us. Hathor, to whom 
 kings bowed down with offerings and prayers, represented all that 
 was good and beautiful, the eternal youth of Nature, was also the 
 Goddess of Truth. 
 
 But we hurry on through these corridors and sanctuaries with 
 the wealth of surface sculpture, elaborate paintings, of zodiacal 
 emblems, winged globes, and the omnipresent wavy lines repre- 
 senting the Nile — the key of life. Lotus, lilies, and scarabii are 
 waveringly intermingled with everything that the ancients cut, 
 carved, or painted. How they loved the lotus plants and blooms! 
 
 How they revered the scarab — the little black beetle — as an 
 emblem of creative and preserving power, with its provident 
 nature in laying eggs, inclosing them in a ball of mud and rolling 
 it to some safe, dry spot in the warm sands, where the young 
 might hatch and be protected from harm. Its untiring energy 
 and muscular strength impressed these children of Nature, for in 
 its workings they saw not only creative and preservative power, 
 but it was emblematic of the immortality of the soul. 
 
 Among the few bas-reliefs that are perfect was one of Cleopa- 
 tra. How it has escaped the spoiler's chisel is probably due to 
 the fact that it has but recently been uncovered, being on the 
 external wall. The Persians overthrew the best work of the 
 Pharaohs. The Copts, with chisel and hammer, hacked away 
 the faces of nearly all the figures within reach. The temples of 
 the Ptolomies and Caesars were mutilated. The Pyramids were 
 stripped and Memphis destroyed by Arabs. In no other country 
 has man admired more and destroyed more than in Egypt. For 
 her the world's greatest temples were built, and Time has not 
 wrought the ruin that men have. They have sacked, plundered, 
 desecrated, and stolen from sanctuaries the dead. 
 
 And so from Denderah, and the wind-blown dust of kings and 
 queens, under cloudless, glowing skies we go until we arrive at 
 Luxor. Thebes! Karnak! The tombs of the kings and the 
 Memnonium! I had read so much and dreamed of these places 
 for years that it seemed as though it were all dreams; the wide 
 river; queer lines of palms and waving grain; the far-away ter- 
 raced mountains, and rock-cut tombs. Then the boat anchors 
 and there are mighty columns on the bank above us. The white, 
 houses of different consuls, with flags and ensigns, greet us 
 
Egypt. 183 
 
 There are some good-looking hotels along the steep, sandy shore 
 The bahel of voices, the hurrying ashore, make us feel we are in 
 touch with the world once more. 
 
 It was good to have papers and letters from home at Luxor, 
 to have cards and " Greetings from over the sea." And we were 
 glad and hajtpy to forget the old for a time and read the news 
 from home. 
 
 Luxor is now only a modern Arab village, but it occupies the 
 site of one of the oldest parts of the ruins of Thebes, which at 
 one time occupied both sides of the river, extending for miles 
 along the Nile. Here was the great central place of Egyptian 
 art. 
 
 Karnak lies two miles from the town. It is not possible to 
 give a clear idea of the ruin, the largest and most wonderful of 
 all in Egypt, or in the world, for that matter. It has often been 
 said that the work in design and execution is the noblest ever 
 done by human hands. I can only say that the columns here 
 and in the Luxor ruins reminded me of our sequoias in number 
 and immensity. Their height and size can best be understood 
 by the comparison with them in majesty and beauty. These 
 walls and columns are incomparable. We may laugh at some 
 of the absurdities of the past age, but when one stands amid 
 such grand works as these we feel that there were men of giant 
 intellect in those days. The wonder of the work is awe-inspiring, 
 those massive stones, weighing tons and tons, placed on columns 
 and pylons which rise to a height of one hundred feet. 
 
 The immense obelisks were raised, lifted, and put in place; and 
 no machinery, wood or iron, used in those days could have done 
 it. It must have been, as our guide said, by piling up sand 
 around the columns and filling in temples until the top was 
 reached. The great blocks that roofed them were easily moved 
 on the sands, which were carried away when all was finished. 
 A large column which fell last year is being put in place now in 
 that manner. The sand is piled around as each section is placed 
 by boys carrying it in baskets on their heads. It was a novel sight 
 to see about three hundred of them chanting "Allah," clapping 
 their hands as they went in line like so many ants, careless, joy- 
 ous, and working all day for one piastre each, which is sufficient 
 for their slender wants. 
 
184 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 We saw these temples by day, under the tremulous beauty of 
 the afternoon's sun, and I saw them, too, in the glory of a night 
 when the moon silvered the columns — massive and awful — rest- 
 ing on the desert sands — these examples of men's creative power 
 and vanity; these blocks of stone and cement, mixed with the 
 sweat and blood of slaves. I saw them again in the solemn moon- 
 light, which flooded the images of their manifold gods, the 
 brightly painted walls, columns, and arches, on the upturned faces 
 of the Sphinx guarding the avenue. The long line of crouching, 
 expectant figures were there, waiting, watching, in weird silence, 
 as they did when the gods and goddesses walked by the river and 
 went boating moonlit nights on the smooth waters that knew the 
 fierce love of Cleopatra's daring soul. The wind sighs through 
 the temples, which are terrible and awful in their fascinating 
 mystery, woven and interwoven with strange hierogl>^phics. 
 The mellowed rays strike sculptured faces tenderly and softly, 
 as they did thousands of summers ago, when the mighty rulers 
 gave mirth, life, and soul to these halls, where priests gave offer- 
 ings to Isis, Osiris, and their son Horus. There was something 
 practical as well as fanciful in their religion; for their gods and 
 goddesses married and bore children. 
 
 One day we crossed the river in small boats. The water being 
 too shallow to get close to land, the Arabs waded in and carried 
 us ashore, to where the donkeys were in waiting to carry us to the 
 tombs of the kings. There were great fun and much laughter 
 among us. Our one old maid could scarcely l)e induced to put 
 her arms around the neck of an Arab in going. In coming back 
 it was different. When she was seated on the arms of the two 
 bronzed athletes she seemed so content that she asked them not 
 to hurry. One young lady went so willingly and quickly to the 
 outstretched arms that she missed the mark and slipped into the 
 water. A trifle or two like that only made it all the merrier. 
 
 We were beginning to like the donkey-rides very much, and 
 the long day we had rather dreaded was cool, a sort of haze over- 
 spreading the sky. It was fortunate, for the thermometer often 
 rises to one hundred degrees here in Januar}'. We went for 
 miles over the most desolate regions yet seen, the donkey-lioys, 
 running ))eside the l)easts, careful and watchful in needless ways, 
 but paving the way for the coveted piastres were constantly 
 

EciYPT. 187 
 
 repeating to eaeh otlier and the donkeys the one sentence " Ooha 
 reglah." I learned the words hefore I knew the meaning, which 
 is, " Look out for your toes." In a country where the minority 
 alone wear coverings for the feet, it is (juite necessary to give the 
 word of caution, and means for men and animals be wary. 
 " Steady reglah " became my words of caution to the poor httle 
 donkeys, and they knew and were very careful indeed of their 
 steps. Our route lay through the mountains, the Libyan hills, in 
 which the old kings burrowed like miners for treasures, building 
 vast halls and corridors, and decorating them in the most cheer- 
 ful manner. 
 
 They were fond of life, and wished to carry with them to the 
 grave, if not beyond, as much of the pleasures as possible, so 
 they decorated the walls of their tombs with pictures and sculp- 
 tures, hoping the mummy might derive some comfort from its 
 surroundings. Others were covered with scenes from the life to 
 come, as they imagined it. 
 
 It was strange going down into those great sepulchers, in 
 stifling heat and utter darkness, where were yawning chasms and 
 shafts. A stone thrown into one of these rattled down that 
 black incline hundreds of feet, it seemed; yet it had been explored, 
 and the king who thought he would be safe until the time allotted 
 for the resurrection of the body is now doing duty in some mu- 
 seum. 
 
 They believed happiness and peace depended on the preserva- 
 tion of the body, the habitation of the soul, so they dug deep in 
 earth's bosom and made and decorated these vast vaulted cham- 
 bers. The lives of slaves counted not, if only the kings were 
 saved. There are some twenty-four of these vast, imperishable 
 tombs in the hills, but empty chambers, rifled and plundered 
 sarcophagi, attest the truth that there is a reckoning in this 
 world. They cared not for the lives of millions of slaves who 
 labored on these stupendous tombs. Eternal laws have righted 
 things. They rest not in the vaults awaiting the resurrection 
 expected. The mummies are scattered over the world, the beau- 
 tifully ornamented tombs are vacant, and their bodies taken 
 away. Everything valuable and that which they most prized 
 have vanished. The tombs are vacant, plundered, and desolate. 
 Have their souls, which are supposed to return after a thousand 
 
188 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 years, come here again and again in search of their })odies? Are 
 they still vainly seeking the lost receptacles? Is it their voices, 
 weird and unearthly, which cry out in the calm nights among 
 these desolate sands and long, silent, desecrated corridors? Do 
 they return and keep vigil over the places they loved, to mourn 
 and grieve and weep? So the Arabs Ijelieve; and yet, believing, 
 they do not hesitate to desecrate the tombs, or sell detached liits 
 of mummied forms to strangers for a pittance. 
 
 All day we wandered from one mighty monument to another. 
 A huge camel had brought provisions, and we lunched at the 
 entrance of some king's tomb of the nineteenth and twentieth 
 dynasties. We ate and made merry where these hieroglyphic 
 walls tell the story of the Rameses. 
 
 The sunlight slept upon the sands. No ])reath of wind touched 
 the graceful palm branches, but all was silent and still as we 
 went back down the slopes, past the colossal statues of the Mem- 
 nonium. The mutilated statues are well known as the Sphinx. 
 One of these was the musical Memnon, for tradition said that 
 strange, sweet sounds came from that grand, solemn figure when 
 the sun's first rays awoke the sleeping world. For three thou- 
 sand years they have sat as sentries and watched the ebb and flow 
 of the river, the sands that blossomed as by magic when the 
 water came, and grew lifeless as they when the moisture evapo- 
 rated. 
 
 Life is made up of incongruities in Egypt. The next day we 
 were buying scarabs and antiques, looking in quaint bazaars, hag- 
 gling with the Arabs, who get disheartened when they cannot 
 cheat you, and then will pretend j'ou may make your own })rice. 
 
 We attended some races, which were odd and funny, a change 
 after so many tombs and mummies. There were entered for the 
 races horses, donkeys, camels, and buffaloes, the last being the 
 most comical and unmanageable. They were started at a full 
 run, the riders vaulting on theii backs as they sped by. There 
 were many laughable incidents and rough tumbles, l)ut these 
 fellaheen are as as active as monkeys and not easily hurt. 
 
 From Luxor to Assouan we pass Erment, the ruined temple 
 erected by Cleopatra. Then came Edfou and the mountains of 
 Silsileh, where were the quarries from whence much of the stone 
 was taken for the temples. 
 
Egypt. 189 
 
 On the afternoon of the twelfth day we cast anchor at Elephan- 
 tine Island, Assouan, and we knew our journey farther south by 
 boat was ended, for we are at the foot of the first cataract and 
 nearly six hundred miles up the river. The excursions from here 
 were varied and full of interest. This place until recently was 
 an important center, to which the products of Abyssinia and Up- 
 per Egypt were brought by caravans for transmission to Lower 
 Egypt, as it also was the principal market for merchandise from 
 the Soudan. 
 
 We rode to the quarries, where is a huge obelisk nearly finished, 
 which would have been the largest ever cut. We saw the little 
 grooves in which they inserted wood, wetting it until it swelled 
 and split the rock. 
 
 We went on to Philse, the island which is above the first cata- 
 ract. Here is the most beavitiful scenery on the river Nile. 
 Here is the unrivaled Temple of Isis, among the many covering 
 the island. We lunched in the temple called Pharoah's Bed. 
 Then we drifted from thoughts of the past to the present. 
 
 I saw one of the striking sights of the voyage — nude men and 
 boys shooting the rapids on logs of wood. These Nubians dive 
 and ride at the risk of their lives for a few piastres. Our don- 
 keys were sent back over the six miles of desert. We got in a 
 boat manned by twelve men and went down those rapids also. 
 It was very exciting and a trifle dangerous, as the boat was 
 crowded. The waves dashed in once, drenching us, but there 
 was no further harm. We floated down the stream, away from 
 the Holy Island, that was to the ancients what Mecca is to the 
 pilgrims of to-day. 
 
 The mysteries of Isis and Osiris gave way at last, for a day 
 came when Christianity conquered and the Cross was triumphant. 
 But there are no prayers there now. A few dim crosses stand 
 besides the old hieroglyphics. The gods are avenged, for nothing 
 but desolation reigns in these l)roken walls and vaulted chambers. 
 Christianity, faltering in Egypt, is unknown in Nubia. The 
 melancholy beauty of the surroundings, the pathos of the de- 
 serted temples, appeal to the traveler Besides these, none other 
 go there to muse over the changes the cycles of years have brought. 
 
 We visited the great dam which, when finished, will bring un- 
 told benefit to the country. The work will cost millions of dol- 
 
190 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 lars, but the river will l>e curbed and the water measured out as 
 desired. 
 
 We leave and go swiftly V»y islands and glistening l)oulders of 
 red porphyry. I see the sun glint on Phila?'s mystic tem})les. 
 We leave the land of the Bisharins and Nubians. The moun- 
 tains gleam, rugged and purple, against the opal-tinted sky. 
 The wonderful afterglow, which is so beautiful on the Nile, fades 
 into cold gray shades. Then we reach the boat and Assouan. 
 The two days there were very interesting. 
 
 The people were of another type than in Egypt. The Nubians 
 are black or mahogany shades, wear rings in the top part of the 
 ear, and often in the nose also. Then there were the Bisharins, 
 who are the most fantastic race of people I have ever seen; brown, 
 with glistening eyes and teeth, hair long and bushy. Some 
 daubed their locks with castor oil. They use it abundantly, then 
 put a sort of red earth on, tipping it with some white material. 
 They were about the boat, selling strange, villainous arms and 
 implements of war, many of them from the Soudan, that set some 
 of our relic-hunters wild. 
 
 Assouan, is like all the towns, a difference in the manu- 
 factories only. There are the same throng of insistent 
 sellers, and the bazaars are much the same. There are 
 some fine hotels, and remnants of Roman quays. There is a 
 dilapidated gateway of Alexander, and a much-defaced statue of 
 the Pharaoh — about all there is left of him anywhere, since his 
 disappearance in the Red Sea. 
 
 Then we turned our faces and boat northward to the l)lue sea, 
 some 800 miles away. We sailed for days past lakes and villages, 
 prophyry mountains and quarries of all kinds, groves and gar- 
 dens, mosques and temples, down the gleaming river that knew 
 Csesar, Anthony, and Napoleon, changed but little since they saw 
 and knew them. We are now enjoying Memphis, Heliopolis, 
 the Pyramids, and palms. We have come back from a land of 
 bewildering dreams, where we have wandered for twenty-two 
 days, one of the strangest yet most satisfactory journeys of my 
 life. 
 
 It is hard to wake up, but rather pleasant to be in Cairo again, 
 to return to something familiar; to the splendors of modern Egyi)t; 
 to drive on the lovely Shoobra road; to see the gardens and 
 
Palestine. lUl 
 
 billowy masses of red and yellow bloom waving over bigh walls; 
 the closely barred windows of the harems; the unceasing flow of 
 strange life around us. 
 
 I leave this land of the lotus, of silent, trackless deserts, and 
 all the solemn monuments of a past. The waters of the river 
 that will shine in memory as it glints l\v Thebes, Karnak, Den- 
 derah, dream-places on the measureless desert. The recollections 
 of the old river will be sweet to me as the draught of water " the 
 exile drinks in his dreams." I know the Pyramids, the tall 
 palms, silent tents, and tethered camels will shine like stars in 
 my memory, and will, in days to come, draw me as the moon 
 does the sea, irresistibl}' to this strange soul-inspiring and restful 
 land. 
 
 PALESTINE. 
 
 And it came to pass that we arose early one morning and took 
 our way out of the land of Egypt. Leaving Cairo and the dim, 
 distant Pyramids, we went through rich, fertile lands until we 
 reached Ismalia and the Suez Canal, where we saw great ships 
 going slowly eastward along that wonderful strip of water. Then, 
 when the day was ended, we reached Port Said, alleged to be the 
 dirtiest and wickedest city of its size. I was hurried through it 
 with scarcely a glance at the dimly lighted streets — and was on 
 board a boat almost before I knew how it was done. It was a 
 novel experience for me, for I had been used to planning and 
 looking out for all details of traveling so long, that it was odd, 
 but comforting, to know that for days to come I was to have no 
 thought, care, or worry. 
 
 A dragoman is an absolute necessity in the Orient, and I was 
 very fortunate in securing one of the very best for my trip 
 through the Holy Land and Syria. Thoroughly educated, in- 
 telligent, and watchful, I found him ever on the alert, and ready 
 to anticipate every wish. No anxious thoughts disturbed my 
 slumbers that night as the steamer went on over the quiet 
 Mediterranean. 
 
11)2 
 
 A ^^'oMA^■'s Wanderings. 
 
 At the morning's dawn we anchored at Jaffa, or ancient Joppa. 
 Fortunately for us, the sea was quiet and smooth, as it often hap- 
 pens that the water is so rough that passengers cannot land. 
 We were tossed from the ship into strong arms, placed in small 
 boats, then trusty rowers took us through some jagged, ugly 
 looking rocks where the surf broke heavily. An opening or two 
 admits the small boats through the dangerous reef into Jonah's 
 
 JONAH'S BAY AT JAFFA. 
 
 Bay, where Jonah had his adventure with the whale, which, for 
 the first and last time in fish history, became sick, and refused 
 to retain contraband goods. 
 
 A rock among the reefs is shown as the identical one on which 
 Andromeda was chained. Perseus and the sea-monster — how 
 the old myths come vividly to my mind, possible and plausible, 
 as I looked up at the old walled city. 
 
 Joppa was in the days of Solomon as it now is, a port for Jeru- 
 salem. As far back as the building of the Temple, timbers were 
 sent here from Lebanon by the King of Tyre. Old as it is, there 
 is much that is not mythical about this ancient city. The 
 
Palestine. 193 
 
 Romans were in evidence here — Cest ins destroyed it, and after 
 a rehearing, Vespasian took a turn at it. The Crusaders and 
 Richard Coeur-de-Lion were all interested in various ways. 
 Napoleon also swerved from his outlined i)ath of duty in war- 
 ring with the world generally, and in his great and generous 
 way had the plague-stricken patients poisoned. Not mine the 
 right, however, to question anything, either stories or traditions. 
 
 There is hut little of interest in Jaffa, though the situation is 
 fine. It is high ahove the sea and almost smothered in groves of 
 orange trees. We were shown the house of Simon the tanner; 
 the remains of the ancient walls of Joppa, and the sepulcher and 
 house of Dorcas. From a tower we had a fine view of the plain 
 of Sharon, with Carmel on the north, the hills of Judea to the 
 east, and the plain extending along the seaboard between Jaffa 
 and Csesarea, in green, fertile, and undulating lines, lovely and 
 refreshing after so much desert life in Egypt. 
 
 We left in the afternoon, on the one daily train going from 
 Jaffa to Jerusalem, passing Ramleh and Lydda, the ancient Leod. 
 There were leagues of plain. Fragrant, wandering winds came 
 into the car windows from the blossoming almond trees. Among 
 the fields of barley and clover in ravines or on rocky slopes were 
 sheets of flame-colored anemones, or rose of Sharon blossoms, 
 making great splashes of color under a warm sun and glowing 
 deep-blue sky. 
 
 From the historical plain of Sharon we went up over the bare, 
 rocky hills of Judea, creeping slowly along over a region that 
 would be monotonous were it not for the fascinating mystery of 
 these hills, for it is arid, rocky, devoid of grass or shrubbery of 
 any sort, except now and then a few wild olive trees grow in the 
 ravines. Every mile seemed only to increase the interest. We 
 saw Samson's cave, high up on a cliff, where the first female bar- 
 ber did her historical act. Bitter where so many thousands were 
 slain. Philip's fountain and plain of Rephaim, where David 
 and the Philistines met, came next, and then came Jerusalem. 
 
