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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/argonautlettersOOhartrich 
 
Argonaut Letters 
 
Argonaut Letters 
 
 — BY— 
 
 JEROME A. HART 
 
 A COLLECTION OF GOSSIPY SKETCHES WRITTEN 
 
 FROM ABROAD IN THE SPRING AND 
 
 SUMMER OF 1900 
 
 ''Argonaut Letters " makes a volume of about ^ 00 pages, handsomely 
 printed in large type, on heavy paper, T/iere are over 60 
 illustrations from photographs. T/u book is richly bound 
 ivith a unique cover design by L. M. Upton. As the 
 volume is printed only in response to requests for these letters 
 in permanent form, the edition is a limited one. No plates 
 have been made. It is printed from new type and the type 
 distributed. Those desiring it should tlierefore order at once. 
 
 Orders received by mail or telephone. Address 
 
 THE ARGONAUT PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 246 Sutter St., San Francisco 
 
 Telephone James 2531 
 
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TABLE OF CONTENTS, 
 
 I. — Crossing the Pond — Islands in Mid- 
 Atlantic— Sunset on the Azores — The kind of 
 people one meets in traveling — The London 
 'Arry— Seasick men in yachting caps — The Little 
 German Band— A parsimonious steamship com- 
 pany — A petty swindle — Musical scullions. 
 
 II. — Gibraltar — Her marine pageant 
 compared with New York's— Curious names for 
 streets — The moonlit Alameda gardens — Tommy 
 Atkins in his variety — A queer mistake— Gibraltar 
 as a dump. 
 
 III. — Around the Mediterranean — 
 
 From Gibraltar to Genoa — Majorca, General 
 Weyler's home — The Mediterranean not a 
 " placid summer sea " — The stormy Gulf of Lyons 
 — A Riviera panorama — Monte Carlo seen from 
 the sea— Villafranca and Vintimiglia — Why Queen 
 Victoria did not go to San Remo— Genoa La Su- 
 perba — The Molo Nuovo — The extraordinary 
 Campo Santo — Tombs curious and grotesque — 
 Venetian lace in marble— Plump and giddy angels 
 — Modern Italian art — From Genoa to Alexan- 
 dria — Passing Corsica and Elba — Napoleon's one 
 hundred days — The Straits of Messina — Vesuvius, 
 Stromboli, and ^tna— The panorama of the 
 Calabrian and Sicilian shores— The city of 
 Messina — The island of Crete — Landing at Alex- 
 andria — The delta of the Nile— The pilot in his 
 felucca — The Alexandrian boatmen — The City of 
 Hypatia. 
 
 IV. — A Glimpse of Egypt — The rail 
 from Alexandria to Cairo — The mild-eyed fellaheen 
 — Water-storage schemes — Primitive pumping 
 works — The Nile as a civilizer — Mena House 
 —Riding, driving, shooting, and golf around the 
 Pyramids— The Arab guides— The Sheik of the 
 Pyramids — The Arab's backsheesh tariff— A great 
 Mohammedan university — The Mosque of El- 
 Azhar — Feeding the fires of fanaticism — Hated 
 Christians— Studying the Koran— Students of all 
 ages — From India, Persia, Turkey, Morocco, 
 Java, and all Islam — The earnestness of Moham- 
 medanism—Occidental and Oriental methods con- 
 trasted — The petticoated Oriental— Mohammedan 
 buj-s playing foot-ball— Cairo caf^ idlers— Sleeping 
 in the streets — The crooked stick plow, the sickle 
 and scythe— New and old Egypt on the Nile 
 bridge— The citadel at Cairo— Emin Bey's wild 
 leap — The massacre of the Mameluke Beys — 
 "Joseph's Well" in old Cairo — Old Coptic 
 church— Did the Caliph Omar burn the Alex- 
 andrian Library ?— The season in Egypt short— 
 The life of lies in Egypt long. 
 
 V. — Alexandria to Naples — Queer 
 
 passenger list — Types of Bunthorne and Joe 
 Sedley — German brides and grooms — Harem 
 ladies— Russian and Italian titles— Napoleon III. 
 and the Cross of the Legion of Honor — "The 
 April of Life" — Europe's Arctic spring— Furs 
 with Easter bonnets — " Sunny " Italy — Cali- 
 fornia's weather compared — Princes exiled by 
 climate — Weather-bound royalty — Race-meeting 
 at Naples — Parade of four-in-hands — Naples 
 newspapers — Political rows — The Prince and 
 Princess of Naples— The royal palace— Tips. 
 