 I am sure no one could definitely analyze the feelings or sensa- 
 tions produced when the Holy City bursts upon the vision. Be- 
 fore I had time to think clearly or give a second glance at the 
 rounded domes and towers, we were at the station, amid a babel 
 of voices — rushing and shouting men; a conglomeration of color, 
 
194 A Woman's Wandehincs. 
 
 languages, and races, strangely crossing and recrossing in vivid 
 confusion that seemed incongruous, for somehow I had not as- 
 sociated the Holy City with modern trains, stations, or the sono- 
 rous whistle of a deep-toned engine from Pennsylvania. I had 
 pictured smooth roads and great white camels, deserts and lonely 
 mountains. But we had crossed fertile plains, climbed the hills 
 in the most comfortable of coaches, on a narrow-gauge road com- 
 ing in by the Jaffa gate in the most prosaic style. 
 
 Few places in this world. I fancy, are as one imagines. Yet, 
 while so unlike my mental pictures, I can safely say that in no 
 wise was I disappointed in all of Palestine. There was not the 
 monotony I expected in the country. The changing, motley 
 throngs of people; the shepherds guarding their flocks, ragged 
 and picturesque, in sheepskin coats, playing plaintive melodies 
 on reed instruments, were attractive. The long lines of camels 
 bearing great burdens could always be seen on the roads, as 
 were the equally overburdened donkeys, slowl}' and carefully 
 treading the dangerous paths. These were mixed and intermin- 
 gled with pilgrims, who come from the whole wide world to visit 
 Jerusalem. Here, too, are women carrying water, as in Egypt, 
 some with jars, others filling great skins, carrying fully as heavy 
 loads as do men and boys. The interest never flags, as there is 
 something new and strange at ever}' turn. 
 
 In visiting Jerusalem, most of us find how deficient Ave are in 
 Biblical lore. While I had read and devoured books of travel, 
 and had not entirely forgotten early lessons and pages memo- 
 rized, when my dragoman pointed out places and prefaced each 
 with, "Of course you know when this happened," and what chap- 
 ter and verse, ranging from Exodus to Revelation my meager 
 knowledge of Biblical lore was mortifying. It was necessary to 
 gain confidence in myself somehow, so when a learned gentleman 
 from Boston asked me which guide-book I considered the best for 
 Jerusalem, I told him the only one worth having, but the least 
 known to the average traveler, was the Bible, he bowed in def- 
 erence to my seeming knowledge, and we went our ways, both 
 satisfied. 
 
 There is much that must be taken for granted. One cares not 
 to question too closely, but must have large faith, indeed, to be- 
 lieve all that is seen and told in visiting the various shrines. 
 
Palestine. 195 
 
 We know that traditions are connected with every ohl stone, 
 arch, tomb, and wall of this city. It is something to he per- 
 mitted to walk the narrow, crooked, dirty streets and miserable 
 alleys; to see the marvelous walls and gates; the importunate 
 beggars and piteous lei)ers pleading by the highways; the 
 strange commingling of nations, — Greeks, Syrians, Arabs, Euro- 
 peans, Russian and Moslem pilgrims, and others coming to this 
 one place to muse on Calvary, to tread the Street of Pain, and 
 rest on the Mount of Olives. 
 
 So much has been enacted within these walls, that it is differ- 
 ent from any other place on earth. There are such sacred asso- 
 ciations mixed and interwoven with every hill, with every turn 
 of the streets — a wall, arch, or tower — ■ all are connected with 
 scenes tha,t have left an indelil:»le mark on the history of the 
 world. For do not these hills, these walls, speak of a past stretch- 
 ing back into dim, awe-inspiring days, daj's without question the 
 most sacred in all the world's histor}^? 
 
 The Holy City is not a pleasure resort, and few come for that 
 purpose, I imagine. There are no places of amusement here. 
 There are no street-cars or clanging bells. No newsboys breezily 
 announcing the latest news are heard in the streets. There are 
 no newspapers. An attempt at one in Hebrew is tried tri-yearly. 
 One hears instead the Muezzin calling from the towers, in the 
 cool mornings and quiet evenings, the faithful to prayers. " God 
 is the greatest of all," is heard, and from another tower comes 
 the answer, ".Surely our Prophet Mohammed is the Apostle of 
 God." And '' There is no God but God," comes through the still 
 air to me, as I sit upon the housetop and ponder. 
 
 I think of all the sects, from the whole wide world, who come 
 and w^orship in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher; of the factions 
 meeting under the same roof, yet hating each other with an in- 
 tensity that is evidenced in the fact that to no one order can the 
 keys of the church be intrusted. They are in the keeping of 
 Moslem guards, who sit within the sacred entrance, smoking, and 
 jesting around their charcoal fires. To their good nature, and 
 the amount of backsheesh given, one must trust if desiring ad- 
 mission. 
 
 Only once out of three visits were we admitted. We were 
 grateful, however, for the one day in the holy place. The roof 
 
196 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 of the church covers so miicli of interest tliat one needs days in- 
 stead of hours. First of all, after entering, was the Stone of 
 Anointment, where the body of Christ was said to have been 
 laid. I saw i)ilgrims prostrating themselves, and kissing the 
 yellow slab, and an endless procession it seemed; saw the spot 
 where Mary stood watching Christ on the cross; saw a piece of 
 the stone the angel rolled away, and the sepulcher, where the 
 holy fire issues on Easter day. There, too, is the supposed rod of 
 Moses, and the pillar to which Christ was bound and scourged. 
 The prison where he was held, and the holes where the three 
 crosses stood, are shown. There, too, were chapels for all sects, 
 and altars innumerable. Among so much that is wonderful, is 
 seen the spot marking the center of the world, and the place 
 where the earth was taken from that went into the making of 
 the first man, Adam. 
 
 One must possess faith that passes understanding to believe 
 all these things, which are told in this church. Yet the place is 
 sacred from associations; it is something to see the stone where 
 
 MOUNT CALVARY, .JERUSALEM. 
 
Falestink. 197 
 
 the angel stood, and the rent rock. Tht- exact h:)cations of various 
 places may not be accurate, l)ut we know these hills and level 
 spots are sacred. We know that He walked the streets; that 
 here He died. 
 
 Above the grotto where .Jeremiah wrote his Lamentations is a 
 place which was more impressive to me than any other in Jeru- 
 salem, called " Gordon's Calvary." The place where He suffered, 
 was buried, and rose again must ever be of supreme interest to 
 all believers. It seem to me, the only possible place for the 
 tragedy enacted is here. The church that is built over the sup- 
 posed place, in the heart of the crowded city, a city that was 
 much larger then than now, could not have been outside the 
 walls at that time. On this lonely Calvary one might well im- 
 agine the thousands who watched the Crucifixion; through the 
 gates came those who loved Him, following the form bearing the 
 cross along the Via Dolorosa to Golgotha. Here, the tragedy, 
 the most pathetic and sorrowful ever witnessed by mortals, began 
 in the glare of sunshine, and ended in darkness. The sun was 
 dimmed, and supernatural night enveloped the place, and with 
 the end, even the earth shook and moved, while Pharisee and 
 Sadducee and the world of revilers fled. One sees as in visions 
 the concourse of people, the high officials, priests, the rabble, 
 and the terror after it was finished. Now all is c^uiet; a few 
 graves cover the fiat top of the hill. 
 
 From the garden and tomb at the foot of Calvary I saw a 
 man come up, — a man who had been used to the rough edges of 
 life, weary and travel-stained; but in his face a look one could 
 not forget. The sunshine had left a glow upon it, the storms, 
 and grit, and dirt of life had seamed the worn face, but the blue 
 of the sky shone in the eyes looking upward; even though tears 
 filled them, they were not dim. He knelt and kissed the dust 
 lovingly and tendei'ly. To such as he, surely the promise to the 
 faithful will hold forever. 
 
 In no city is there so much to impress the traveler as here. 
 In no other place would one care to go through such dirty streets. 
 But who would miss the Pool of Bethesda, or the Ecce Homo 
 Arch, remembering the never-to-be-forgotten words of the Ro- 
 man, who said, " Behold the man! " or the room of Zion, where 
 was held the last, sad supper; or the tomb of David; and house 
 of Caiaphas, where Peter denied his Christ? 
 
198 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 All interest, however, is not eentered in tlie city limits. I 
 shall not soon forget one day, when we drove through the Jaffa 
 Gate, out past the Pool of Siloam and Hill of Evil Council, on 
 over the road wdiere went the three wise men. We saw the well 
 where the star appeared to them which led them along the 
 charmed way; saw the rock wdiich bears the print of Elijah's 
 body, where he slept after fleeing from Jezebel; there was 
 Rachel's tomi), pools of Solomon, and sealed fountain. We 
 went on to Bethlehem, where is the Church of the Nativity, the 
 manger, altars, grottoes; each with something relating to the 
 Christ-child. It seemed out of keeping with our ideas of the 
 stable, the manger, and wise men, to find the place lined 
 with heavy, highly colored brocaded silks. 
 
 So much here is supposititious and unreal, it was a relief to 
 go down a sloping hill, where, amid gnarled, distorted olive 
 trees, we were shown the shepherd's field, where the shepherds, 
 then as now, watched their flocks by night. The country, we 
 fancy, is but little changed since the angel said unto them of 
 old, " I bring you good tidings of great joy." 
 
 There is much one can believe but slightly altered in the 
 country surrounding Jerusalem. So I felt while on the Mount 
 of Olivesj at Gethsemane, and the Virgin's tomb. The stone 
 where Christ ascended may be mythical. But, looking from the 
 slope across to Jerusalem, I could well imagine the scene but 
 little changed since the time when " He beheld the city and w^ept 
 over it." The valleys of Kidron and Hinnom lie below\ Over 
 to the left is the leper settlement. There are desolate-looking 
 cemeteries on the slopes. There is the tomb of Absalom, which 
 the Jews pelt with stones, and Siloam, and the well where Mary 
 washed the swaddling-clothes of her child. 
 
 To the east w'inds the road over the hills where we went to 
 Jericho, on past Bethany, Avhere Mary and Martha lived. There 
 is a flight of slippery steps leading down to a gloomy chamber 
 called the tomb of J-iazarus. There is little else of importance in 
 Bethany now. 
 
 We drive on over bare hills covered with stones and scant 
 herbage until we reached the House of the Good Samaritan; it is 
 an inn now. We rested and had luncheon. 
 
 While there I saw a large crowd — over five hundred Russian 
 
Palestine. 
 
 199 
 
 pilgrims, Avho liad come from their far-oft' homes to the Holy 
 City, and were on their way to the Jordan, carrying nothing 
 except a little hard bread and dried fruit. They had no cover- 
 ing save the clothing worn. The men and women were in 
 most cases beyond the middle age, yet sturdy, hopeful, and 
 happy. We had seen one of their number carried on a stretcher 
 on the shoulders of four of the company, a day before — an old 
 woman who had died in Jerusalem. They carried her to the 
 nearest cemetery, placing the poor, worn old frame within a 
 shallow grave. No cofhn, not even a board, was placed in the 
 grave; a faded handkerchief shielded the face; her worn gar- 
 ments, all she possessed, were her only covering. Yet I learned 
 this is Avhat they desire — to come to the walled city to die, and 
 rest in sacred soil. 
 
 We saw, on the way, the cave where Elijah was fed by the 
 ravens. From the hill country of Judea I looked across the 
 level valley where the Jordan ran, and beyond the winding, sil- 
 very stream were the beautiful, blue Moab mountains. There 
 were Gilead, and the Wilderness of the Temptation, — where 
 Christ was tempted; there Elijah Avas translated. 
 
 THK DEAD SEA. 
 
200 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 We tarried a while on the l)rink of the Jordan, and rowed upon 
 its swift-flowing stream after we had come hack from a long 
 journey to the Dead Sea, which is better named than any one 
 could imagine who has not seen its desolate shores. Along the 
 whole shore I saw no thing of life. . In the long miles before 
 reaching it, nothing but a stunted shrub grew in the valley's 
 alkaline earth. The water was clear and placid, but more salt 
 and far more bitter than the waters of Salt Lake. 
 
 We, like other pilgrims, rested beside the quiet Jordan until 
 we could tarry no longer, for the sun was sinking over Judea, 
 and shooting rays of tremulous light through scattering clouds, 
 and then sank in a delicate, soft, yellow atmosphere, restful and 
 peaceful. It harmonized with the surroundings, and left an im- 
 pression fixed imperishably in the memory. 
 
 I was not allowed further time for meditation, as the sheik 
 whom the government had sent with us for protection and the 
 dragoman hurriedly placed me in the carriage, and the driver 
 hastened the horses back toward Jericho. There are many wan- 
 dering Bedouins in this region. So parties must have guards 
 who come to visit the Dead Sea. Our sheik, with gun, sword, 
 and pistol, in regular Bedouin costume, on a magnificent Arab 
 horse, accompanied us from Jerusalem, and was with us the en- 
 tire trip. I was not alarmed, though our horses were worn out 
 and the night dark, for clouds obstructed the moon long before 
 we reached our welcome hotel at Jericho. 
 
 This town, around which marched the children of Israel long 
 ago, is of little importance now. It is not the Jericho of thirty 
 centuries past. A few palms, some filthy huts, a modern hotel or 
 two, a tower called the house of Zaccheus, and clusters of Bedouin 
 tents are about all there is of the magnificent city the slavish 
 Antony gave to Cleopatra. Here, too, Herod died. I look around 
 and think of the desolation here. It is almost as lifeless and 
 dreary as that Dead Sea over and beyond, upon which the dear 
 Christ looked as he went for the last time to Jerusalem and l)ore 
 his burden up Calvary 's slopes. 
 
 The Bedouins interested me greatly. They seem to care but 
 little for the wants of to-day or to-morrow. They are a strange, 
 contradictory race. Murder and plunder they delight in, yet an 
 act of kindness tliey will never forget. They respect the laws 
 

 . f 
 
 
Palestine. 
 
 203 
 
 governing their ideas of hosintality, liut do not hesitate to rob, 
 l)hinder, and murder any one to whom they are not obhgated. 
 They have scanty food and clothing, but their evident happy and 
 contented tent Kfe make them objects of interest. 
 
 I learned something of the habits of those who wander in the 
 far-off deserts. The Arab teaches his horse to drink sparingly, 
 and when put on green pasturage does not give the animal any 
 water. In preparing for long trips, a horse is given water 
 but once in twenty-four hours. Dates and camel's milk 
 are supposed to be the most strengthening food, and the desert- 
 bred horses are taught to take both. Men who seem to have but 
 scant clothing or food, judging from appearances, I often saw rid- 
 ing the most magnificent horses. My dragoman told me of certain 
 sheiks possessing beautiful steeds whose genealogy extends back 
 for two thousand years. What are some of the mushroom nobility 
 of Europe in comparison to the long line of ancestry these horses 
 have? 
 
 We visited some of the tents — idlers, as they are taking but 
 
 little heed of any- 
 thing that savors 
 of Avork. They 
 thronged around 
 us, curious, but not 
 importunate, beg- 
 gars. On our way 
 to Elijah's foun- 
 tain we passed 
 some tents where 
 children were play- 
 ing. One little 
 l)ronzed Cupid,with 
 no more clothing 
 than the angels 
 wear, ran to meet 
 me, crying " Back- 
 sheesh." She got 
 her backsheesh, and 
 I a good kodak pic- 
 ture, which I deem 
 
 LITTLE BACKSHEESH. 
 
204 A \VoMAx'8 Wanderings. 
 
 a "running" success. Some old familiar lines came to me as we 
 drove away: — 
 
 " In realms where I revel, no waters are found, 
 
 And the green garb of nature is not on the ground." 
 
 If there was not much water there, and no sign of grass, this little 
 unclothed cherub of the desert was not troubled. Judging from 
 her looks, her manna was abundant. Happy '"Little Back- 
 sheesh." So I christen and envy you your freedom from the fol- 
 lies and pastimes of clothed Christianity. 
 
 The one j^lace in all of Palestine that I had most desired to 
 see — the Garden of Gethsemane — I found disappointing. Who 
 has not thought of that garden, and of the agony endured under 
 the trees? I saw only a small patch of less than an acre, in- 
 closed by a high stone wall. We entered, and inside the outer 
 wall was another inclosure of sharp iron pickets eight or ten feet 
 high, interlaced with a wire netting, inside of which we were not 
 allowed to enter. Peering through, I saw some straight, stiff 
 paths bordered by shrubs, square beds of flowers growing between 
 a dozen or more old olive trees, and a few spear-like cypress trees. 
 A number of badly executed scenes from the crucifixion are 
 placed on the walls, which we are allowed to view. The ragged 
 old custodian would not allow me inside the iron fence. In vain 
 I pleaded to stand for a moment under one of the old trees; he 
 went inside, brought me a few flowers, and a tiny branch of an 
 olive tree, for which I paid him. The gate was slammed in my 
 face, the lock clicked, and I, rebellious and disappointed, turned 
 away; it was not Gethsemane to me. 
 
 Elsewhere in Jerusalem I found much that is guarded and 
 spoiled to the traveler. No matter how^ sacred the place or with 
 what reverent feelings one looks upon this spot or shrine, the 
 eternal haggling over admission, or payment demanded for ser- 
 vices not rendered, is jarring and repulsive. 
 
 Outside the Garden is the rock on which the disciples slept, 
 and a small piece of column is shown, marking the spot where 
 Judas betrayed his Master. 
 
 In returning to the city I saw men kissing each other as in the 
 olden days. Let us hope it is for love and affection only. 
 
 The strange, moving throngs never weary me. There are Syri- 
 ans, draped in their long camel's hair cloaks, bare-legged and 
 
Palestine. 207 
 
 slipshod, and the green-turlianed men who l)oast the blood of 
 the Prophet. The emV)roidered yellow turbans show those who 
 have made the Mecca pilgrimage. The Armenian and Greek 
 priests we soon know, and also the Jew with small corkscrew 
 curls in front of each ear. 
 
 The hard-worked, barefooted Arab women, Moslems, and women 
 of Bethany are all veiled, carefully hiding their faces, and as 
 carefully pulling up their skirts to show a dozen inches or so of 
 hose, strikes the Gentile as peculiar to this singular country. 
 
 On a Friday we went down a long, narrow street, through 
 allevs, until a high stone wall was reached, made of huge l)locks 
 of stone, with straggling weeds and tufted grasses growing out of 
 rents in this old wall, that has stood for hundreds of years. I 
 knew without the dragoman saying it, that we were in the wail- 
 ing-place of the Jews. A long line of women, mostly old, were 
 leaning against the wall, some reading, some kissing and press- 
 ing their cheeks lovingly against the cold gray stones, lamenting 
 and weeping passionately, sobs shaking the poor, worn frames. 
 There was no hypocrisy, no restraint; it was earnest, and one of 
 the most pathetic sights I have ever witnessed. One in the 
 throng would say, "For the palace that lies desolate"; then the 
 reply, " We sit in solitude and mourn"; again, " For the walls that 
 are overthrown"; "For the priests who have stuml)led" — with 
 ever the same reply. They sit and stand until the sun goes 
 down, and, still sorrowing, they go away with bowed heads and 
 longing hearts, waiting for the time to come when Jerusalem 
 shall be restored and they shall be comforted. It was one of the 
 most touching spectacles I have ever beheld. It was so genuine, 
 so simple, that it moved the onlookers to tears. 
 
 Another place where all is quiet and peaceful, which we 
 thoroughly enjoyed, was the Mosque of Omar. Here, also, we 
 had armed officials go with us, for it is only within the past 
 twenty years that Christians were ever allowed to enter this 
 mosque that covers the Holy of Holies. The decorations, arches, 
 pillars, walls, and vast dome are gorgeous. So are the priceless 
 rugs that came from the Sultan's loom. There we went with 
 shoes put on over ours, for no one is allowed to enter otherwise. 
 This is on the site of Solomon's Temple. Here is the great rock 
 where sacrifices were made. Abraham was on the point of slay- 
 ing Isaac here. It is regarded as the central point of the world. 
 
208 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 The Ark of the Covenant stood here. The old Moslem who took 
 us under his arm and eye, so to speak — for we were never out of 
 reach of either — told us that this rock came from Paradise; that 
 the rock was tired of earth when Mohammed took his last leap 
 heavenward, and rose like a rubber ball to follow him. He 
 showed us the prints of the angel Gabriel's fingers, where he 
 pushed the rock back, and showed us, also, the cavern where 
 David, Solomon, Abraham, and others prayed. There is a deep 
 impression on the roof of the cavern, left by Mohammed's head. 
 He was taller, evidently, than the others, so the rock kindly made 
 way for his head. There was an air of quiet about the place that 
 was pleasing. They observe order, and the crowds go not there. 
 I could not exhaust the marvels of this wondrously beautiful 
 place, so leave it for others. It costs quite a little sum to see all 
 the beauties and mysteries of the place. They have a certain 
 stone, and all believers who touch it are sure of heaven. The un- 
 believers may make sure by putting up backsheesh. One young 
 man gave the money; then afterwards refused us all an interest 
 in the affair unless we formed a joint-stock company. 
 
 " The sultry breeze of Galilee 
 
 Creeps through its groves of palm ; 
 The olives on the Holy Mount 
 Stand glittering in the calm." 
 
 A calm that entered my soul, tender, touching, and filling the 
 heart, flooding the eyes, on one moonlit night, when we drove out 
 of the city to the Mount of Olives and sat upon the hill over- 
 looking Jerusalem. The walls and city, minarets and towers, 
 were bathed in the soft light of the full moon. In the dim dis- 
 tance the waters of the Dead Sea glimmered, and the mountains 
 of Moab and lonely Nebo loomed faint, shadowy, and phantom- 
 like. Down below was Gethsemane, with the pale light on the 
 olive trees; a picture sad, yet lovely — so full of suggestions, so 
 beautiful in the calm, still night, that it seemed as though some 
 of the radiance and glory of old had descended upon it. Across 
 the valley the city sat enthroned on the hills. The shadows 
 were upon the walls and under arches. There were faint calls 
 from the watchers on the far-off towers. The sound will linger 
 in the ears and till the eyes grow dim in death will the vision 
 of that last night recur, for Olivet and Gethsemane are engraven 
 like cameos upon the heart. 
 
SYRIA. 
 
 From Jerusalem I go to Jaffa and thence to Beirut by steamer, 
 being but one night on the vessel. Going on deck in the early 
 morning, the beautiful city greets me from slopes above the glori- 
 ous Mediterranean. I know of no town more picturesquely situ- 
 ated than Beirut. This chief port of Syria and Lebanon" has a 
 population of one hundred and twenty-five thousand, and is pro- 
 gressive. There are twenty printing-offices here— one in Jeru- 
 salem. It is the center of the Oriental book trade in Syria, and 
 shows more progress than any city on the eastern shores of the 
 Mediterranean, for it has really begun to educate the females — a 
 thing heretofore considered entirely unnecessary. 
 
 It is also noted for silk-worm culture. We visited some places 
 where spinning and weaving were carried on quite extensively. 
 We saw, en route to Damascus, large tracts planted with mulberry 
 trees, grown exclusively for the silk-worms. 
 
 There were immense olive groves, and the oil and olives are 
 said to be very fine and of a superior quality. However, we 
 found no olives suited to our taste. They either do not know 
 how to extract the bitter, or they like it. The green olives taste 
 like a dose of quinine, and the ripe olives are soft, mushy, and un- 
 palatable. They make an excellent quality of soap from olive oil, 
 just as they manufacture butter out of the fat tails of the sheep.' 
 
 I at first did not realize the value of the fat-tailed sheep we 
 saw in such great herds through Palestine and Syria, thinking it 
 odd they raised such sheep in hilly regions— for in climbing the 
 slopes they seemed weighed down with the fatty attachments. 
 We knew later that not only was the meat excellent, but the 
 tails are largely used in making butter and oil for cooking. The 
 poorer classes know no other kind of butter. The people need 
 not stint themselves on the butter question, as the tails of this 
 variety of sheep weigh often from seventy to eighty pounds each. 
 I saw none so large that they needed the board or sled which in 
 some sections are said to be attached to the sheep to carry their 
 tails, but possibly the "heavyweights" were housed up until 
 the rainy season was over. 
 
 211 
 
212 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 We went through the Syrian Protestant College. The build- 
 ings are very imposing, and we admired the music-room, which 
 seats four hundred. The floors, vaulted roof, arches, etc., were en- 
 tirely of pine and redwood from America. The professor who took 
 us through was enthusiastic, and said the success of the college was 
 not to be calculated; that, morally and intellectually, Syria 
 was benefited by it beyond the telling. 
 
 Our trip over Lebanon b}^ the ordinary and cogwheel road to 
 Damascus, — nine hours' time — a little less than one hundred 
 miles — cannot be beaten, save by the Jaffa-Jerusalem railroad. It 
 is good in one respect, for there is a fine opportunity to study scen- 
 ery from the heights of Lebanon, which dabljles its feet in the 
 glorious green blue sea in serrated ridges and terraced patches of 
 trees or vines. 
 
 This railway, even if desperately slow and tedious, is one of 
 the most charming and attractive features. It clambers over 
 steep grades, like the mountain goats. The surveyors of that 
 road must have been used to steep grades, concluding an engine 
 might go where a sheep or goat could. So it is built, and is a 
 success, or has been for some four or more years. 
 
 There are valleys and entrancing views of mountains and 
 rushing water. And then in regal beauty there bursts upon the 
 vision an apocalypse of threefold beauty — the peaks of Mount 
 Hermon, rearing his three snowy fingers nine thousand feet in 
 the blue-gray atmosphere. It was the white-haired or snow 
 mountain mentioned in the Bible, and is a landmark of Palestine 
 and Syria also. 
 
 From the top of Lebanon, the hallowed mountain, the grand 
 panoramic view of the sea, yellow sands, reddish-brown hills, and 
 acres of many-hucd flowers, is most beautiful. Fruit and orange 
 trees are in bloom, filling the air with delicious odors. 
 
 I was much interested in the picturesque folk — the wonderful 
 make-up of the Bedouins, the gayly decorated Arabian horses, 
 the long lines of camels and donkeys, always carrying such 
 heavy burdens. 
 
 I never saw but one camel who was not growling and swearing 
 in true camel style. Theirs is simply a life of toil, of heavy bur- 
 dens, and it is small wonder they show no affection or fondness 
 for their keepers. This one camel was chosen from among his 
 
Syiua. 213 
 
 fellows to conduct a bride with her household goods to her new 
 home. She, clad in a bright silk gown, heavily veiled, rode astride 
 a moth-eaten donkey, the groom leading it, while the camel 
 pranced and towered above the trio had as near a smile on his 
 face as a camel could conjure up. He seemed the only jovial 
 one of the party. 
 
 That the country is fruitful and requires but little coaxing to 
 bring forth abundant crops is evidenced by the mere scratching 
 of the surface in plowing, which is done by cattle not much 
 larger or heavier than donkeys. The plows, crooked wooden af- 
 fairs, were so light, one man alwa3^s carried the plow and yoke on 
 his shoulders in crossing the fields. Still, there was a charm in 
 the ingenuity displayed in their various industrial pursuits; for 
 their implements are certainly crude and novel. 
 
 The day was waning when the dragoman announced that 
 Damascus and dinner were near. "We entered the city through 
 walls made of huge blocks of mud and gravel pressed into 
 shape and sun-dried. Most of the houses of the poorer classes 
 have walls and roofs constructed of the same material. How 
 they stand the severe rains is a mystery. I noticed rollers on 
 most roofs, which are used after rains to keep the earth and 
 straw compact. The town seems cruml^ling to pieces. It is sup- 
 posed to be the oldest city in the world, so has a right to crum- 
 ble. 
 
 The weather was rainy and disagreeable during most of our 
 stay. We went out, however, regardless of dripping days, 
 through tortuous streets that required better driving than I 
 thought the coachman capable of, for they have not had car- 
 riages many years. The streets are so narrow that there is hardly 
 room for a vehicle. The street called " Straight" is covered, and 
 runs the entire length of the city. Here are the bazaars where 
 are the beautiful silks and genuine Persian carpets; the quaint 
 garments worn by the Bedouins and peasants; the spices and 
 saddle markets with all the rich trappings that would drive an 
 old vaquero mad, and are the delight of the Bedouins and Arabs. 
 
 I saw a party of these Bedouins starting out for a jaunt over the 
 Syrian desert. Their Arab steeds were covered with heavily em- 
 broidered trappings, the men equally gorgeous in long robes and 
 cloth wound about the head and face, only the vicious eyes show- 
 
214 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 ing, and carrying long lances. They did some fancy riding that 
 would have shamed our Apache warriors. I was told they were 
 off for the desert, and were bent on some thieving and murderous 
 expedition. 
 
 We saw the house of Ananias, and the place where St. Paul 
 was let down from the walls in a basket, and the Mosque, splen- 
 did in mosaic, wood and marble carving. From the top of one 
 tower, two hundred and fifty feet above the city, we had a fine 
 view of the rich, fertile valley, looking like a sea in emerald 
 beauty, rimmed in by distant hills. Far beyond the green line 
 stretched the endless desert. The domes and minarets add to 
 the appearance of the city, but are far short of what I expected 
 to see. 
 
 The groves of poplars, which are about the only forest trees 
 here, surround the city, growing tall and straight. They setm 
 like solid phalanxes of soldiers crowding against an enemy. 
 They are pushed into one vast conglomerate mass, except at one 
 point, where a long line of straggling houses have broken 
 through, running quite a distance among the trees. 
 
 We saw the tomb of Saladin, and the wreath the German 
 Emperor placed upon it, who is thoroughly disliked and cen- 
 sured for it by the Christians here. 
 
 I saw a procession starting for Mecca with richly decorated 
 palanquins strapped on camels, wherein were S(;ated the pilgrims, 
 and other camels, laden with provisions, water, etc., for the long 
 journey. The men were singing, and beating drums. It was 
 quite a caravan, yet there was but one family. The great ex- 
 pense is not considered, however, in this case, for the man was 
 very wealthy, and the trip to Mecca is the one thing to be de- 
 sired among the followers of the prophet Mohammed. 
 
 We visited the spot where thousands of Christians were buried 
 after the massacre of 1860, and other places of minor importance. 
 
 Most amusing was the life around me, watching the Arabs in 
 the m/V'.s, playing cards, puffing narghilas with stems five or six 
 feet in length, amid laughter, smoke, and the droning of wheezy 
 songs they sing, or call singing. It is only a series of grunts and 
 discordant sounds. Notes they have not. The dancing-girls are 
 ungraceful and odd to our eyes, yet we soon grow accustomed to 
 the strange life, manners, and costumes of the people. 
 
Syria. 215 
 
 I was taken to some houses, sort of show-places for tourists, 
 going through muddy, ill-smelHng, alley-like streets, very much 
 worse than our ideas of alleys. However, once inside the walls, 
 the change is so great that it is bewildering. The wealth and 
 luxury in costly marbles, artistic decoration, gorgeous Oriental 
 hangings, priceless rugs, marvelous effects in wood-carvings and 
 stained glass, gave me a better idea of Oriental life than could 
 be gained from churches, mosques, and bazaars. 
 
 I was entertained one evening in true Oriental style at the 
 home of a wealthy family, celebrating the engagement of the 
 eldest daughter, a coffee-tinted girl with glorious eyes. We sat 
 in an apartment on a sort of raised platform covered with rugs. 
 There were divans and cushions, also taburet tables laden with 
 candies, cigarettes, coffee and cakes, with the men and women 
 sitting cross-legged on the floors. 
 
 There was music, too, — a violin and an "oud," which might 
 be the grandfather of all mandolins, accompanied by the queer- 
 est singing in the world, and even more disagreeable than Chinese 
 music. The mother of the girl sat in the lower part of the room, 
 near a splashing fountain, and smoked her narghila in peace. 
 The father, in long embroided robes, did likewise, drinking arak 
 made from the juice of grapes, and flavored with aniseed, offering 
 drink and pipe in turn to his guests. We refused, but satisfied 
 his generous instincts by the quantity of coffee and sweets con- 
 sumed. We were pleased with the evening's entertainment and 
 the "At home" in Damascus. 
 
 Leaving the old city, we went to Muallaka by rail, then a four 
 hours' drive over a warm, sunny plain, destitute of trees, the 
 slopes covered with vineyards, the level plains used only for pas- 
 turage, until we came to Baalbek. 
 
 Of this famous city and ruins history tells us but little. But 
 to those who love to dip into hoary antiquity there is a charm 
 and fascination about the quaint old city that is huddled up in 
 compact masses of lime and mortar built houses, flat-roofed and 
 covered with mud and stones. There are great temples of Jupiter 
 and the sun. There is nothing in all Syria to equal the beauty 
 of these old ruins, rising grandly in the midst of the town. 
 There is nothing now to indicate why such stupendous temples 
 should have been erected in this desolate valley. While they 
 
216 A Woman's Wandkhings. 
 
 have not the grandeur, l)eauty of has-rclief });untiug or anticiuity 
 of Egypt, llu-y are wonderful in their decayed magnitieenee. 
 
 I saw in the temple of Jupiter a hit of sculpture which aroused 
 me. Being tlie natal day of the " Father of our country," as well 
 as my own, I was particularly interested in the emhlem. An 
 eagle soaring aloft, holding in his talons the thunderholts of Jove, 
 reminded me of the fact that our glorious 1)ird of freedom was 
 only an idea stolen, after all, from this. Did the old Romans 
 have their spread-eagle speeches in these temples dedicated to 
 Baal and Jupiter, or were they used for haser purposes? 
 
 There are no veiled prophets or Romans to answer questions 
 now. All is (|uiet, only I hear a " low, humming, mournful 
 sound, of priests within their shrines at prayer." Is it a sound 
 wafted up from the cloisters lielow, or an echo from the dead past, 
 or the winds moaning among those huge columns which rise to the 
 height of sevent^y feet, rows vipon rows, in i)eauty and suldimity? 
 
 There are great stones in one of the walls. One is sixty-four 
 feet long, and is said to Aveigh nine hundred tons. Others nearly 
 as large are in a wall now twenty-four feet from the ground. 
 What builders and architects they had in those old days! 
 
 From the top of the Acropolis I had a most enchanting view 
 of the wide valley covered with waving grass. Above the green 
 were the sloping hills in various shades, colored with oxide of 
 iron. Higher up, the tops were dazzling white with a new fall of 
 snow. In the far distance were the cedars of Lebanon; in an- 
 other direction lay Mount Hermon. I saw the sun go down, 
 throwing soft, strange shadows from the Ijroken arches and 
 columns on the flower-besprinkled sod so far below. The city 
 lay misty and lilue at the foot of the sloping hill, while the 
 golden light rested lovingly on the Temple of the Sun.. It seemed 
 to me then most natural and reasonable that these buildings 
 should have Ijeen erected for the worship of the life-giving, glori- 
 ous orb now leaving us in the land of shadows. 
 
 The winds changed suddenly as the sun disappeared, to chilly 
 and cold, causing the blood to become almost frapped in my 
 veins before I left the tem^jles erected to the worship of nature's 
 god. In my hotel I rested until the night melted away, and the 
 sun once again came up, and shone warm and bright upon 
 Mount Lebanon, and blessing us later in the valley l)elow. 
 
Syria. 217 
 
 I recall the scenes of the drive, the freshening winds, the effect 
 of sun and shadows on the hills, and the play of light upon the 
 river rippling along. The air grew warm. A summer slumber 
 rested upon the valley, rimmed in l)y snow-topped mountains. 
 It was a spectacle of transcendent beauty. I carried away with 
 me from Baalbek memories of the sul)lime ruins, in some respects 
 unsurpassed by any in the world, lying in the Syrian plain l)e- 
 tween Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon. 
 
 A vision of the cedars — of these Ezekiel wrote, ''AH the trees 
 in Eden, that were in the garden of God, envied" them, and my 
 mind flies back to that great ocean lapping the borders of my own 
 fair Golden State. I see a point of land whereon grow cedars. 
 None others are Hke them, lieautiful and grand, standing in 
 gnarled, somber, and weird rnagniticence like those of Lebanon. 
 Those at Cypress Point, Monterey County, possess a fascination 
 for me none others ever have. Grand and majestic in their isola- 
 tion, they are of themselves apart, and harbor no aliens. 
 
 From Beirut to Constantinople we loitered along the Syrian 
 coast for eight days. At first the weather was fine. The numer- 
 ous stoppages were pleasant, we going ashore while the l)oat took 
 on or discharged freight. 
 
 Tripoli, Alexandretta, Mersina, and Smyrna! What ravishing 
 recollections spring up of these cities, the lovely snow-capped 
 mountains, and the fruitful valleys. The south wind had come, 
 the almond, apple, and orange blessoms, and all kinds of tender 
 flowers that grow to the very borders of the warm .Egean Sea, 
 mingled their fragrance, and wafted me sweet odors. There 
 were gardens upon the terraced hills and vineyards, the vines 
 lacing and interlacing in spider-web designs — a perfect network 
 of beauty, fragrant and rich upon those fertile slopes which line 
 the bays and coast line of Asia. 
 
 There were picturesque islands and promontories, more beau- 
 tiful in the Gulf of Smyrna, "The crown of Ionia," than else- 
 where along the route. I recall Rhodes, the old town of the 
 Crusaders, and Samos, the country of Pythagoras. 
 
 The whole route as far as Salonica was under crags and glit- 
 tering snow-peaks, forest-clad hills, wind-l)lown and rugged, yet 
 making perfect pictures against the azure sky. The matchless 
 tints of the water, the depth and intensity of the blue, the 
 
218 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 brightly tinted shores, and the sweet, sunny atmosphere were 
 nowhere equaled. All through Palestine and Syria it was like a 
 song of Solomon. 
 
 From Salonica on the sea played pranks, and our songs were 
 changed. Lamentations were in order until we reached the Dar- 
 danelles. I am not sure that I would have had the energy to 
 kick had I been thrown in the water. Fortunately, we had 
 no more rough water. Byron was probably in better spirits 
 than we when he swam over this strait. It does not seem far 
 enough across to have been made so much of, and the attempt 
 of Leander. But history is often made up of trifles. 
 
 TURKEY. 
 
 Through the Dardanelles and the Sea of Marmora it was 
 smooth and enjoyable until we reached Constantinople. The 
 Sea of Marmora, Golden Horn, Bosphorus, seraglios, mosques, 
 palaces, domes, and minarets were in bewildering array, dazzling 
 and confusing! What a jumble and medley of emotions and 
 scenes! 
 
 We were transferred to small boats and taken through the line 
 of officials who demanded our passports, looked through a por- 
 tion of our luggage, and captured a Bible and a few unimportant 
 books. They are almost as strict here as in Russia. One gentle- 
 man told me afterwards he had several books, one on Constan- 
 tinople he prized highly, taken from him. They were not re- 
 turned to him. We got ours partly from the fact that the Sul- 
 tan was not mentioned in the Bible. 
 
 I was met V)y a special agent, who guided us out of the mass of 
 the dark-visaged, red-fezzed rabble to our hotel overlooking the 
 city and the Golden Horn. From the terraced roof I afterwards 
 had a more impressive view than from the deck of the steamer. 
 
 It is hard to tell what constitutes the great charm of Constan- 
 tinople. There is water everywhere, sparkling blue and dimp- 
 ling in the sun. There are Marmora and the Archipelago be- 
 yond the Dardanelles leading to the Grecian seas, and the tortu- 
 
Turkey. 219 
 
 ous Bosphorus tilled with boats of every sort, stretching in 
 narrow perspective until it reaches the Black Sea. 
 