 VI. — Pompeii — A new house there — In- 
 crease in number of tourists — Luncheon at Villa 
 Diom^de — The Cavalleria Rusticana — American 
 music at Pompeii — Vociferous Teutonic trav- 
 elers. 
 
 VII. — A Roman Garden- Party — The 
 
 wisdom of consulting the newspapers — A Charity 
 Kermess on the Pincian Hill — Queen Margherita's 
 appearance — Drives in state — Scarlet liveries — 
 The queen's pearls — Her taste for music and 
 letters — Royal residences — King Humbert and 
 Pope Leo — United Italy not united— A religious 
 riot on the Corso. 
 
 VIII. — Arms and the Man — Brilliant 
 
 military drones — Uniforms worn everywhere — 
 Officers live in caf^s — What Italy pays for brass 
 buttons — She groans under militarism — Her 
 heavy taxes — Italy compared to California — 
 Fear of conscription — The emigration enormous. 
 
 IX. — A Roman Race-Course — Patri- 
 
 cian and plebeians at the races — Prizes, betting, 
 and admission tariff — No bookmakers — The re- 
 served Tribune — The Roman populace — Cham- 
 pagne and Chianti — The king comes to see the 
 " Royal Derby " — The drive by the Appian Way. 
 
 X. — The Grave of Romulus — Birthday 
 
 celebration in the Forum — Humbert and Leo as 
 rival stars — Pagan Rome vs. Christian Rome — 
 Margherita's enthusiasm — Archaeological re- 
 searches costly — Baedeker maidens give the Cha- 
 tauqua salute. 
 
 XL — Modern Pilgrims — Guide - book 
 
 pilgrims and prayer-book pilgrims — Baedekerites, 
 old ladies, and girly - girls — Tourists, young, 
 elderly, and old — Lecturers and German tourists 
 — Pilgrims in droves — Pilgrims in the galleries — 
 Queer things that happen to pilgrims — The re- 
 publicanism of soap — Pilgrims jammed in 
 trams. 
 
XII. — A Volcano's Thunder — Tourists 
 
 flock to Naples — A spectacular eruption — The 
 drive from Naples to Pompeii — Road to the 
 volcano closed — Newspaper fakes arouse indig- 
 nant officials — A royal review of troops — Naval 
 parade—A natural amphitheatre — Salute from the 
 fleet — Salute from the volcano. 
 
 XIII. — New Things in Old Rome — 
 
 An outdoor festival in Villa Borghese — A beau- 
 tiful old garden — Wild flowers and grass-grown 
 hills — Mutilated statues and gray ruins — Bread 
 and circuses — Hurdle races and automobiles — 
 Four-in-hand driving contest — California stage- 
 driving — Willie Whiffietree on form-driving. 
 
 XIV. — Making Saints at St. Peter's 
 
 — The Basilica illuminated — No steeple-jacks for 
 St. Peter's — The ceremony of canonization — 
 Tickets of admission — "Gratis" at twenty francs 
 — The wild mob of pilgrims — Many accidents — 
 The Sampietrini — Tawdry banners in the church 
 — A revolting spectacle — The squadron of work- 
 men — A light lady buried in St. Peter's — The 
 Golden Rose. 
 
 XV. — The Wheels of the Vatican — 
 
 How the Vatican is run — Its police and its troops 
 — Boundary between Italy and the Vatican — 
 Italian and Papal sentries — The Pope driving 
 seen from St. Peter's dome — His military escort 
 
 — The Vatican army — Ho,w it is composed — 
 The Swiss Guard and the Noble Guard— The 
 Vatican court — Its chamberlains and courtiers — 
 The Vatican gardens — The old gardeners — The 
 Pope's poultry-yard and orchard — Summer-house 
 of the Popes. 
 