 In the very heart of the city the Golden Horn disputes posses- 
 sion, ruffling up in anger, or quietly kissing the shores lined with 
 mosques, acres of marble seraglios, and palaces of the w'ealthy. 
 There are Stamboul, Scutari, St. Sophia, the Seven Towers, 
 Pera, and the famous Galata Bridge is always crowded and very 
 rickety wdien one is on it, but bringing in daily a very, very 
 large sum to enrich the Sultan, who is too parsimonious to repair 
 it. There are forests of minarets, enormous composite heaps, 
 graceful domes, delicate spires, gilded roofs, palm trees and 
 black-looking groups of cypresses amidst columns and statues 
 joined in among ordinary dwelling-houses, crowding down to 
 the water's edge, where are vast quays and broad landing-places, 
 at which ride vessels from the whole wide world, while thick as in- 
 sects on the water are the trim, fancy caiques and pleasure craft 
 of all kinds literally swarming on the Bosphorus. 
 
 Almost our first thought in starting out was to visit St. Sophia, 
 the church that has Ijeen a sort of theatre wherein the greatest 
 and most solemn, as well' as most horrible, scenes the world has 
 known have been enacted — coronations, nuptials, and baptisms, 
 through the line of Byzantine emperors, from Constantine down 
 until the Byzantine Empire ended. The Crusaders gave thanks, 
 and Scythians, Bulgarians, and Greeks forgot their quarrels. 
 Belisarius hung his trophies here, and Mahomet II. rode in after 
 that memorable massacre, and, urging his horse over the thou- 
 sands of piled-up dead, placed his bloody hand upon the wall 
 and struck a column with his sword to end the harvest of death . 
 More than twenty feet from the floor is the print of the hand on 
 the wall, showing the depth of the dead bodies. Awful and ter- 
 rible it must have been. 
 
 Yet the place is so sacred to these " impossible Turks" that we 
 can only enter by special permission, and a judicious application 
 of money — that which conquers all prejudices — the volapuk 
 that speaks throughout the entire world, all-powerful and un- 
 questioned. Our clean shoes were covered with dirty old slip- 
 pers, and Ave must go sliding about in these ancient goatskins or 
 go barefooted. That the Moslems, filthy and repulsive, lie about, 
 or do acrobatic feats, falling prone upon their faces while they 
 
220 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 call upon Allah, or swing back and forth reciting the Koran 
 until one is dizzy looking at them, is no matter. They are of 
 Mahomet's flock and go unquestioned. 
 
 I shall not attempt a description of this church. That I was 
 grievously disapi:)ointed is of small moment. It is plain, ponde- 
 rous, and unlovely. There is but little now to convey an idea of 
 its former glories. I am only sorry that Baalbek, Athens, and scores 
 of other places were reft of their fairest treasures to beautify this 
 place, for nearly all have disappeared. It is sacred to the Turk, 
 who has been industrious in one line only; that is, in the liberal 
 use of whitewash and some gilt and tawdry paintings, thu^ oblit- 
 erating every vestige of Christianity. 
 
 We saw the ancient Hippodrome and mausoleum of Mahomet 
 II. The sarcophagus was covered with a magnificent cover of 
 embroidered velvet. A curious custom struck me in the number 
 of beautiful cashmere shawls folded and placed across the cover- 
 ing, each representing the gift of a favorite wife. 
 
 Other mosques were visited. Some were beautiful in architec- 
 ture and tilings. Bagdad and Persian carpets were on the 
 floors, so priceless it seemed a shame to see the grimy, lia re- 
 footed, dirty people on them. But they were Moslems, and 
 looked with no kindly eyes upon us, so we agreed to let them 
 alone, and went to more congenial places. 
 
 I remember a trip to the Galata Bridge, where the past and 
 present, civilization and barbarism, the Christian and Moslem, 
 meet, jostle, and crowd the old structure to overflowing. From 
 this bridge we went on a small boat up the Golden Horn; Stam- 
 boul on the one side, Pera and Galata on the other, palaces, 
 kiosks, mosques, houses, and trees thickly lining the shores for 
 miles, and crowning the hills which rise in gentle slopes, making 
 the scene indescribably beautiful and lasting the whole distance 
 to the Sweet Waters of Asia. 
 
 We walked from a landing to the top of a high hill commanding 
 an extensive view of the surrounding country, then went down 
 through a cemetery. Such desolation in the tossed, tuml)led- 
 down state of gravestones and general decay I had never seen. 
 
 It was my misfortune to see several funerals. The bodies were 
 carried upon the shoulders of men, some coffined, some not. An 
 open grave near the path, with a skull damp with earth, arrested 
 
Turkey. ' 221 
 
 my attention. Looking into the grave, I saw a broken coffin and 
 the rest of the partly decomposed body in it. The workmen 
 were busy with the contents. I lingered not, but a few steps far- 
 ther met a funeral procession carrying the body of a woman. 
 We saw them pause at the grave, and I do not know positively 
 — for our dragoman said it was safer for us to keep away — but 
 I saw them put the body in that horrible grave, carrying aAvay 
 the stretcher upon which the corpse rested. So they must have 
 put the body in that broken coffin. It was strange and horrible. 
 
 These people do not believe in taking the life of a beast, and 
 will let an animal which is wounded suffer untold angonies for 
 days or weeks, but will never kill it. Yet, as soon as life is gone 
 they seem to have but little respect even for their dearest. 
 
 The tombstones are unique affairs. Those of the men are des- 
 ignated by the fez or turban as they wore it in life. One can 
 tell by this feature whether a dervish, theologian, or ordinary 
 mortal is beneath. Whenever a woman is deemed worthy a 
 stone, if she has borne children the number is designated in gilt 
 roses. If there were no children, there is no golden rose for 
 her. 
 
 These veiled women seem to have a rather hard time of it in 
 many ways. It was odd to see the curtained places on the boats 
 and cars, where they must hide themselves when going about, 
 but amusing to know that the men and boys who sold sweets 
 were never barred out. 
 
 We were, by special courtesy of the Sultan, allowed to see the 
 Treasury, wherein are stored the millions, it seems, of jewels and 
 costly ornaments of all imaginable kinds, garniture for men, 
 trappings for horses, etc. 
 
 The royal palace was thrown open for us, as there were about 
 three hundred Americans in Constantinople when we were. We 
 were special guests also at the Selamlik. 
 
 From the windows overlooking the road, and almost over the 
 Mosque, we saw the Sultan when he comes every Friday, accord- 
 ing to the rules of his religion, where he shows himself to his 
 people, or rather a few of the faithful. And it takes something 
 like five thousand soldiers to protect him when he holds this 
 levee, or rather show, when he goes to church so escorted once a 
 a week. 
 
222 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 There were special guards on foot, grand officers and troops on 
 grander Arabian horses in sohd ranks; hmcers, flags, artillery- 
 men, soldiers in dark uniforms, and the everlasting red fez; 
 horsemen in green and silver; Albanians in embroidered jackets; 
 bands everywhere. There were soldiers stepping proudlj' along, 
 l)ut in their every pace showing the drilling l)y German officers. 
 They pass and repass, forming lines compact and solid. 
 
 And then along the avenue came first the veiled women of the 
 harem, who remained in their carriages. After them, in an 
 open landau, came the Sultan, a far more pleasant-looking man 
 than I expected, who had none of the terror depicted on his face 
 I had heard was always there. No soul save the officials were 
 allowed within the lines. He entered the Mosque, but kept us 
 only a short time before he reappeared. 
 
 He drove ])ack in another vehicle alone, his attaches and min- 
 isters crowding thickly around the phaeton and assisting the 
 magnificent white horses with their precious burden. It was all 
 quite theatrical, the fine scenic effect heightened by a snowstorm 
 which came down heavily all day long. It was rather late, for 
 it was the 9th of March, but it added to the rnsemble. 
 
 In the mean time we were served with tea, bread, Initter, and 
 cigarettes, and though they told us we, as a nation, were well 
 liked by the Sultan, we paid a dollar each to see the Treasury, 
 and some odd francs for this day's pageant. He lost nothing. 
 We had more than evened up for the bread and tea. 
 
 We enjoyed the taste of winter after Egypt. But, for the 
 thousands of miserable dogs that curse the city, it was not beau- 
 tiful to them — no home save the streets; owned by no one; fed 
 something by the city, only that they may not devour people. 
 These sacred beasts lie six and eight in a bunch, and never mov- 
 ing. People walk around them, or get in the mud of the streets 
 rather than displace one. They cannot be killed, as that is 
 against the rule. So they remain a disgrace to the city. Utterly 
 degraded, they know and feel it. There is no glad bark or wag 
 of tail; no frisky, happy ones, except when they are too young 
 to know the depths of misery to which they are doomed. Each 
 dog is a prisoner, l)eing condemned by dog laws to his own 
 street. Woe betide him if he ventures in another dog's territory. 
 
 The streets of Constantinople are horrible, dirty, filthy, ill- 
 
Greece. 223 
 
 paved, with scarcely a sidewalk to speak of, full of ruts aud 
 holes, that make life a burden to drive, and fully as unpleasant 
 to walk on. In no instance did I see any attempt to repair them. 
 They are not pleasant recollections. 
 
 I saw the Seven Towers, which was once a state prison, l)ut 
 now utterly dilapidated, with its terril)le dens, and the " well of 
 blood," down into wdiose depths I peered with horror; there were 
 caves also where victims died lingering deaths; places where 
 others were guillotined, and wdiere many sultans ended their 
 lives. There is a court where the heads of victims had been 
 piled up until they reached the battlements. 
 
 It was in this region that Medea spread her poisons, scenting 
 the air, wdiich seems to linger yet over the towers and dark old 
 Seraglio. And, like Jason on his expedition, we left the Sultan's 
 domain, not in search of the golden fleece, or wool of Colchis, 
 but the golden sunshine and sunny isles of Greece beckon us, 
 and we go toward the shores of history and song. 
 
 GRE E C/ E . 
 
 From the Bosphorus and Black Sea, with its biting winds and 
 storm-tossed Avaters, across the Sea of Marmora, through the 
 Dardanelles to the iEgean Sea, among the fairy islands of the 
 Grecian Archipelago, we steamed for the better part of two days. 
 Then our boat landed us at Pirgeus. We ignored railroads and 
 electric cars and took a carriage, driving along the road where 
 the famous long wall once ran, until we reached Athens. There 
 is but little of importance between the two places, but we had a 
 good view of the country. 
 
 We arrived at our hotel before a personally conducted party 
 camie, who w^ere enjoying the tour by a continual warfare. Hotels, 
 steamers, their conductor — all came in turn for condemnation. 
 When through with these, they fought among themselves about 
 rooms, seats at table, and in carriages. It was amusing to listen, 
 but would have been dreadful to be in it, or one of them. Why 
 people ever elect to cross the Atlantic in that manner passes my 
 
224 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 understanding. Once the arrangements are made, no matter 
 how disagreeable people or things may be, they as a rule must 
 stand by the contract. There was not one of the twenty-five 
 who looked happy or contented, not one but could have traveled 
 better and with less expense if they only had the courage to try 
 it. And I should advise those who have not the courage to re- 
 main at home, rather than travel as these people did, and they 
 were no exception to the rule. 
 
 It would be hard to find a more decided change than we found 
 in the distance traveled between Constantinople and Greece. In 
 Athens we found good streets, broad, well-paved, and sprinkled.j 
 
 It Avas a surprise and pleasure, even if we could not read 
 Greek, to hear the newsboys crying out the latest news, with 
 stacks of newspapers, and running about in the old familiar way. 
 It was something I had not heard for months. 
 
 There were bizarre figures, mosques, bazaars, avalanches of 
 chatter and confusion, the mingling and bewildering rippling 
 effects of colors and of strange throngs. 
 
 The red fez is not here. The veiled women, useless bundles of 
 clothes in rainbow colors and high-heeled slippers, are not in 
 Athens. Instead of covered faces and uncovered ankles, I saw 
 honest sun-kissed women and maidens, brown, but with the rich, 
 warm blood showing under the tan. Honest eyes looked into 
 ours. Pleasant smiles and greetings came from the poorest, 
 while mirth-loving children, gathering flowers, threw their dainty, 
 fragrant bouquets into the carriage as I drove along the sacred 
 road where laurel-crowned hosts once marched from Athens to 
 Eleusis. 
 
 There Avas much of ihe modern that pleased us in Athens, an 
 unexpecled mixture of ancient and modern times. After a hasty 
 view of the city, we went first to the Stadium, where the Athe- 
 nian festivities were held in the heroic days. 
 
 We were more interested in the place because it was here, in 
 1896, that the famous Olympian games were revived. And here, 
 too, on their own soil, in their revered Stadium, now restored, it 
 was that our countrymen beat the Greeks in every contest, if I 
 remember rightly, save the long-distance run from Marathon. 
 
 The temple built to Jupiter Olympus is near, but little is left 
 except some magnificent columns. There are the monument of 
 
Greece. 225 
 
 Lycaretiis, the theater of Diony^ius, the Odeon of Herodes Atti- 
 cus, the prison of Socrates, Nymph's Hill, the Pnyx, all cluster- 
 ing around the Acropolis, once the pride of Greece and envy of 
 the whole world. 
 
 This marvelous ruin crowns the summit of a steep, rocky hill, 
 rising abruptly from the city, which clusters around it. What it 
 was in its glistening glory, when finished in the fifth century 
 B.C., would be hard to imagine. The old Pelasgi, of whom but 
 few traces remain, are said to have founded this place. One is 
 lost in wonder at the skill of those old Greek artificers, who 
 under Pericles finished the Parthenon, and dedicated it to Mi- 
 nerva. Even in ruins it is magnificent. Its simplicity and fine 
 lines, found only in Greek temples, excite admiration, as do the 
 beautiful Doric and Ionic columns. 
 
 One cannot but have a sort of reverence for those builders who 
 raised these incomparable temples. They were devout in the 
 worship of their gods and goddesses. Time and money they 
 counted not, so they erected these temples, and to strength and 
 solidity they added grace and dignity. What marvels of sculp- 
 ture blossomed into beauty and life seemingly from the hand of 
 Phidias! Bits here and there heaped and scattered over the hill, 
 even if there were not so much left of temples, show the unrivaled 
 art of antiquity. Here is the temple of the Wingless Victory, 
 and the statues of the Amazon-like maidens of the Erectheum 
 are about all the figures that have escaped the despoiler's hand. 
 The last were dedicated to Minerva and Neptune. 
 
 According to tradition, Minerva won the guardianship by 
 causing an olive tree to grow. Neptune struck the earth with 
 his trident and a horse sprang into life. Why Neptune wanted a 
 horse, I know not, but the two seem to thrive and are alike use- 
 ful in Greece, up to date, for the automobile has not to my knowl- 
 edge found favor in Greece. 
 
 The view from the summit of the Acropolis is almost unparal- 
 leled, I fancy — the fair plain below, farther on Lycabettus Hill, 
 to the east the mountains of Hymettus-Pentelicon, and Parnes 
 in the distance. There, too, was ^Egina's rock and rugged 
 isles, the glorious azure gulf. Bay of Eleusis, with the island 
 of Salamis, Attica, and Marathon in the distance. I could not 
 attempt what Byron gave to the world in the "Corsair." 
 
226 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 There were ruins of aerial temples heaped high against the 
 moon, intensified and made more beautiful by the surroundings; 
 beautiful under the glowing sun, but mellowed and softened under 
 the moon's rays. Theirs was a blind worship. l)ut it must have 
 been beautiful in its way. 
 
 ^i* 
 
 MARS HILL, WHERE ST. PAUL PRE.VCHED TO THE ATHENIANS. 
 
 I looked across to Mars Hill, only a stone's-throw distant, 
 where Paul preached to the Athenians. The motive was the sin, 
 but St. Paul, iconoclastic as were others in the infancj'- of Chris- 
 tianity, apostrophized the beautifully sculptured gods in the 
 Acropolis, and the poor gods were broken and defaced even as in 
 Egypt so much destroyed that it seems a pity. He was not an illit- 
 erate man, and the world would be richer had he hurled the 
 thunderbolts of his wrath against the blind worship. 
 
 Across from the Areopagus I stood where Demosthenes delivered 
 his eloquent speeches to tlie wondering people. Near here was 
 the legendary cam}) of tlic Amazons, while they were attacking 
 
Greece. 227 
 
 the stronghold of Theseus. And here Xerxes with his archers 
 sent fiery darts into tlie citadel during the Persian war. 
 
 What stirring memories and scenes came to me as I stood on 
 the bleak, wind-swept hill. The eloquent words of Demosthenes 
 thundered across to Mars Hill, where in softer and sweeter tones 
 Paul told the Athenians the beautiful story of the one true God. 
 
 These memories are mingled Avith the sounds of fierce struggles 
 of warring hosts; the swish of fiery arrows into the wooden walls; 
 the downfall of greatness; Socrates in his prison in some poor 
 caye in the hillside near, but facing the Acropolis. He and old 
 Epaminondas accepted the reyerses of the times. One thinks of 
 their courage and fortitude in picturing them among the rank 
 and file of common soldiers. 
 
 Our great men are different now. If by chance one acquires 
 some honors in a battle or two, the highest position the country 
 can give is asked. Ours is a braye nation, but I haye not heard 
 of one of our exalted heroes putting off the insignia of office, like 
 Epaminondas shouldering his arms and marching courageously 
 with the men who do the work. 
 
 In the Ceramicus, or ancient cemetery, repose, among many 
 monuments of the dead, Pericles. Farther away I saw a hill 
 that recalled the memory of ^dipus, the blind King of Thebes. 
 There Sophocles receiyed inspiration to write his play. There, 
 too, was the Acadeni}^ of Plato. No rich vegetation or sacred 
 groves cover the hill now, as then, but the view of Athens and the 
 ruins of the Acropolis can never fail to command admiration. 
 
 Every foot of land in this vicinity has its history. The dead 
 past does not bury its dead. They survive here. The gorgeous, 
 solemn ruins tell of a wondrous past, stranger than the imagina- 
 tion can picture. In the dreamy mystery of the lives of those 
 giants in intellect, the heroes, gods, and goddesses, in sculpture 
 and in temples, relive. 
 
 I sat in a wondrously beautiful carved marble chair in the 
 theatre of Dionysius, where high revel was held years and years 
 ago. The seats were Pentelic marble. Some lovely broken bits 
 of sculptured figures and bas-reliefs seem as if from the sculptor's 
 hand. Yet this theater was finished over three hundred years 
 before Christ. Here Sophocles, Aristides, and other celebrities 
 enacted tragedies and comedies. Here they had their sweet illu- 
 
228 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 sions of love, of friendship, of noble ambitions, and high, trusty 
 deep faiths. All have passed away. And in contemplating the 
 glories of ancient Greece, in contrast to the life of the country at 
 the present time, I should — were I an inhabitant of the place — 
 prefer the days of Pericles. 
 
 No wonder the people are degenerate, when, instead of war- 
 like Amazons and superb warriors, we see the Grecian soldier 
 an airy sort of creature in braided jacket and short, full skirts 
 that would put a ballet-dancer to shame, with white hose, low 
 slippers, and huge tassels on the toes. Fancy Leonidas in that cos- 
 tume. Spartan heroism would have failed, lam sure, at the exuber- 
 ant fullness of skirt and poverty of length. They have no sort of 
 cousinship with charity — they cover so little. I thought it a 
 pity the white-robed priest of ancient times had no voice in the 
 affairs of to-day; some of the customs and costumes might well 
 be destroyed on the sacrificial altars. As a whole, however, 
 there is nothing objectionable — only absurd and comical. 
 
 If the people are changed and somewhat different to one's 
 ideas of Grecian manners and costumes, the country wdth its di- 
 versity of scenery cannot be disappointing. 
 
 There are hills and ravines, trees and vines, fertile bits of land, 
 and magnificent views of the plain and bay of Marathon. Here 
 is the Attic plain, with fair Athens in the center. The command- 
 ing peak, Lycabettus, on one side; Hymettus, with its range upon 
 range, on the other, while far away are the snowy summits of 
 Parnassus. 
 
 Of all excursions made I enjoyed most that to Eleusis, over 
 the sacred road along which the great annual procession of the 
 Eleusian Mysteries passed in ancient times, where children car- 
 ried flowers, and priestesses led the sacrificial bulls to the tem- 
 ples. It is a fine road, leading from the city, lined with great 
 pepper trees, arched and meeting overhead, winding among vine- 
 yards and gnarled old olive trees, until we passed the Cephisus 
 River, a mere thread of water running through the valley. 
 
 We passed, en roxite, a modern lunatic asylum, more ornamental 
 than useful, judging from the appearance of closed shutters. It 
 looked like a summer hotel out of season, and closed for lack of 
 customers. 
 
 We went on through a series of foothills, rather bare, past the 
 
Greece. 229 
 
 hill of the Daphne, where the ancient sacred park of laurel t;rew. 
 I thought of Apollo and his laurel in hot pursuit of Daphne. 
 From the top of a hill I had an unrivaled view of fair Piraeus, 
 the Bay of Salamis, and Eleusis, the latter more celebrated than 
 Athens, owing to its venerable shrines. • 
 
 We crossed the fertile plain where the goddess Ceres once 
 guided the plow and taught the arts of agriculture. Women 
 were practical in those days, if they were goddesses. And as a 
 proof of the unchanging faith and stability of women, they are 
 still following her teachings. For women were digging ditches 
 for irrigation, plowing in the fields, crushing rock for repairing 
 the roads, and doing all sorts of manual labor. Yet I saw no 
 one in short skirts or tassel-bedecked slippers. 
 
 At Eleusis are the ruins of the great Propylea, where priests 
 once offered sacrifices and women sang and danced in honor of 
 the goddess Demeter or Ceres. The magnitude of the ruins is 
 astonishing. What masses of beautiful marble columns, whole 
 quarries of walls and ornamental portions, heaped up enough to 
 build a town. 
 
 In Italy and Egypt every ruin or place worth it has ])een de- 
 spoiled to decorate some other place. It is different here. Noth- 
 ing has been molested, so the places are beautiful in their ruins. 
 
 Here are seen the black rocks where the goddess wept like any 
 mortal over her sheaves of wheat, I suppose because Pluto set the 
 style of eloping with her daughter Proserpine. In this temple, 
 whose origin is lost in mystery, Ceres established the mysteries 
 in honor of different gods. The Persians and Goths finished the 
 destruction of these grand temples. 
 
 The sun shines on the long-unused floors, and green mosses 
 and wild, frail flowers grow in spaces and rifts of the broken and 
 defaced sanctuaries. Light, ])eauty, and color are everywhere — 
 sunny atmosphere, blossoming trees, ethereal loveliness of trans- 
 parent opaline tints on the horizon and reflected lieauty of the 
 hills in the sapphire bav that is without a ripple. 
 
 There is an unchanging charm of the islands, and rhythm of 
 the sea laving the tomli of Themistocles. The gleaming coast- 
 line and dazzling snow-clad mountain ranges, I fancy, are much 
 the same as when those old pagans held high revel. These tem- 
 ples have echoed to all phases of life. The beautiful, the terrible, 
 
230 A Woman's WAXDrRiNGS. 
 
 the shameful and sul)hme, good and bad, these stones have wit- 
 nessed. No voice from the past breaks tlie silence, and quietly 
 I sat and feasted my eyes upon a scene almost unrivaled. Yet a 
 vein of sadness came with the restful and quiet air of the place. 
 For in all the solid rank and file of dead years gone there is no 
 voice from that far-off time to breathe one whisper. No restless 
 heart comes to tell aught of tin; gulf between them and me. 
 
 The day grew old all too soon, and as the way was long, we 
 went along the rim of the sea, feeling that the quiet, warm 
 spring day was in harmony with the mystical old road, and 
 rather regretted that we were leaving. 
 
 Here were the sanctuaries of the gods — of Pan and Apollo. 
 Pan was honored here for the scare he gave the Persians at Mara- 
 thon. Apollo — if I remember — in a cave in the vicinity had 
 his little surprise party, wherein a daughter of Erectheus figured 
 as co-respondent in the surprise business. It was after this cele- 
 brated party that the lonians were known in the world. These 
 people seem to have set the fashion in most things, the wor]d 
 imitating ever since. 
 
 We went back in the dusk of the evening, with the glow still in 
 the western skies, and the great full moon shining on the tall 
 spectral temples. And the day was done. 
 
 There is little of interest in modern Athens, though the streets 
 are fine, as are the parks and public buildings. 
 
 There seems to be little ceremony observed by the rulers. I 
 saw the queen get in her carriage at the Palace with as little 
 attention as any ordinary lady going out for a drive. A lady 
 accompanied her. There was a coachman in dark livery, and one 
 footman only — no especial mark of any sort whereby people 
 might know royalty was out for an airing. 
 
 We had enjoyed a few days of warm spring weather, which was 
 douV)ly alluring after so much rain and snow in Constantinople. 
 But there was a heavy rain the morning we left Athens. The 
 country needed it badly, for there had been but little for some 
 time, and the small patches of grain looked shriveled and yellow. 
 They have none too much at any time. 
 
 Nowhere have I seen such deep trenches for irrigation as here 
 for the vineyards and olive trees. There seem to be few trees of 
 any other sort, and they are all irrigated. The ditches are dug 
 
Greece. 231 
 
 so deep one can^Hcarcely see the vines. The water is near the 
 surface and is brought up by boxes attached to endless chains. 
 The pumps are usually run by cattle or horses, though in several 
 instances I saw women turning the wheel. 
 
 We found good cars and good railroads in Greece, as were the 
 hotels. In fact, one might enjoy a lengthy stay in Athens and 
 have comforts as well as scenery — something not always to be 
 had in traveling. Besides being reasonable, they are a pleasant 
 race of people to meet. 
 
 I was thoroughly delighted with my sojourn there, and looked 
 regretfully back at Athens and the lovely plain, the old Acropolis, 
 and the rugged hills which are ferruginous in character and gave 
 such harmonious blending of tints, reds, purples, and ochers. 
 
 The blossoms were bending their heads under the falling rain, 
 and gloomy looked the fields, where only yesterday the butter- 
 flies and bees, early as it is in the springtime, were staggering 
 in delight among the yellow mustard blooms, purple irises, and 
 violets. The birds were almost bursting their throats in the joy 
 of it and were hurrying to tell each other that it was springtime 
 in Greece, and the time for telling it had come. 
 
 We had a fleeting glimpse of Salamis and Eleusis. A rainbow 
 showered its colors over the only old Pelasgian tomb and above 
 the temples, symbolical of past glories in the gorgeous colorings. 
 There were clouds and shifting mists, with white spray from 
 sapphire waves scudding across the sea, ever-changing, a succes- 
 sion of glorious views all the way to Corinth. 
 
 Along the gulf of ^Egina we went, crossing the canal at Cor- 
 inth that clasps hands with the Ionian and ^Egean seas, which is 
 so short and straight that we saw the two seas, or gulfs, as we 
 crossed it. 
 
 From Corinth we went to Patras, where we embarked for 
 Brindisi. 
 
 There seems but little in the way of agriculture except vine- 
 yards. People must live on grapes and olives, with scenery 
 for dessert. 
 
 From Patras we sailed away in the teeth of a storm from the 
 land of delicious memories — the Grecian Archipelago, Mount Ida, 
 fair Olympus, Salonica, Isle of Milo, and all the historical spots 
 of which Sappho is credited with loving and remembering in her 
 
232 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 songs. Others have said more and to l)ettcr purpose. But tlie 
 impression is abroad in the world that she was the prima donna 
 of the times. She doul)tless received the majority of l)allots, so 
 we will not dispute the will of the people. 
 
 Should any one within the "sound of my pen" decide on a voy- 
 age between Athens and any port westward, and take passage 
 on a Greek l)oat, rememl)er they were warned in time. I de- 
 murred in the beginning, but was assured that the lioat was new, 
 large, and room}-. It was all of that, it is true, but for comfort 
 and convenience there was not the slightest evidence. 
 
 We were unfortunate enough to encounter again the aforesaid 
 warring, personally conducted party. After our affairs were 
 settled — and it took all my knowledge of Greek and French, in- 
 terspersed with poor English, to make the male stewardess un- 
 derstand that I was alone. A gentleman who chanced to be 
 from America was assigned the same room with me. In vain I 
 told the officials we were not one family. Then the Harvard man 
 tried in his best Greek to make them understand that we had met 
 by chance; it was embarrassing and amusing also. There was a 
 lack of accommodation, and stupidity and greed understood noth- 
 ing. Possession was not nine points of the law that night. My 
 luggage once in the room, the key turned, it was the full rounded 
 ten and no mistake. 
 
 The young man and several other lirst-class passengers had to 
 go to the second-class quarters, and they said it was terrible. 
 Some of the women wept. One had hysterics. The men had 
 wordy fights. I was comforted and let the war wage. None of 
 that conducted party should enter my retreat. There were 
 enough of disturbing influences making themselves felt, and I 
 had sufficient to bear; my downy bed consisted of a thin mat- 
 tress placed on boards, the pillows were hard as packed cotton 
 could make them. 
 
 There were only a])Out three people out of some forty passen- 
 gers who were up the next morning. I had been on the Atlantic, 
 the English Channel, and North Sea when I thought it was 
 rough, but never knew just what pranks a boat could be up to, 
 or how a thing without legs could imitate a "bronco" so well; 
 kick and plunge her back up like a porpoise, head down, heels 
 up. When tired of that, she would roll over, first on one side, 
 
Italy Revisited. 233 
 
 then on the other — anything, it seemed, to get rid of her cargo. 
 Talk of sickness! The wails and moans all that night and the 
 following day were something to be remembered, and there was 
 nothing delicious about the recollection either. I noticed be- 
 tween acts that the men were more emphatic and vigorous in 
 their expressions than the women. It was more serious than we 
 knew, for we were too ill to know or care very much. 
 
 We were late reaching Corfu, where we learned that the sea 
 had been so rough that but little headway could be made. The 
 captain said that during the day there were two hours at one 
 time when the boat did not make ten feet! It was good for us to 
 find quiet waters. It was to me — 
 
 " What the first flowery isle must be 
 To vagrant birds blown out to sea." 
 
 When once again on deck, I breathed the sweet, fresh air, and 
 ate, after a fast of twenty-four hours. 
 
 It was a pleasure to look upon Corfu, and the fortresses glow- 
 ing in the fading light. As night came on the sea grew calm, 
 and rest and sleep came to us after the storm. The old Greeks 
 believed the gods steered their vessels into port. Maybe there 
 is something in the l)lind faith. In all the terrible rough and 
 stormy seas encountered, it seemed that more than Greek knowl- 
 edge or skill kept the ship from foundering. Their gods, or 
 ours, guided us into smooth seas, and safely to land. 
 
 ITALY REVISITED. 
 
 Italy was doubly dear to me when we landed at Brindisi and 
 I took my course toward Rome. After months in Egypt, Pales- 
 tine, Syria, Turkey, and Greece, it was delightful to be again in 
 Rome, and, although my stay was brief, every moment was 
 pleasant. The city was filled with pilgrims from all parts of 
 the world, coming for the Easter celebrations. I went for a last 
 farewell to St. Peter's; heard again the sweet, soft music, and 
 saw many familiar places. 
 
 During mv stav in Rome I met the Princess Aldrobrandini, 
 
2 34 A Woman's Wanderings. - 
 
 who graciously gave me her card, with special permission to visit 
 her lovely villa at Frascati. She wr.s very kind to me, and told 
 of the loss of an only son. Her palace in the city, her beautiful 
 house and grounds in the country, were as nothing to her now. 
 Through tiie kindness of a friend I met Hall Caine and other 
 charming people on my last day in Rome. 
 
 Pleasant remembrances are mine, sorrowful too, as I leave the 
 dear old city, going westward to the sea, and along the coast 
 through the lovely scenery of the Italian Riviera. In the dis- 
 tance was Corsica. Nearer lay the island of Elba, recalling 
 memories of Napoleon on that lonely, bare, desolate dot in the 
 blue sea. Past historical places we went, interesting alike to the 
 literary inclined, the artist, or those devoted to agriculture. 
 There, on some cliffs, Byron penned his inspirations. There was 
 color and brightness everywhere. The hills were green, and cov- 
 ered with blossoms. People were busy with herds, or cultivating 
 the soil. There were flashes of the glorious sea foaming on 
 jagged rocks. 
 
 We went past Leghorn, and stopped at Pisa, with its lovely 
 buildings — the Duomo, Baptistery, and famous Leaning Tower. 
 Unchanged, bright, and fairy-like it stands, as I saw it years ago, 
 and, breathless, stood upon its sloping summit. Here is where 
 Galileo was born, and here hangs the great bronze lamp in the 
 Cathedral, which gave him the idea of the pendulum. The 
 peaceful Campo Santa, "a group of buildings without parallel," 
 is also here, with its shiploads of earth brought from Mount Cal- 
 vary. Aside from these, are charming views of hills, pine forests, 
 swuft-flowing river, and vistas of plain, with stately rows of tall 
 poplar trees. 
 
 After Pisa, we came to Lereci, where the body of Shelley was 
 found. He was drowned while sailing up the coast from Leg- 
 horn. Here he was cremated, Byron and Leigh Hunt were 
 among the others present. Strangely enough, though the body 
 was consumed, the heart was intact, and was afterwards buried 
 in the Protestant Cemetery at Rome. 
 
 The sea looked calm and beautiful, but I knew how terrible it 
 could be at times. There were the Apennines, the gleaming Car- 
 rara Mountains, the charming Gulf of Spezia, where was once 
 the town of Luna, called the first city of Etruria by Pliny. 
 
Italy Revisited. 235 
 
 After leaving the Gulf of Si)ezia we entered a succession of tun- 
 nels with only an occasional glimpse of daylight until Genoa was 
 reached. It is called Geneva la Superba, and well deserves 
 the name, for the situation is superb. Its magnificent palaces, 
 churches, and fine buildings loom up grandly above the bay. 
 Tier above tier the bright buildings stand above the blue waters, 
 commanding from every point almost incomparable views. Its 
 importance may be best understood commercially when it is 
 known that nearly twelve thousand vessels call at its port yearly. 
 At the Dardanelles and as far as the Black Sea I had seen old 
 Genoese forts, telling of the advantage the Crusades were to 
 Genoa, helping her to become not only mistress of the Western 
 Sea, but a power in the East. Her days of intrigue and warfare 
 are over now, and peaceful and prosperous are her people. 
 
 Men are not crucified, as one was here in the fifteenth century, 
 for he had "uttered words which men may not utter." Our 
 senators are not treated so now, but we nor they are hampered 
 by Doges, and it makes a difference. 
 
 Dickens, Leigh Hunt, and others have told the world of this 
 city, so we leave it and the many objects of interest. 
 
 We speed along the coast, finding the same tiresome tunnels, 
 certainly no more attractive as we go west. 
 
 Here is the old town of San Remo, almost smothered in palms 
 and the misty gray of the olives; it is an odd, old tumble-down 
 Italian town, a mass of arches, churches, narrow and stone- 
 walled streets. On the top of a hill is the hospital for lepers, for 
 the disease lingers around this old place. San Remo has for 
 some centuries furnished the palms used every Easter in St. 
 Peter's in Rome. 
 
 There is a story told that in raising the Egyptian obelisk in 
 front of St. Peter's, the Pope had given orders that any one who 
 spoke during the operation should be put to death. Through 
 some miscalculation the ropes holding the enormous obelisk 
 stretched, and it was about to topple over, when a sea captain, 
 knowing what was needed, and being used to giving orders, cried 
 out, "Throw water on the ropes." It was done, and the Pope, 
 realizing the courage and good sense of the man, gave to the 
 captain what he desired — that his town should ever after furnish 
 the palms for Easter. Everywhere throughout the town I saw 
 
236 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 quantities of palm leaves tied up, much as we see celery, that 
 they might be bleached for that purpose. 
 
 The chief charm of the Riviera is the unique situation of tlie 
 villages. While there are valleys with beautiful streams running 
 through them, the older towns l)uilt before the railroad was 
 known had a fashion of settling upon crags and hills, with ever a 
 tall church brooding over the clustering houses like a hen shel- 
 tering her little ones under her wing. Perhaps they cared more 
 for the view than for water. 
 
 We pass Bordighera, also noted for its palms, and a place 
 Queen Victoria visits occasionally. Then we are in Ventimiglia. 
 Our luggage receives but little attention from the custom-house 
 officials. We re-enter the train, and Italy is a thing of the past. 
 
 FRANCE. 
 
 The French Riviera is a replica of the Italian; a sameness of 
 old decaying villas, palaces, and churches, mixed with luxurious 
 modern residences. Picturesque old walls and ruined forts 
 crown the heights jutting out into the sea. We go past villages, 
 lighthouses, and shipping. Chains and ranges of mountains, 
 glistening with snow, almost cast their shadows over the fields 
 of oranges and lemons, which remind me very much of our glori- 
 ous northern California, where the orange, palm, and pine kiss 
 hands to our snow-clad Sierras, and fear not the snow banners 
 and cold blasts as they nestle in the warm valleys. Beautiful 
 streams come from the snow peaks, as with us, bringing an 
 abundance of water. 
 
 Here are radiantly beautiful valleys and rugged precipices j 
 the peach trees are just beginning to show the pink blossoms, and 
 vines, in bacchanalian, reckless fashion, leap from walls, flaunt 
 from trees, are now showing buds bursting into leaves. There 
 are broad roads winding in capricious turnings over the sides of 
 the mountains, and towns full of legends, ideal and beautiful in 
 situation. Machicolated towers stand on the sheer scarp of hill- 
 sides overlooking the sea. There are vistas of frowning gorges 
 
France. 237 
 
 backed by the towering Alps on the one side, and equally inter- 
 esting views of the sea on the other. One needs to be cross-eyed, 
 and have a neck like an owl, to see all as the train speeds by. 
 
 A short run and we are in Monaco. Many people, I fancy, 
 know Monaco only as the great gambling-place of Europe. 
 While its fame has spread over the world, its vices are the usual 
 theme, and well deserved, of course. Little, in a way, being two 
 by three miles in area, this tiny capital's influence and power 
 are beyond imagining. Nature has done so much, and but little 
 else is needed in this region. Greek civilization first took root 
 upon the rock of Monaco. Romans and Saracens came after. 
 It was finally given back by Napoleon I. to the Grimaldi. They 
 restored their fortunes by the most cruel persecutions and extor- 
 tions from the people. They were starved, their lands confis- 
 cated, and the prince ruled with a rod of iron. No such extor- 
 tion is now enforced by the present lord. He is ruler over a few 
 streets, where are clustered the houses of his two thousand sub- 
 jects. There is no tax on provisions, and the owners of boats 
 know they may pass the pirate haunts of old in safety. The 
 world is somewhat different now. 
 
 The new town above the dazzling bay is infested by pirates of 
 another type. Men and women, clothed in all the beautiful cre- 
 ations of the day, which Solomon in all his glory could not have 
 equaled, fill the exquisite gambling-rooms of Monte Carlo, and 
 take good care of the idle ruler and his subjects of Monaco, who 
 is faithful to the traditions of his house, that the rents fill his 
 coffers. The people are not forced to gamble. They go, the 
 most willing victims in the world, and, while the few win, the 
 many lose. Those who win boast of it; the losers we hear noth- 
 ing of. As a snare to catch the wanderer, everything beautiful in 
 art and adornment is there. 
 
 The Casino is a superb building on a point high above the sea. 
 Vines and semi-tropical plants cover the sheer wall. Above the 
 railwa}^ station, and back of the building, the gardens are lo- 
 cated. They are well planned, the paths are bordered with 
 odoriferous flowers and shrubs, overshadowed by trees semi- 
 tropical in character. There are hotels and restaurants, a music 
 kiosk, where bands world-famed send forth strains of enthralling 
 music. 
 
238 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 Here are luxurious reading-rooms, and, in fact, every variety 
 in the way of pleasure is given to attract those who are easily 
 snared. There is no expense, and nothing is asked of those who 
 wander through the grounds or into the Casino. 
 
 There is a certain formula demanded. One presents a visiting- 
 card and you are ticketed and passed in. No minor is allowed 
 in the Casino, they say, yet I saw girls and ])oys not over eigh- 
 teen around the tables. 
 