 XVI.— S. P. Q. R.— The senate and people 
 of Rome — Rome's board of aldermen — Their 
 street - car lines — Municipal jobbery — Roman 
 street - car franchises — Roman street assessments 
 
 — Roman sidewalks — Enlarging the Roman 
 squares — Changing the grade of Roman streets 
 
 — Constructing Roman sewers — Roman news- 
 papers and their "small ads." — Auction sales — 
 
 — Dead cardinals' libraries — Deceased noble- 
 men's bric-a-brac — Furniture for sale by noble 
 families — Roman posters and placards — Notes 
 on Roman newspapers — Death of a Roman 
 editor — An imposing funeral pageant — A funeral 
 a thousand miles long — The city directory of 
 Rome — Pages for patricians and plebeians — The 
 oddities of the ancient city — Roman artists all 
 dead — Rome's countless fountains — Farewell to 
 the Fountain of Frevi. 
 
 XVII. — Florence — Outdoor sports in the 
 city on the Arno — Pleasure-loving Florentines — 
 Golf links — Tennis and pallone matches — Auto- 
 mobile parade past Savonarola's funeral pyre — 
 The unfinished Strozzi Palace — Carriage parade 
 in the Cascine — Italian golf caddies — Florence 
 
 haunted by art faddists — Botticellian cranks and 
 Fra Angelican freaks — Botticelli's telescopic lady 
 
 — His crooked Venuses — Attacks on famous 
 pictures' pedigrees — Tempests in artistic teapots. 
 
 XVIII. — The Garden of Lombard y — 
 
 The rich valleys of the Po — Italian thrift — 
 Wonders of irrigation — Fine shops and galleries 
 of Milan — The handsome boulevards of Turin — 
 Prosperity of Northern Italy — Its valleys com- 
 pared with California's — From Italy into France — 
 The Mont Cenis Pass — Engineering monuments 
 — Great tunnels and great engineers. 
 
 XIX. — In French Savoy — GazedeCham- 
 
 b^ry — Delights of changing one's itinerary — 
 Advantages of roundabout routes — The longest 
 way around is often the pleasantest — A French 
 provincial city — Its sleepy streets — Its torpid 
 caf6s — Its local great men — Its fire department 
 parade — Its country fair — Its silk shops— No 
 Chamb^ry silk in Chamb^ry shops— The pleas- 
 ant-mannered Savoyards— Surliness of Northern 
 Europeans — Cupid behind a mule tandem — A 
 pair of Savoyard lovers. 
 
 XX. — Paris and Chicago — The two ex- 
 positions compared— Individuality of Chicago — 
 Architecture at the Chicago Fair — The court of 
 honor — Chicago ahead in architecture and man- 
 agement — Paris Exposition architecture tawdry 
 
 — Paris side-shows poor — Boomers' building 
 schemes — Similarity of world's fairs — How to 
 view an exposition — Do expositions educate? — 
 Physical limitations— Time and fatigue— Weary 
 eyes, necks, legs, and brains — Expositions viewed 
 by camera — Theatres and side-shows— Financing 
 of the exposition — Cheap tickets and cheap 
 crowds — Fruitless advertising schemes — Mendi- 
 cancy at the exposition — A mighty beggars' fair. 
 
 XXI. — The Passion Play — What not to 
 
 tell of it— Is it artistic? — Are the tourist audi- 
 ences good critics ?— Can piety replace stage- 
 training ? — Queer tourists — Raw peasants are 
 not good actors — Simple piety replacing stage- 
 training— Profits of pious peasants — An inter- 
 esting evening at the Players' Club— Should an 
 actor feel his part? — Edwin Booth says no— 
 Actors on the actor's art — Can a potter be a 
 player ?— Can a player make pots ? 
 
 XXII. — Of Eating and Drinking — 
 
 American and European hotels and restaurants — 
 The rotisseries of San Francisco — French impress 
 on cookery on the Pacific Coast— Choice wines in 
 San Francisco restaurants— Epicurean anecdot- 
 age — The restaurants of New Orleans — Delica- 
 cies of the Crescent City— Its French restau- 
 rants — Its French quarter — Its new hotels — Bad 
 Traces of French cookery disappearing — Wash- 
 ington City — Its old and new hotels — John 
 Chamberlain's bad cookery — Mid -day din- 
 
Fountain-hasijis overgrown with algcc in Villa Borghese.'' 
 