 Were I an artist I should wisli to study faces at Monte Carlo, 
 as they cluster around the tal)les. Hope, joy, dogged determina- 
 tion and despair — all show the intense strain of those who play 
 long or often. 
 
 The frequenters can easily be picked out. One often hears of 
 men killing themselves. What becomes of the women who lose, 
 I wonder. Except in a few instances, I saw women ])etting as 
 heavily as men. Those putting the most money on the red or 
 black, or on the numbers and mysterious lines, were not young 
 women, as a rule, but were old, poorly dressed, yet often over- 
 loaded with jewelry, with swollen eves and frowsy hair. Hands 
 that handled gold and fingers from which flashed exquisite 
 jewels, seemed sadly in need of soap and water. 
 
 As a foil to these, wandering among the throngs or playing in 
 an idle, desultory way, Avere women in the most ravishing toil- 
 ettes — the very latest from Paris, costly laces, furs, and dainty 
 gowns. Women robed as one sees them at balls and receptions, 
 stand beside those who wear the unpretentious garments denot- 
 ing the traveler. 
 
 The Casino itself is a splendid structure. The decorations of 
 the principal fac^ade facing the sea, its two square towers and 
 rounded dome placed above the theater, are magnificent. On 
 the balcony and in the arches are i)laGed sculptured groups by 
 Sarah Bernhardt and Gustave Dore, and other subjects represent 
 Industry, Painting, etc. It seems odd that Industry should have 
 a niche here. 
 
 And yet the croupiers around the tallies are a hard-worked lot. 
 They seem to know instinctively how much belongs to thel)ank and 
 what is to be counted out to the winners. It is all in the prac- 
 tice, I suppose. Bright and quick as they are and must l)e, they 
 have their lessons in i)ractice every morning, before the crowds 
 come to play in the afternoons and evenings. 
 
France. 241 
 
 Whether seen by day or after the Casino is lighted, it is gor- 
 geously beautiful, with decorated panels, bas-reliefs, sculpture, 
 painting and galleries. The Ionic columns, vases, and cande- 
 labras, are all superb. The building truly is one of the sights of 
 Europe. I do not wish to attempt an accurate description. I 
 find in most cases that accurate knowledge of such things is 
 needless, and life is less burdensome if details are avoided. 
 
 I only know the salons where the croupiers rake in the money 
 are entrancingly l)eautiful. I know, too, that the air in those 
 rooms is vile; that people who sit around the roulette and trente- 
 et-quarante tables inhaling the refuse of each others' breath are 
 hastening the day when they will not need either fresh or foul air. 
 But whetlier the end is reached in that way or by the shorter 
 one by pistol or poison, the quicker the end, the better, perhaps. 
 
 Besides, there is never a lack of people. They swarm like flies 
 around the tables. It is their delight, and the droning, unceasing 
 faites le jeu is the music they crave. So, if people are happy or 
 miserable, if they win or lose, it is as they desire. It is useless 
 to waste pity on them. 
 
 I had heard so much of the warm climate of the Riviera, I 
 was astonished to find it as cold there on the 1st of April as in 
 midwinter with us in California. One day at Mentone it rained 
 heavily in the town and valleys. After the storm was over we 
 saw the mountains, and low down on the hills over which we 
 had driven in the morning, were covered with new-fallen snow. 
 When the sun shone it was warm and pleasant. We had but 
 little sun, and the cloudy days were as chilly as our foggy days 
 in winter. 
 
 There was one glorious day I shall remember — a drive over 
 the famous Corniche road from Nice to Mentone. Nowhere in 
 the distance of twenty-four miles could there be a greater variety 
 of scenery or more glorious views. Starting from Nice and cross- 
 ing the river Paillon, which usually has about enough water for 
 laundry purposes, and where most of the washing of the entire 
 city is done in this stream by women, who kneel and scrub the 
 clothes on a flat stone, the road ascends in tortuous windings 
 up and up. Over a broad and perfectly smooth road our horses 
 toiled, startled often by the whirr and flash of automobiles speed- 
 ing by in reckless fashion. The maritime Alps were in the dis- 
 
242 A Woman's Waxdkhixgs. 
 
 tance, rough and nigged peaks nearer. Beautiful Eza was 
 perched on an ahnost isolated point high above the sea. There 
 were a grand succession of ba3^s, peninsulas, picturesque forts, 
 and curious old houses clustering on the hills; bastions and 
 fortifications dating from the Roman period, l)ut adding to the 
 charming panorama. It was the one ideal day, and one that 
 was worth all the rest. Palms, orange, and fruit trees grow near 
 the shore. The olive and prickly pear are like those on our 
 western slopes. The magnificent houses of the wealthy crowd 
 each other along the whole distance, and always facing south. 
 
 And there was the sea, with the ever-changing, exquisite blues 
 and transparent greens flecked with sun-splashes or darkened by 
 floating cloud shadows. One of the most attractive scenes of the 
 day was a fleet of fourteen French war-vessels steaming into the 
 quiet bay of Villefranche. 
 
 We passed Turbia, which the lovers of Tennyson will recall, 
 returning from Mentone by the lower road, which runs just above 
 the sea the entire distance back to Nice. 
 
 I was disappointed in the latter place; it is one mass of white 
 houses with red-tiled roofs, its wide promenade lined with im- 
 mense hotels. The older part is uninteresting. The tree-lined 
 streets, gay shops, and suburbs are attractive. The Promenade 
 des Anglais, stretching along the shore, is the best part of the 
 town. Aimies and its great hotels are among the interesting 
 suburbs. 80 is the town of Grasse, which people visit; where 
 there are the acres of flowers grown from which the delicious 
 perfumes are extracted. 
 
 Nice and Cannes may be lovely and warm to people from Rus- 
 sia and other cold regions, but we found them neither warm nor 
 sunny. But this has been an unusual spring, so I ought not to 
 judge them by the few days spent there. 
 
 Nice and Monaco, it has been said, are for the extremely 
 wealthy or the working people. Those who have to count pounds 
 and shillings are not wanted. It costs something for dainties 
 there. I priced some strawberries. They were one dollar and a 
 half per pound, and other things were in proportion in this warm, 
 sunny France we read of. 
 
 Not possessing the desired millions, and yet not belonging to 
 the class who toil and do the traditional si)inning act, we took 
 
France. 243 
 
 our way westward, still along the womlerful coast line, until we 
 reached Marseilles. After so much that was grand in the way of 
 scenery, I hardly expected to enjoy the harlwr and fine streets of 
 Marseilles as I did. There are tine buildings and churches, and 
 a huge mosque reminds me of Cairo. The white coast and lovely 
 island of the Chateau d'lf can here be seen. The hillsides are 
 covered with villas. 
 
 There is one unparalleled street, where grow six rows of im- 
 mense trees, making a line promenade for people, with con- 
 venient seats for the idlers. There is room for heavy wagons on 
 either side, with accommodations for tram cars, and a place for 
 lighter vehicles in the center. This is one of the most charming 
 streets I have ever seen in the heart of any city. 
 
 Patiently, and yet willingly, I again resumed my journey, and 
 after a day's ride, that lengthened to fourteen hours, on a fast 
 express train, I arrived in Paris, where, amid the seething, jab- 
 bering crowd, I saw once again the familiar face of my traveling 
 companion. 
 
 April, capricious and uncertain, is now near the end. There 
 are many trees beginning to bud, while others show tender green 
 leaves. A few warm days have wrought a great change. It has 
 been charming, and the warm weather will doubtless come 
 speedily. Already I find myself pitying people who will visit 
 the Exposition in the hot months. 
 
 Of course, the crowds are not here yet, but the influx of visi- 
 tors, the unmistakable American, English, and German element, 
 are in evidence, and help swell the throngs on the already over- 
 crowded thoroughfares. 
 
 In the shops and on the streets I see a desire to cater to Americans. 
 Our flag is conspicuous, and floats everywhere with the tri-color 
 of France. The English flag is not seen, except over tea-rooms 
 and buildings where are many of the Queen's subjects. Germany 
 is not much in evidence, either, but the old-time feuds seem for- 
 gotten in the intense hatred here of the English people. 
 
 The desire to please Americans is so conspicuous the veneering 
 won't hold; it is the money we bring that interests them, and the 
 person who possesses a grain of common sense knows what it is 
 all worth. These people are without conscience when it comes to 
 money matters; that is, in their transactions with strangers. 
 
244 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 There are already a good many eases of ''getting even" for out- 
 rageous prices. Women think of these things, and are revengefuL 
 I heard of a few ladies who had been overcharged and cheated until 
 they could endure no more. They ordered handsome dresses, and 
 had them sent to their hotel on the day after they had left Paris 
 for home. This was very reprehensible, but human nature is 
 pretty much the same everywhere, and can stand only so much. 
 The wailings of the shop-keepers on such occasions are interesting, 
 and were to me, I confess, very satisfactory. 
 
 When the days are cool, it is something dreadful to go into the 
 larger magazines, such as the Louvre, or Bon Marche, where the 
 thousands struggle and fight for places at the tal)les or shelves — 
 well-arranged counters, with stools, are unknown. One may 
 stand half fainting, grasping for breath, in the foul air. The 
 crowd of excited people taxes one's strength, and a desire to get 
 out into the fresh air usually wins. I would not endure much of 
 it, for while it is fascinating to shop in Paris, I respect the laws of 
 health, and am perfectly willing to give up the world and the 
 d — , dear, delightful fashions of the gay city — but I draw a 
 line at the flesh at present, so keep out of them as much as 
 possilde. 
 
 After an article is purchased one cannot wait in placid content 
 for the change. No clerk is so trusted here. He takes yovi and 
 your purchase to the cashier; everything is copied; your address, 
 name, and age is required; then you may receive the change, if 
 there is any, and if you are shrewd you may find out much is 
 counterfeit before leaving the store. In Italy they were easy to 
 distinguish; all the short-necked men on the coins were good; 
 those who looked as though their necks had been "pulled" were 
 bad. Here they are varied and ingenious in their counterfeits, 
 but in this world of shams one gets accustomed to being on the 
 alert; so the wary need not be deceived very often. 
 
 I have visited all the leading shops in Paris — Doucet, Pas- 
 quier, Worth, Virot, and others; have seen their wonderfully 
 beautiful robes; sat while their charming models, arrayed in the 
 bewildering conceptions, paced back and forth before mirrors 
 which reflected the faultless forms and robes. Many of these 
 dream-like garments are almost worth their weight in gold, and 
 onlv those who have an unlimited amount of monev can afford 
 
Fkamk. 245 
 
 to order recklessly in any of these places. There is much that is 
 tempting in the way of artistic decorations and dainty articles 
 of wear. The shop windows are filled with articles so temj)ting, 
 the average woman finds it impossible to resist, especially if she 
 is a stranger here, though the prices are higher for novelties than 
 in New York or San Francisco. 
 
 Prices jump according to the appearance of the person. One 
 rainy day we went into a shop, asked the price of a small fur boa. 
 It was sixty-five dollars. A few days later, with a change of 
 hat and wraps — they did not remember us — and the same ar- 
 ticle was eighty dollars. They tell all sorts of stories about 
 strikes among working men, and advanced wages, which are not 
 true. Excuses and subterfuges hurt them not. These peoi)le do 
 not become brain-weary in trying to remember their lies, and 
 in many instances it is laughable and absurd. But this is their 
 opportunity, and those who come must make the best of it. 
 
 Prices at hotels, and, in fact, nearly everywhere, and for every- 
 thing, advance after the 1st of May. In man}^ hotels the rates 
 were almost doubled after the farce of opening the Exposition 
 on the 15th of April, 1900. 
 
 When the President went to the grounds, escorted by soldiers 
 with drawn swords and pistols, to officially announce the open- 
 ing, which was only a bluff, very little was in order. There were 
 unfinished buildings, mud, and debris everywhere; and the few 
 finished were empty. There was confusion and disorder every- 
 where — but the great Exposition of 1900 was opened, and the 
 President escaped unhurt. 
 
 While France takes the lead in many things, it is wofully be- 
 hind in others. For example, in this city of two million in- 
 habitants there are no hotels heated by steam or hot air, yet it 
 is exceedingly cold in winter. It has been cold enough for a fire 
 nearly every day since my arrival. For a fire I had an armful 
 of wood. Each armful cost fifty cents, and an extra charge for 
 kindling. The matter of hot and cold water baths, and such 
 comforts as we find in our small hotels, are beyond the reach of 
 the ordinary traveler. 
 
 But the whole world comes to Paris. It is alluring, and every- 
 thing is here to make one happy — art, music, and drama. 
 There is life in its best, or worst, phases — elevating or debasing, 
 
246 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 and the visitors can be pleased in whatever direction their tastes 
 may run. 
 
 In the matter of newspapers there are more illustrated papers 
 than in the whole of the United States. The number of papers 
 published daily in Paris is, I learn, something like two thousand 
 eight hundred. 
 
 One must not complain of trivial affairs when there is so much 
 that is good and beautiful. Traveling is an education in every 
 sense. There are some disagreeable things cropping up always, 
 but the end justifies the work and trouble. 
 
 It is worth a great deal to be in the crowds thronging the beau- 
 tiful streets, yet pedestrians have a hard time. There are no 
 rules, golden or otherwise, observed here. Self-preservation is 
 the only law known. No one looks out for any one else. One 
 must fight for place on the sidewalks, so crowded that it is hard 
 to get along, for a good two thirds of the larger avenues and 
 streets are taken up with tables and chairs three and four deep 
 in front of the numerous cafes, where people, especially men, are 
 always seen drinking, smoking, or idly watching the passing 
 crowds. There are so many idlers, one often wonders at the 
 number. They do not rush through life as we do. 
 
 About midday one may walk the main streets and cross them 
 in safety, for they observe the noontime, and are not hurried in 
 eating or drinking. Later there is always a crush to get through 
 the line of omnibuses, cabs, automobiles, wagons, and carriages 
 that tear through the streets. One must wait at corners until 
 the shrill whistle of the policeman is heard, which happens every 
 minute or so. Then the great, sinuous, seething mass of vehicles 
 stop, like magic, long enough to permit pedestrians to cross in 
 safety. In smaller streets there is always more or less risk, for 
 the drivers are reckless, and cabs, electric and steam cars, fill the 
 streets. 
 
 The great omnibuses, with three or four powerful horses, bear 
 down on one with the terrifying force of an engine. They may 
 be stopped en route, if not complet, as is usually the case, for 
 they are not allowed to crowd omnibuses, cars, or boats here. 
 One pays for a seat, and gets it. At the stations or starting- 
 points it is necessary to procure a ticket at the bureau. The 
 conductors of omnibuses and tram cars call out the numbers. If 
 
France. 249 
 
 one knows the numbers in French, and is ([uielv, it is })()ssil)le to 
 get a seat; otherwise you must wait until the next one comes. 
 
 When the crowd is here and a few of the sixty-five milHons 
 expected, I can well imagine what transjiortation will mean. 
 Even now the caV)men Avill scarcely engage ]>y the hour. One 
 day we were refused l)y nearly a dozen liefore one would agree to 
 drive us to the Bois de Boulogne. Then he had his revenge, for 
 the horse walked a greater jiart of the afternoon. It did not 
 matter, for we were interested at every turn, especially in the 
 Champs Elysee, teeming with life, the never-ending line of cal)s, 
 splendid teams, private carriages, and automobiles, all filled with 
 beautifully dressed Avomen, where one sees the latest in gowns, 
 hats, and parasols. 
 
 In place of dainty, sweet-faced children, one sees in cabs, and 
 peering through the windows of elegant private carriages, or 
 resting cozily in unmotherly arms, the shaggy head and form of 
 the everlasting French poodle. A believer in the transmigration 
 of souls might well yearn to be a French poodle when rid of the 
 weary earthly shell; Init for hades itself, it would only be neces- 
 sary to be encased in the form of a degraded, forlorn dog in 
 Constantinople. 
 
 It is too early yet to enjoy the beautiful woods in the Bois, 
 yet one day that was like spring — warm, bright, and beautiful 
 — we went by boat down the Seine, having a fine view of the 
 Exposition buildings, magnificent bridges, and Eiffel Tower. As 
 we passed down to St. Cloud, the trees were beginning to show- 
 tender green leaves, lieing further advanced than in the city. 
 The grass was filled with tiny blossoms, and the dear, delightful 
 fragrance of springtime filled the air. There are exquisite views 
 of the river and city, which, seen from the terrace, are surpass- 
 ingly beautiful. 
 
 St. Cloud is restful, after the noise and bustle of Paris. This 
 large, beautiful park Napoleon loved so well is where the bands 
 play in summer, and fountains and cascades rush and ripple in 
 all the fascinating gush and murmur of water among jagged 
 rocks. There are quiet wooded paths, and thousands throng the 
 charming walks. Here, as well as in the Bois de Boulogne, art 
 has aided, not defaced, nature. One can lose himself apparently 
 in the A\-ildest of Avoods if quiet is desired, or wander along the 
 
250 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 broad roads, where chatter and hiugh the pleasure-loving crowd. 
 Marie Antoinette once lived here. Bonaparte caused himself to 
 be proclaimed First Consul here. Blucher's headquarters were 
 established, and from here Charles X. issued the proclamation 
 abohshing the freedom of the press, which caused the revolution 
 of .July, 1830. The Germans occupied St. Cloud during the siege 
 of 1870, at which time it was almost destroyed. It was for a 
 long time neglected, but has been restored to a great extent, and 
 is noAv one of the most popular suburbs of Paris. 
 
 We visited Sevres and saw the manufacturing of the china 
 which is incomparable in delicacy, tinting, and finish, but which 
 is so expensive on the ground where it is made that it takes one's 
 breath away. 
 
 When lonesome I go to the headquarters of the California 
 Commission, where an air of quiet elegance broods over the grand 
 reception-rooms, which are beautifully furnished. It is restful 
 and homelike, too, and the genial Commissioners welcome me so 
 cordially, it is like something seen in dreams. The familiar faces 
 and paintings of remembered places are pleasant, and a taste of 
 our fruits, nuts, and wine is delicious, and a comforting tliought 
 comes to me that even now fruit is ripening which will await my 
 home-coming. 
 
 A good story illustrating the hospitality of the Commissioners 
 was told me by one of them. A reporter representing an illus- 
 trated paper, who, it seems, thoroughly understood the freedom of 
 the press, which has fully recovered from the blow of 1830, and 
 is utterly unlicensed now, called on them, and frankly told them 
 his scheme, which was to blackmail the whole outfit unless he 
 was well paid for letting them alone. He was treated nicely, 
 given a bottle of wine made from the real juice of grapes; then 
 was told to go and do his deadliest, and to do it quickly, or he 
 would be kicked doAvn the stairs. He has not been heard from 
 since. 
 
 The people are astonished at the products of our country, espe- 
 cially the French people, who rarely travel, and are firm in their 
 convictions that nothing worth having or enjoying exists outside 
 of France, ignoring the fact that no one country possesses all that 
 is desirable. 
 
 Our people, who are not slow in adapting ways and means that 
 
France. 251 
 
 are beneficial, might well pattern after Paris; particularly in the 
 methods of street-cleaning a few items might be of great l)enefit 
 to us. In the matter, only, of trees lining the streets, which make 
 them so delightful; a tree is never cut down here. If one dies, 
 another full grown is put in the place of it, and an iron grating 
 surrounds each tree. The pavements do not suffer;' neither do 
 the people who walk or sit under the welcome shade. 
 
 The Louvre has taken up much of our time. This immense 
 building and the Tuileries, together, cover about forty-eight 
 acres, and form one of the most magnificent palaces in the 
 world, besides being the most important public building in Paris. 
 It is filled with art treasures, and is so vast in extent that it 
 is appalling to one whose time is limited. An idea of its 
 magnitude may be had when one realizes that it takes two hours 
 to walk through all the rooms without stopping. The collection 
 dates from the time of the French monarchs of the Renaissance 
 in the sixteenth century. It has always been a source of pride, 
 but the Louvre is iixlebted to the Revolution for the immense 
 collection, as it was then the various treasures distributed 
 throughout royal palaces, churches, and suppressed monasteries 
 were collected and centralized here. The valuable art treasures 
 are being constantly added to, for nearly every art lover be- 
 queaths his treasures to the Louvre, which is undoubtedly the 
 most extensive and valuable collection on the Continent. 
 
 When tired of sculpture and painting — for, however beautiful, 
 there is nothing more wearying — we go out and wander through 
 the gardens, said to be the especial paradise for children, and 
 surely they are lovely and delightful for everybody. 
 
 From these gardens an extensive view is obtained of the Place 
 de la Concorde, the obelisk, the Arc de Triomphe dimly seen 
 through the avenue of trees, the magnificent arch over the main 
 entrance of the Exposition, and the beautiful buildings lining the 
 Seine. I look up at the Louvre, which has echoed to music, 
 laughter, and all that pomp and power could give or bring into 
 their lives of enjoyment, as Avell as treachery and deceit, while 
 memory reverts to the factious wars, the dreadful revolutions, and 
 terror of the rulers, when the mobs Avere victorious, and royalty 
 lay prostrate in the dust, and the vicissitudes of the many rulers, 
 ending in the departure of Eugenie after the battle of Sedan. 
 
252 
 
 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 I think of the time when she left this massive pahice, a wan- 
 derer; and a vision of the small villa I saw near Monaco, emhow- 
 ered in palms and vines, overhanuinti: the ^lediterranean, comes 
 
 ARC DE TRIOMPHE, PARIS. 
 
 to me, and I wonder if she, with her glorious eyes looking sadly 
 over the waters and the smiling hills, ever turns them, yearning 
 and hungering for Paris. 
 
 The busy crowds leave but little time for reflection; and if by 
 chance one is seated for a moment in a chair, a female comes 
 with a rattle of coins and collects a couple of pennies for the 
 privilege, and will usually scowl if you do not add a donation for 
 herself. They are not backward here in asking for their pour- 
 hoire. 
 
 Tipping is not left to one's generosity or judgment; there is a 
 
France. 253 
 
 fixed tariff for hott'ls, rafh, cabs, in fact, at every turn one must 
 be ready with coppers. 1 have been several times in one of the 
 largest V)anking houses in Paris, and when a servant in uniform 
 brought the money I desired, he waited each time to be paid for 
 carrying it from one room to another. At the hotels one is usu- 
 ally informed as to the amount to be given each servant. Often 
 they need it badly, for while the hotels charge up to and often 
 beyond the line of endurance, they expect the guests to pay their 
 servants. One waiter told me his master paid him twenty francs 
 per month, or four dollars in our money, yet he must always wear 
 the regulation dress suit and immaculate linen. Housemaids 
 are paid in proportion, yet always look neat. How it is man- 
 aged is a mystery. 
 
 Yet a rigid economy in every detail accomplishes much. I 
 learn that the waiters in cafes and hotels are entitled to the bits 
 of meat left on the plates of guests. These pieces are collected 
 and sold to smaller places, where they are arranged in a tasteful 
 manner, and resold to customers who buy food ready cooked. 
 A student told us that when he first came to Paris he stopped 
 with a French family, that he might learn the language quickly, 
 but he could not endure their methods. The husband and wife 
 divided one egg between them and would take the bones from his 
 plate and eat the bits he had left, even while he was at the table. 
 Ingersoll once said, "Give me a country where the rich are ex- 
 travagant and the poor are economical." France is the ideal 
 country in this respect, I think. 
 
 We have made several excursions from the city while waiting 
 for the Exposition to be in shape for enjoyment. We have seen 
 Malmaison, where Josephine resided after her divorce, and where 
 she died five years later. The place is wonderfully beautiful, 
 but nature had no balm for her wounds. I wondered if Napoleon 
 enjoyed this retreat after Waterloo! Even if so, the Prussians 
 caused a change, for he quitted the place at their approach. In 
 the small town of Renil is a little church where rests the Em- 
 press Josephine and her daughter, Queen Hortense. We see, 
 too, the ponderous machinery which sends the water to St. Cloud 
 and Versailles for their beautiful fountains. The picturesque 
 aqueduct on the hill above Marley, looking like the old Roman 
 lines, was constructed under Louis XIV., to convey the water 
 now raised by the hydraulic machine below to Versailles. 
 
254 A Woman's Wandkrixgs. 
 
 We drove through the park and woods of >:?au Germain, once 
 the favorite residence of the early kings of France. It is charm- 
 ing and attractive enough to please even the most unappreciative. 
 Louis XIV. was born here, and here the exiled King James II. 
 died. The Forest of San Germain, consisting of about eleven 
 thousand acres, is beautifully situated above the Seine, whose 
 tortuous windings may be traced as it flows through Paris, twelve 
 miles distant. From the terrace above the river one has magnifi- 
 cent views of the valley, the densely populated villages on the 
 river, the forests, and well-tilled fields. In the woods the ground 
 was carpeted with flowers, and the sun shone through a green 
 mist of budding leaves and blossoms overhead. 
 
 There was a constant buzz and chuck-chuck of the rushing au- 
 tomobiles, which raise such clouds of dust that people avoid the 
 roads frequented by them. The cyclists are out in full force. 
 One sees very few in Paris, as a special license must be obtained 
 for the city. The bicycle girl does not present the dainty ap- 
 pearance of our girls. They wear sloppy looking bloomers, more 
 often then otherwise low shoes, with something like a yard and a 
 half of shapeless legs, showing straight, calveless, and unbeautiful 
 as an ostrich's; but they enjoy life. 
 
 Every one who can walk, drive, or ride goes out of the city, 
 and enjoys the parks and woods. There is no city in the world 
 that has such facilities for enjoying life as Paris, whether within 
 the city's limits or in the various suburbs. 
 
 Most of the forests of San Germain, as in many other parks, are 
 left in a natural state, only there are paths for pedestrians, and 
 roads for riding and driving. Nature, pure and artless, is found 
 in the miles of forests, parks, and places where the people go. 
 There history, romance, and legend may be found, attractive and 
 instructive, where the wearying cares of life may be cast aside and 
 humanity forget for a day, and l)e glad as are the sweet-voiced 
 birds singing so blithely among the fields and hidden recesses of 
 the woods. 
 
 Expositions are like babies, interesting for a while, but wearying 
 when one has too much of them. I will leave all details of de- 
 scription to those who enjoy it. Having seen several, there is a 
 sameness in the general display of all. I should like to give an 
 idea, but a pen dipped in ink cannot aid. 
 
Fkanck. 255 
 
 Some things here deserve special notice. The gorgeous decora- 
 tions of ])unting and artistic effects for which the French are 
 famous. The vistas are certainly l^eautiful and imposing-looking 
 from the Palace of the Trocadero, the Champ de ISIars and Chateau 
 d'Eau. There are multi-colored kiosks, pavilions, architecture 
 of all nations — waving flags and striking effects in color scheme. 
 Of mural paintings, the frescoes and allegorical designs are be- 
 yond anything I saw at Chicago. The Hotel des Invalides at the 
 end of the esplanade, wherein is the tomb of Napoleon, the Champs 
 Ely see, the Seine in curves with its magnificent bridges — make 
 up a total that is worth much to see. Still there is nothing here 
 that equals the great Court of Honor at Chicago. In some of the 
 ornamental and fairy-like palaces l^ordering the Seine, they equal 
 or excel, but the general effect cannot compare with the White 
 City. The Salon of Honor and Salles des Fetes are the locale of 
 the American electrical exhibits. We were special guests of the 
 United States Commission at the opening exercises of the 
 United States Pavilion. We scarcely realized how many Amer- 
 icans were in Paris until we saw the crowds which charged into 
 the building and filled the whole of the rotunda. From the first 
 gallery we heard the speeches, listened to Sousa's incomparable 
 music and looked down upon a better-dressed and finer-looking 
 crowd of people than I had seen since we left America. The 
 building is fine, but so hemmed in In" others that it makes a 
 poor showing. Italy and little Monaco have Ituildings with 
 ample grounds and show to far greater advantage than do ours. 
 
 Our country is not represented as it should be. There is noth- 
 ing in the United States Ijuilding. It is bare and unattractive. 
 Other countries have their pavilions filled with articles that are 
 worth looking at — worth remembering. Ours is a sort of con- 
 versation hall, nothing more — nothing to attract or arrest the 
 attention of people who are not specially interested. There is 
 nothing that I have discovered here that Americans can look at 
 with pride or pleasure. 
 
 In the Swiss village that has taken over two years to build it is 
 quite different. One falls in love with the people and the coun- 
 try so faithfully represented, and wanders through streets whose 
 houses have been transported from Switzerland. There are real 
 mountains with trees and grassy slopes, waterfalls and quiet 
 
256 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 pools. Goats clamber about. There are stables and stalls, 
 where are kept cows which furnish fresh milk, and cheese- 
 making is shown. In fact, life in all its phases goes on 
 in this small village. The work and various industries of the 
 country may be seen and understood by those not familiar with 
 Swiss methods. Far up on the crags of the mountains were 
 miniature chalets. Near a waterfall I heard again the Alpine 
 horn, and the jodel from an answering peak. It was all real, as 
 when I listened to them last year. No one can visit that village 
 without a desire to see the country from which they come. The 
 very idea is alluring. 
 
 I turn from thoughts of the Exposition to Versailles, which 
 we visited on the first Sunday in May. Anything worth seeing in 
 France must be seen on a Sunday, or not at all. This day is set 
 apart every year as the one gala day when all the fountains play. 
 As it costs ten thousand francs for the grand display, it is worth 
 seeing. We went, of course, to the historical old place that 
 knew the zenith and the decadence of Louis XIV.; saw the grand 
 palace that knew the disreputable Pompadour and Du Barri. 
 The fetes given here were offset in their splendor by the terrors 
 of the vicious Parisian mobs, augmented, influenced, and urged on 
 by the presence of thousands of women. Napoleon and the 
 Bourbons neglected this palace after it was sacked under Louis 
 XVI., and Louis Philippe restored the building. The King of 
 Prussia used this palace as a military hospital, and here he was 
 saluted as German Emperor. After McMahon directed the strug- 
 gle against the outbreak of the Commune, the seat of government 
 was removed to Paris, and this old palace, for some twenty-odd 
 years, has known peaceful, quiet times, after war's fierce strug- 
 gles. 
 
 Happy people wander through those vast historical rooms. The 
 number and immensity of the chambers and galleries try one's 
 endurance, even for a hasty survey. The superbly decorated 
 halls, statues, and paintings are replete with interest. The walls 
 of parti-colored marbles and bronze bas-reliefs are historical and 
 allegorical. The ceilings are by Le Brun. The Gallerie des 
 Batailles, which is 132 yards in length, gives an idea of the mag- 
 nitude of the building. Here are the furniture by Buhl, of gilded 
 bronze and tortoise shell, mural decorations, rich hangings, and 
 carvings of the bed in the room where Louis XIV. died. 
 
France. 257 
 
 The room of tlu' unfortunate Marie Antoinette, from which 
 she rushed in terror when the mob broke into the palace on 
 that memorable night in October in 1789, and the chambers of 
 the gay Du Barri, and the door admitting her to the chamber of 
 Louis XV., were shown us. 
 
 There is something of historical interest attached to every 
 nook and corner of the palace, which, since the sixteenth century, 
 has l)een mixed and intermingled with the history of the French 
 court until the seventies. The history of its foundation, of the 
 lives sacrificed, and fabulous sums expended in building the pal- 
 ace and laying out the grounds, is like a story of the Arabian 
 Nights. The place is charming and fairy-like. 
 
 Even now the gardens are a delight to all lovers of nature, 
 though nature in them was subjected to laws of symmetry, geo- 
 metrical rules, and architectural designs. From them the palace 
 is seen to good advantage. The facade, which is over a quarter 
 of a mile in length, is grand in its immensity. 
 
 At the extreme end of the park is the Grand Trianon erected 
 for Madame de Maintenon by Louis XIV., a one-story villa in 
 the midst of lovely grounds. When it was finished, Louis told 
 his fair one that he had created a paradise for her, and asked if 
 there was any one thing lacking she could suggest. She, think- 
 ing it impossible, said a sleigh ride under the green trees and 
 swaying vines was the only thing lacking. The impossible to 
 her was possible to her admirer, for, on the following day, she 
 had her sleigh ride over miles of snowy salt and sugar spread on 
 roads that led through green forests. 
 
 ^Vhat recollections come to one while passing from one histori- 
 cal room to another. In one of the handsomely furnished rooms 
 is a table, which is made of a single piece of oak, and measures 
 nine feet across, which they are very proud of. What was of 
 more importance to me were the exquisite vases of malachite, 
 and Sevres porcelain, and state carriages used by Napoleon 
 First at his coronation, and the historical sledges. 
 
 We enjoyed the Petit Trianon, loved by Marie Antoinette. 
 Here were the quaint, lovely old gardens, beautiful trees and 
 lakes, and the small cottages where the court ladies played at 
 peasant life. From these my mind flies to Paris, and the dread- 
 ful guillotine, where poor Marie Antoinette's life ended at the 
 Place de la Concorde. 
 
258 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 We drove through the l)cautiful park until the time came — 
 the crowning feature of the day — when the fountains play. The 
 display lasts for a1)out twenty minutes only. Great crowds come 
 and wander at will, as they are free to all. The effect was the 
 more wonderful for being artificial, and reminded me in a small 
 degree of some of the geysers in Yellowstone Park. Thovisands 
 of people witnessed the gushing, foaming water, which seemed to 
 come from hundreds of unseen sources. 
 
 There were picturesque groupings under the great trees, or 
 loitering and wandering in shaded paths, resting on grassy knolls, 
 enjoying the warm, fragrant, delightful spring da}', which show- 
 ered blossoms from the trees with every gust of wind. 
 
 I have had, with the exception of a few days, nothing but one 
 continual spring since the first of January, when I arrived in 
 Egypt. Buds and blossoms, tender young leaves, grass and grow- 
 ing grain have greeted me everywhere. Yet one never tires of the 
 awakening life that comes with the thrushes and swallows. In 
 Syria, Asia, and Greece it was the same through the weeks and 
 months, until now old mother earth is warming up under the 
 glowing sun in France; and the soft winds — the trumpet of a 
 prophecy — tell that spring has come. 
 
 Paris is as charming as her environs. The streets are incom- 
 parable, as are the parks, gardens, and glittering fountains, the 
 Champs Elysee, and bewildering array of buildings lining the 
 Seine. There are never-ending vistas of river, bridges al)ove 
 the swift water, where countless boats rush and flash by in the 
 sun and under dark arches; there are untold thousands of people 
 who loiter along the boulevards and avenues, who sit at cafes and 
 restaurants, eating and drinking. All sorts of vehicles, horses, 
 and automobiles rush l^y. There is so much to see and enjoy at 
 ever)' turn, that the Exposition is not of great importance to the 
 travelers, though the buildings cannot fail to attract the attention, 
 even if one has not the energy to inspect the inside of them. 
 
 At the Luxembourg the paintings in the galleries were not 
 fascinating to me. "The Reign of Terror" or "Kiss of Judas" 
 was not of much importance either. Outside in the air a dream 
 of perfume kissing my brow was sweeter than ghost-haunted halls. 
 There was calm in the sensuous mystery of the place and the 
 breezes from lilacs and rhododendrons seemed filled with whis- 
 
Fkantk. 259 
 
 peringsof past years of love, of deatli, as tliough perturlx'd spirits 
 were haunting these gardens, the trysting-places of days of yore. 
 
 The Cluny Museum, with its mediceval curiosities and quaint 
 carvings, and the Madehune and Notre Dame churches, have 
 claimed some of our time. 
 
 Once again I stood under the dome in the Hotel des Invalides 
 and saw the blue mist streaming through the stained glass win- 
 dows far above me, and looked down u})on the sarcophagus of 
 Napoleon. I saw the tattered flags and thought of the battle 
 scenes of his conquests; thought of the plains of Moscow, where I 
 wandered last summer; of Austerlitz, Marengo, Egypt, and the 
 Pyramids, and desert sands, and Russia's frozen blasts, which 
 scattered his army like leaves in an autumn storm. I thought, 
 too, how this man pushed from his heart the only woman who 
 ever loved him, to aid him in his ambition — of his methods and 
 vicious disposition, his warring instincts, which left the bodies of 
 Frenchmen rotting over half the world. Great in many ways, 
 yet, with all, he stooped to the common level and declared that 
 all calamities and contentions were due to the arts of women. 
 
 He rests by the Seine, but his restless spirit seems to pervade 
 the multitude. A mad ambition possesses these boastful people. 
 The future will tell whether it will be augmented and maintained. 
 My prophecy will be that they will have but little pity from the 
 world when they are binding their sheaves of regret. In the gal- 
 leries here and at Versailles the people crowd around pictures of 
 battles, of conquests depicting the struggles in Europe and from 
 China to Mexico where Frenchmen have fought and stained the 
 earth with their blood. Nowhere have I seen any reminder of 
 Leipsic or Waterloo to indicate to these people what might be in 
 store for them. Pride is a fearsome thing. It is even now 
 drowning sense and discretion. Another disaster fully as bitter 
 as the lesson the Germans gave may await these people. As they 
 sow, so let them reap. 
 
 These people are erratic; it is a country of pertur))ed Ijrains; a 
 soiiffle atmosphere pervades the masses. The people, vain and 
 selfish, rate their customs, country, and language as jwr excel- 
 lence. Anything outside their l)orders is not to the ordinary 
 Frenchman worthy a thought. They are not aware that it is a 
 country of farces. The niceties of conventional forms are rigidly 
 
260 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 observed; they are exacting in matters of honor; they will fight 
 duels, not to the death, but at the point of a sterilized sword. If 
 only a drop of blood is drawn, rules have been followed, though 
 honor and sword are alike usually untarnished. As a rule, they 
 enjoy life, and are not given to the hurry and go-ahead we are 
 accustomed to. The fire department rush to fires in automo- 
 biles; the undertakers solicit orders in the same swift way. A 
 fire or prospect of a funeral are about the only things which 
 seem to demand a rushing business. 
 
 We have seen " Salambo " at the Grand Opera House. The 
 immense building covers over three acres of ground. The in- 
 terior is beautiful, the decorations elegant and harmonious, but 
 the boxes are badly arranged and the ventilation bad. The long 
 waits between acts, when the people leave their seats to prom- 
 enade in the halls, foyer, balconies, and stairways, breathing 
 fresh air, are restful. 
 
 There is one charming custom here. Women leave their seats 
 and go out in the halls, resting and chatting with their escorts. 
 If liquid refreshments are needed, the women share in the 
 pleasure. No man ever excuses himself to go out and " see an- 
 other man " in France. In all the theaters refreshments are 
 served in the buildings. In some there are large halls where 
 bands play between acts, while the people promenade or sit at 
 tables, eating, drinking, and watching the promenaders. 
 
 Among them one sees a goodly number of women dressed in 
 all the gorgeousness of the lilies of the field which Solomon could 
 not imitate. These sirens, who rigidly follow the rule which 
 enables them to perceive morality and virtue, and how to avoid 
 the same, understand fully the arts of dress, and make beautiful 
 pictures dressed in the latest dreams the best houses of Paris can 
 furnish. Young and beautiful, they flit through the best thea- 
 ters, like veritable butterflies. That the slums and morgue lie 
 further on does not worry these fairy-like creatures. They have 
 their l)rief hour and apparently enjoy their chosen paths. 
 
 From the top of the Eiffel Tower, one thousand feet alcove the 
 city, we gazed down as one looks upon a map. The streets seemed 
 mere threads, and the houses small and toy-like, accentuated by 
 tnll towers looking like exclamation points through the dense 
 city. A grand panorama of country, green and beautiful, showed 
 
France. 2CA 
 
 a splendid liackground on every side, the Seine curving like some 
 great, glistening serpent through it. Comparatively few of the 
 thousands who daily come to admire this wonderful structure 
 make the ascent, but while it almost takes one's In-catli away, it 
 is worth it. 
 