ners- Florida hotels— Magnificent and bad — 
 Cookery poor and pretentious — Bad service of 
 negroes — Prices compared with European hotels 
 — High prices in Florida — New York's fine hotels 
 — Her excellent restaurants — Fine as any in the 
 world — London's inferior restaurants — Poor 
 service in the modern hotels — Primitive nature of 
 the antediluvian hotels— The lack of ice — Tainted 
 meat and sour milk — Prince's Restaurant— Simp- 
 son's in the Strand — Roast beef of Old England — 
 Caf6s and restaurants of Paris— Hotels grand 
 
 and otherwise— Excellence of the cuisine— High 
 prices — Menus with no prices— Restaurants in the 
 Bois— The Duval bouillons— Table d*h6te estab- I 
 lishments— A dinner on the European plan— ' 
 Compared with the American plan— Fixed price 
 and fixed hour— Caf^s and restaurants in Milan. 
 Florence, Rome, and Naples — Bills of fare and 
 prices in Rome— The hotels of Cairo — Among 
 the best in the world— Shepheards grill-room- 
 Excellence of the chops and steaks — The elab- 
 orate table d'hdte of the Cairo hotels. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 SPRINOFI£l.D, MASS. 
 
 From the Springfield Republican : "'Argonaut 
 Letters,' by Jerome Hart, is made up from letters to 
 ihat excellent San Francisco weekly, the Argonaut, 
 by its editor. Mr. Hart is a versatile and well- 
 informed man, and his letters from abroad, though 
 intended only for newspaper use, and written with 
 no special regard for literary style, being, in fact, 
 often dictated off-hand, are full of things that are 
 well worth preservation. . . . 
 
 " Mr. Hart is a traveler with the journalistic in- 
 stinct. He knows offhand what will bore people, 
 and he spares them long-winded descriptions of 
 things that have already been described to death, 
 and does not take his own personal adventures with 
 the solemnity of an explorer setting off for the 
 heart of Africa. When he sees anything new or 
 amusing he nails it forthwith, and he has a real yfa»r 
 for restaurants and hotels. On art questions he is 
 not so well versed, but he speaks confidently and en- 
 tertainingly for the masses of intelligent people who 
 look at pictures and statues with no training but with 
 the best will in the world. Mr. Hart is a heretic in 
 regard to Botticelli, but it is refreshing to have a 
 traveler speak out his mind courageously instead of 
 assuming an admiration which he does not feel. . . . 
 
 " Like most Californians who travel, Mr. Hart is 
 critical of climates. There are unfortunate countries 
 whose inhabitants can look to Italy as an improve- 
 ment, but California is not one of them. And after 
 seeing all the exhibits that Europe has to offer, he 
 closes rather disdainfully with the remark that ' More 
 and more it becomes apparent to me that the climate 
 of California spoils one for any other in the world.' 
 
 " One of the most interesting chapters is the one 
 dealing with Rome. Passing by the common 
 things, Mr. Hart has brought together a number 
 
 of entertaining odds and ends, such as the most 
 superficial observer can gather if he has a quick eye 
 and a sense of humor. . . . 
 
 " In a supplementary chapter Mr. Hart gives his 
 readers the benefit of his wide knowledge of hotels 
 and restaurants in many cities and lands. New 
 York he thinks, on the whole, unsurpassed if one 
 has the price. Neither London nor Paris has any- 
 thing comparable. The hotels at American sum- 
 mer and winter resorts, on the other hand, he re- 
 gards as high-priced and poor. As for the Florida 
 hotels. ' They are expensive and pretentious.' . . . 
 
 " For Paris Mr. Hart has not ... a high ad- 
 miration. Many of the restaurants are stuffy and 
 unventilated, and all of the kitchens are in the cellar. 
 In London the restaurants are even stuffier and less 
 ventilated, and in many of them the restaurant itself 
 is in the cellar, as well as the kitchen. . . . 
 
 " There are other chapters on Gibraltar, the Med- 
 iterranean, Egypt, Pompeii, Florence, French Savoy, 
 the Paris Exposition, the Passion Play, and Switzer- 
 land, and on each topic Mr. Hart contrives to say 
 something entertaining." . . . 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 
 
 San Francisco Chronicle. — " One of the most 
 readable books of travel that have been issued in 
 many a day is ' Argonaut Letters,' by Jerome 
 Hart. It consists of letters from abroad, written by 
 Mr. Hart to his paper, the Argonaut. They were 
 written, as he says in a brief preface, while on the 
 wing, and though occasionally scrappy they have the 
 great merit of vivid interest and clearness of de- 
 scription. The author made the tour of the Medi- 
 terranean, obtained a glimpse of Egypt, and then 
 spent the remainder of his holiday in Italy. He did 
 not go beyond the beaten track of travel, but as he 
 
is a trained observer he saw many things that im- 
 pressed him, and his comment is well worth read- 
 ing. Especially in Italy the vice of militarism was 
 forced upon him at every hand. . . . 
 