 We have seen the vast concourse of people who attend the 
 races, where the horses run on the greensward as they do in 
 England. Here the gay life of the Parisians, their moods and 
 manner of enjoying themselves, can be observed and appreciated. 
 Among the crowd of beautifully dressed women one can distin- 
 guish the '' models " which the best houses dress up and send out 
 as an advertisement. That many of the "creations" are more 
 fit for receptions and evening wear does not count. It is the 
 proper thing to do, and is a very attractive mode of advertising. 
 
 We have seen for the last time some of our favorite paintings 
 and pieces of sculpture, the Venus of Milo and others that appeal 
 to one. Letting the trivial and insignificant go, it is good to 
 revel in the land of art, of harmony, forgetful of the meagerness 
 of wisdom and poverty of soul and jarring discords one encoun- 
 ters in the active life of the outside world. Beautiful recollec- 
 tions will remain of paintings on the walls of the Louvre, where 
 life seemed a poem, with rhythm and meter perfect. In the world 
 of paintings it is so easy to remember the Ijeautiful and tender, 
 restful things, just as it is in the world one can find much of good 
 and much of evil. It is according to the seeker. 
 
 We have wandered through the dim aisles of Pere Le Chaise 
 Cemeterey and have seen the tomb of Abelard and Heloise. 
 After life's sorrows, they rest side by side, under the green canopy 
 of waving trees. Flowers are blooming, carefully watched and 
 guarded. The warm atmosphere seemed to breathe of love. It 
 seemed a fitting place, and more desirable than the vaults in the 
 gloomy Pantheon, where rest Mirabeau, Voltaire, Rousseau, and 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 In the warm light of the evening's sun we go from the ceme- 
 tery, pause upon the banks of the Seine, and Hsten to the bells 
 from the towers of Notre Dame, ringing out clear and melodious. 
 Sorrowing tones strike the heart; others with a touch of gladness, 
 too; tones that give strength and assurance, reaching down into 
 the desolate chambers of that horror, under the shadow of the 
 
262 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 great spire — the Morgue — where so many, many are taken 
 dripping from the river, to lie, with set, open eyes, while the pres- 
 sing, unsavory, curious crowd push and thrust each other aside 
 through days and nights to gaze on the gruesome forms who are 
 waiting, waiting through clamorous days and noisy nights for 
 some one to claim, to take them out of that dreadful place and 
 hide the poor blotched faces from the rabble. Poor indeed are 
 the dead who after days find no tender recognition from friends 
 or relations to take them to a quiet spot to rest after life's fierce 
 struggle. But whether the lone grave or public ditch, this city is 
 not disturbed. The same scenes are enacted year by year. The 
 bells ring on — and we, too, go on. 
 
 But the days go by, and we take our last look at the Exposi- 
 tion by day, and at night also. We see the Place de la Concorde, 
 and Champs Ely see, which look like fairyland, with the myriads 
 of colored lights glowing amid the foliage, or in festoons from 
 tree to tree. There are kiosks, ca/e.s, and beautiful buildings. 
 We go through the streets, some brilliant with life and lights, an 
 animated mass of humanity, each living his little comedy or 
 tragedy of life. 
 
 Up at Montemarte, I saw the great arms of the Moulin Rouge, 
 turning and throwing crimson flashes of light, which pierced the 
 gloom of the streets, beckoning and inviting the passer-by into 
 the sin-haunted halls. It sends one adrift upon the vast sea of 
 thought, which is saddening, for the conviction comes over one 
 that vice flourishes in there, while virtue starves in the alle3^s 
 within its sight and hearing. 
 
 A little trip down the river, and one more glance at the life in 
 the country. We hear the music of the larks; look upon old 
 walls covered with mosses and trailing vines; see the flood of 
 sunshine inundating the land; see the horses go slowly along 
 under the great trees lining the roads, where bees and insects 
 hum among the fragrant blossoms. The washerwomen are busy 
 by the running streams. Youths and maidens are loitering 
 along quiet paths. Up in the azure sky are some circling swal- 
 lows. A little child, laughing, holds up her tiny hands, entreat- 
 ing them to come to her. A flash of Avings, and they are off and 
 lost in the mists of the setting sun. It is our last day, and we, 
 too, like the birds, are ready to sail westward to home and 
 
England Once More. 263 
 
 friends. May our ship sail peacefully over sun-kissed seas to 
 our own fair land, and we, like the birds, find rest after our 
 travels are ended. 
 
 My hushand had come to France to escort me liome. After 
 wandering for over a year, it Avas strange, but comforting, to have 
 one to take the burden of travel from me, which we shifted, 
 eagerly, gladly, to him. 
 
 ENGLAND ONCE MORE. 
 
 It scarcely seemed like our own language, the Queen's English, 
 that greeted our ears when we arrived in England from France. 
 I had traveled so long among foreign people, hearing strange 
 languages, that it was like a dear, familiar friend seen after years 
 of absence, the same, yet not entirely so; there was such a misfit 
 of h's, the " 'otels," " 'ansoms," and "homnibuses" upon which 
 we clambered up the spiral staircases to the " houtside " because 
 we could see so much better than on the "hinside"; this was 
 not strictly according to our mode of traveling at home, but we 
 were still on the farther side of the Atlantic, and conventionali- 
 ties, rules, and social forms must await our home-coming. 
 
 I thoroughly enjoyed the omnibus rides in London, as one 
 could see better than when in a carriage or hansom cab. It was 
 comforting to read the names in good plain English, especially 
 streets one has known from our earliest recollections. There 
 was a fascination in them, the names recalling forgotten hours 
 spent with Dickens, — hours of reading through a blurred vision, 
 scenes which now rise before me, realistic and enduring, for Lon- 
 don streets and names are not subject to varying moods; they 
 are sure and steadfast. Bayswater Road, Oxford, Holborn. Cheap- 
 side, Bishopsgate streets were all seen once more. 
 
 The parks and gardens were looking superb. We took long 
 trips in the country, now at its best, for June is at hand, and the 
 fields in England can scarcely be equaled, as they were one 
 mass of bloom and tender verdure, sweet and fresh with frequent 
 showers, sparkling under the sun's warm rays. There are such 
 
264 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 beautiful effects in the low-lying, well modulated hills enveloped 
 in a soft blue haze, and valk\ys and bosky-places, with cluster- 
 ing trees which encircle the castle of some titled person, or per- 
 haps one of the dear old red farm-houses one often sees almost 
 smothered in its dark and light patches of green foliage. There 
 are gables and chimney-tops of castles or abbeys which add to 
 the landscape, and leave an ineffable impression upon me. In 
 whatever direction one may glance, history adds to the charm — 
 touching, emphasizing, and refining. The hand of time has 
 added to the historical value of this old country, upon which one 
 loves to look and revel in with a peculiar tenderness. It is like 
 an exquisitely modulated poem, rhythm and meter perfect; no 
 startling effects, but a country of irresistible charm. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 And now the weather-vane of my life has ceased its shifting 
 moods. It points straight toward the sunset route, and the wind 
 blows strong and fresh, for we have left England, embarking at 
 Liverpool. We are on the great, stanch ship Oceanic, and are 
 speeding toward the New and away from the Old World. 
 
 The voyage on this, the largest of all ocean steamers, was de- 
 lightful. While the Oceanic is a larger boat than the St. Paul, 
 it is not any more comfortable or luxuriantly furnished. There 
 is not the social life on these large steamers that is found on 
 smaller vessels. There are roomy decks, cozy nooks, immense 
 libraries, where people sit, read, write, or play games. There are 
 music and dancing in the evenings, concerts and varied enter- 
 tainments to while away the time, as the great ocean greyhound 
 plowed through the sparkling waters. The passengers were 
 animated, and a different expression was on the faces of most of 
 the people from that I noticed on the outward journey. This 
 was the home-coming for the greater portion of the passengers, 
 and satisfaction showed on their countenances. There was no 
 rough weather at all, and the time passed rapidly, for we made 
 the three thousand miles in less than six days. 
 
HoMKWAiU) Bound. 265 
 
 How can I descril)e the joy that filled mj' heart when the 
 shores of my own country first greeted my eyes through the gray 
 atmosphere of the sea, or what emotions took possession of me 
 while sailing up the stream. I saw the grand Statue of Liberty, 
 the great city, and thousands of flags waving in the fresh morn- 
 ing's breeze. No one who has not wandered away from home and 
 friends can understand the pleasure of being once more among 
 their own. I simply drank deep breaths of calm, sweet, glad- 
 ness, and gazed about me so eagerly that my "seeing machinery'' 
 was out of order and needed a rest. I was trying to see every- 
 thing at once, and was in danger of having curvature of vision, 
 and a chance of never having a good, straight stare again. 
 
 Almost as good as being under the flag of freedom was the joy 
 of being once more in a car, where everything necessary for con- 
 venience and comfort were around me. I could almost have 
 fallen on the neck of the colored porter, and wept with delight at 
 having one at hand to meet my every demand, to arrange for 
 comfort and rest, for the journey of three thousand miles west- 
 ward was to be a poem, as every shining, glinting, steel-threaded 
 mile was over a land rich and prosperous. 
 
 Often as I have made the journey from ocean to ocean, I never 
 before fviUy realized the vast extent, the beauty, and greatness of 
 this, my native land, as we passed from the more densely popu- 
 lated Eastern States to the well-tilled prairie lands of the Middle 
 West. What is language to the deaf mute, or the glorious sun- 
 shine or pale moonbeams to the blind? Every state is a gem in 
 color-scheme and variety, every mile of plain or cloud-wreathed 
 peak needs pages of description, so it is useless for me to try to 
 make any one who has not seen comprehend its glories. But the 
 wheels whirr and rush me on to the great deserts, where the 
 winds, strong from the alkaline plains, come hot and unpleasant. 
 
 Across the Humboldt, with its miles of sagebrush stretching 
 to bare, bleak hills, and that Salt Sea, lying quiet and as death- 
 like as that other sea over against the Moab Mountains. A little 
 farther, and the Sierras show white and fair. The sound of many 
 waters come to my ears as we climbed the eastern ridges. Then 
 the loved Sierra's crest is reached. The l)lood rushes through 
 my veins and the heart is glad. My eyes ache with the strained 
 effort to encompass the whole beautiful laml, my land! that is 
 
266 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 fragrant with odors of spruce and pine, wafted down to the 
 clover fields, where butterflies dance and bees drone, while birds 
 sing among the flower-laden boughs of the orange groves. 
 
 From the Sierra's slopes I gaze upon boundless verdant plains. 
 I see the dim coast-line, where breaks the foamy brine of the fair 
 Pacific, which sings upon the golden shores through days and 
 swooning, balmy nights of an eternal summer. 
 
 I see a land where are fruits and flowers, luscious, fragrant, and 
 sweet as Eden's best, a land where the sun loves to linger, and 
 where the warm, rich glow steals into the heart, making existence 
 — here where the winds chant melodies glorious and grand — 
 
 " Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, 
 Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give." 
 
 The winds touch my brow softly, like a benediction, blessing the 
 wanderer, and while the head and knees are bent the heart sends 
 forth a voiceless prayer of thanks, for California the beautiful is 
 mine once more. 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 My wanderings are ended. For nearly a year and a half I 
 traveled, a stranger in strange lands. There were pains and dep- 
 rivations which are already slipping away from my mind, for 
 the satisfaction derived from visiting foreign countries more than 
 compensates for all inconveniences endured. 
 
 In travel there is much learning, as the world in which we 
 move gives us scant time for living the lives nearly all of us de- 
 sire. Environs fret and disturb us. The joy of being able for a 
 time to change the routine, and let life break out in ripples pleas- 
 ing, helpful, and healthful before the dull quiet of age or death 
 claims us, is worth a great deal to any one. Many at times when 
 not in harmony with their environments have felt the sense, at 
 least, of the following: — 
 
 " O God, I 'd rather be 
 
 A pagan, cradled in a creed outworn, 
 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
 
 Have glimpses of that which would make me less forlorn, 
 Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea, 
 
 Or hear old Triton blow liis many- wreathed horn." 
 
Retrospection. 267 
 
 Often my heart hungered for home and familiar scenes — for 
 rememliered mountain retreats, where tessellated shadows of vines 
 lay upon the ground, and the pine boughs sighed in the breeze, 
 and for the valleys where wandering winds caught the faint 
 sweetness from the tremulous, fluttering fields of mustard blooms. 
 The beauty and sweetness, the fragrance, of thousands of wild 
 flowers, accentuated by the odors from the magnolia, lemon, and 
 orange groves, and the great fields of alfalfa, where the bees stag- 
 gered with their delicious cargoes of hone}^ until, drunken with 
 delight, they hummed themselves to sleep amid the waxy blossoms 
 of the loquat trees. The leagues and leagues of poppies that 
 paved the plains with gold until they were spilt into the Pacific's 
 laughing waves. All these came to me when far away like faint 
 sweet music — an echo — a breath from paradise, and were over- 
 whelming and overpowering. 
 
 There were moments when I wondered if it was worth the time 
 and trouble wandering alone among strangers, but the satisfaction 
 that was mine when the home-hurts died away made me brave. 
 
 The marvels that greeted me, the picturesque beauty of strange 
 lands, the memory of moon-tranced nights and sunlit days, the 
 matchless Mediterranean, the ^Egean seas and Grecian isles; 
 Egypt, and the sad, softened, reverences of sacred spots in Jeru- 
 salem and the Holy Land, will ever be glowing lamps in mem- 
 ory's chambers. 
 
 Scenes come to me from the far Norseland; I see the glaciers, 
 torrents, and snow-fields, where herds of reindeer are silhouetted 
 against the shining peaks. A vision of lonely, cringing wolves 
 gliding like evil spirits over the Russian steppes, and the wail of 
 the jackal comes to me from the Judean Hills, weird and fear- 
 some, as I heard it in the gloom of night as we slowly toiled 
 along the road to Jericho. The ripple of the river Jordan losing 
 itself in that sea whose waters are symbolical of death. 
 
 I revel in the pastoral beauties of England and Ireland, and 
 hear the bagpipes in the Trosachs, or nod in mind with the 
 storks in quaint old Holland. The incomparable beauty of the 
 fiords, the sublime mountains, and faint, thrilling music of the 
 Alpine horns come to me like visions not altogether of the earth, 
 that touch my heart, and are sweet in the recalling. 
 
 In no country visited was I disappointed. Humble, common- 
 
268 A Woman's \\'andp:rings. 
 
 place, or sublime, there was charming variety everywhere. Then 
 there was the joy of freedom from cares and exactions of society's 
 rules. Simply doing what pleased me, going whither I desired, 
 asking nothing, expecting nothing, except seeing and enjoying. 
 
 I have stood in temples which date back to a past so remote 
 that the mind fails to grasp, with feelings which could not be 
 analyzed; have mused on the l)anks of tliat mysterious, old 
 river Nile, where the baby Moses was found in the rushes; 
 thinking of the boy, then the man who led the Israelites in their 
 wanderings for forty years. I dream of the Rameses, the plagues, 
 Pharaoh, and the Red Sea. I call up scene after scene, and 
 images come to me. Again I stand in the presence of the 
 Sphinx, and see — 
 
 " Where the afternoon's opaline tremors 
 O'er the quivering mountains play." 
 
 My pictures are animated, rich, solemn, grand, and gorgeous; 
 they are quiet, too, and restful, and framed for me alone; some 
 faint and shadowy, others stand out in bold relief. 
 
 Of all the mind loves most to linger on that is sweet with the 
 recalling, none are dearer than pictures of Venice. I lean from 
 my windows upon the Riva and see the long black gondolas with 
 odd-shaped prows reared above the placid waters, skimming 
 swan-like across the Grand Canal. I dream hours away in those 
 same boats, out on the lagoons, or peer curiously at palaces, 
 weather-stained, blotched, and broken with damp and mold, as 
 we glide around corners and through narrow canals, or out on the 
 sea, quivering and sparkling with an infinite variety of shades. 
 Strange mystery of waters! There is a fascination that appeals, 
 that endears, one to Venice that is inexplicable, unaccountable; 
 one loves the place without knowing why. Again the vision of 
 San Giorgio Maggiore gleams like a lovely pink cameo in its set- 
 ting of pale green waters, subdued and softened in the tender 
 mixture of colors which makes the old city charming. Pale 
 pinks and greens mistily blended enwrap the old buildings in a 
 shimmer of haze that covers with a fairy-like veil places that 
 otherwise might seem obstrusive or harsh. It is the gray bloom 
 of age tinged with a suspicion of rose — a little warmth infused 
 into the lethargy that has possession of this sleepy, drowsy old 
 Queen of the Adriatic — that takes control of most, I fancy, 
 
Retrospection. 
 
 209 
 
 who have vit^ited Venice; a tJomething which has enthralled me, 
 sweet in the recalling, like the faint far-off ctlu) of bird-notes 
 coming soft and tender from unseen places, or a ciiance wind 
 that brings a perfume which calls up days spent in a tangle of 
 bloom, but whose hours are fixed in the heart like unchanging 
 stars, and are like sunbeams tangled in a mist of rain clouds. 
 And, too> are sweet as God's own harmony from out the fragrant 
 woods, that comes from the whispering winds and murmuring 
 waters, that is known and felt in the ebbing and flowing of the 
 immense Sea of Thought, making it restful, soothing, and helpful. 
 So do memories of places come back, for in spirit I shall ever 
 
 iBKAHEM, MY DRAGOMAN*. 
 
270 A Woman's Wanderings. 
 
 revisit lands my eager, willing feet once trod. Surely it is worth 
 something to have wandered in lands where the world's greatest 
 have lived and left their traces. The sound, ripe fruit of con- 
 tentment is mine- — for traveling has ever been more than any- 
 thing else — a passion so great that it seems to me life l)eyond 
 the grave will not be full or complete unless it be that Eternity 
 means wandering from one fair world to another. Yet hopeful 
 and trustful that all will be well, I say reverently, with the poor 
 Arab, ""God is good; he understands." 
 
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 Dr. David Starr Jordan 
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 Comedy from the standpoint ot a lover of Dante. It does not assume 
 independent translations of "The Immortal Poem," but draws from the 
 highest authorities, and gives a rich collection of the estimates of distin- 
 guished poets, commentators and essayists. It must serve a purpose of 
 introducing the Great Poet to young readers, and of inspiring a closer sym- 
 patti}' with those students who have already begun to know him. 
 
 The work opens with an "Introduction," which fully explains the 
 purpose of the writer. Part First is about Florence, the home of Dante, 
 where the author wrote much of her book. Part Two treats of what Dante 
 named his "New Life." 
 
 Then The Divine Comedy, with its three grand majestic stages of 
 Dante's journey, comes in review, and the last chapters give incidents of 
 the intense and growing interest for everything Dantean in his own 
 "Beloved Florence" (as he called it) and tliroughout the wide world. 
 
 Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00 
 
 Missions of Nueva California 
 
 C. F. Carter 
 
 In the "Missions of Nueva California," the author is thoroughly in 
 sympathy with his subject. One marvels, on casually glancing over its 
 pages, at the mass of information packed in the volume, and on deeper 
 reading the laborious research of the author, evident everywhere, shows 
 that his has been a labor of love. The romance of the Missions is inter- 
 estingly and absorbingly interwoven with the matter-of-fact. Every his- 
 torical event connected with the early history of California radiates from 
 the Missions, and in this volume that historv is given in a nutshell. The 
 motives of Spain in the settlement of Nueva California; the struggles of 
 the Padres, leading up to the liigh tide of prosperity of the Missions ; the 
 Indians, — their moral, mental, and physical condition from their first con- 
 tact with the Padres ; the Mexican in California, — his social and political 
 status, his thriftlessness and picturesqueness, his pastimes, follies, virtues, 
 and vices ; the Missions themselves, — how the author loves to dwell on 
 the minutest detail connected with them ; the Mission buildings, — there 
 is not a tile or lintel connected with them that is not sacred to him, and 
 the proximity of commercialism to their ruins is to him like the "abomi- 
 nation of desolation" to the Jew. For an appreciation of the work of the 
 Mission Padres, for infinite detail connected with the Missions as they 
 were in their prime, down to the condition of their decaying ruins to-day, 
 no work hitherto published equals the "Missions of Nueva California." 
 Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.50 
 
RARK BOOK 
 COLLKCTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THK 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Travel 
 
 D975 
 
 .B39