 "There are supplementary chapters, comparing 
 the Chicago and Paris expositions, * Of Eating and 
 Drinking,* ' The Passion Play,' and ' The Thrifty 
 Swiss.' The book is handsomely printed and is 
 illustrated with half-tones of photographs, which are 
 so beautifully executed and so well selected that they 
 lend interest and value to the book. The publishers 
 have given the book so handsome a dress that it is 
 suitable for a holiday gift." 
 
 BAIiTIMORE, MD. 
 
 Baltimore Sun : "The author of these sprightly 
 and entertaining letters is the editor of the San 
 Francisco Argonaut. He traveled extensively in 
 Europe and the Far East, was a keen observer, and 
 wrote a series of letters to the Argonaut, in which 
 he recorded his impressions and experiences. The 
 book differs most agreeably from the stereotyped 
 volume of travels. The author assumes that the 
 reader knows something about European cities, and 
 hence there are no hackneyed and wearisome de- 
 scriptions of places and things with which every in- 
 telligent person should be familiar. The letters are 
 written in an easy, piquant style, are witty and seri- 
 ous by turns, and genuinely interesting throughout. 
 Mr. Hart does not claim any literary quality 
 for them, but even if they are not ' literature,' 
 they are well put together and entertaining, which 
 can not be said of some far more pretentious 
 books of travel. The letters make a volume of five 
 hundred pages, and are printed in large type on 
 heavy paper. The book is profusely illustrated from 
 photographs made by the author." 
 
 SAN LUIS OBISPO, CAL. 
 
 San Luis Obispo Tribune: "Once upon a time, 
 when the world was larger and it was considered 
 something of an achievement to circle it, people 
 listened with patience and sometimes even with in- 
 terest to the tales which the daring adventurer 
 brought back with him. Possibly even then a feel- 
 ing of weariness was occasioned. We know that 
 for some reason it was found necessary to season 
 the dish with a dash of the marvelous and incred- 
 ible. But in these latter days, ' journeyings ' and 
 all that sort of thing are relegated to the heavy end 
 of magazines where the wise and wary ' reader by 
 caption ' can conveniently whisk the pages over and 
 satisfy his conscience with a hasty glance at the 
 illustrations. Now it is quite likely that if our sur- 
 
 feited readers should chance in their prowls through 
 the bookstores to pick up an attractive - looking 
 volume labeled ' Argonaut Letters,' and on opening 
 it should discover that it had to do with travels, he 
 might as usual at once replace it. He would make a 
 bad mistake. Mr. Jerome A. Hart, the editor of 
 the Argonaut, last year spent some months in 
 Europe. He amused himself by jotting down his 
 impressions, and they were sent to his journal and 
 added greatly to the interest and pleasure of its 
 pages. And now he has gathered the letters to- 
 gether and put them in book-form, beautifully and 
 luxuriously printed, charmingly illustrated, a de- 
 light to the hand and the eye. But it is not a 
 book of travels. It is an incidental fact that the 
 writer is traveling, but the attention of the reader 
 is only occasionally directed to something in the 
 passing panorama. Occasionally there is a bit of 
 vivid description as some scene of unusual beauty 
 or grandeur unfolds itself. But that is by way of 
 unconscious soliloquy. But usually it is the wise 
 and witty, easily flowing comment that has grown 
 dear to us in the columns.of the Argonaut. It is a 
 clear-cut vision of fresh scenes, through eyes that 
 are a little tired perhaps, something cynical, gen- 
 erally amused, and receiving impressions at an un- 
 usual angle. Altogether a charming book in which 
 there is no suggestion of dullness, that keeps the 
 pleased attention of the reader to the end." 
 
 CHICAGO, ILL. 
 
 From the Chicago Tribune : " It is pleasant to 
 find a book of travels whose writer has been wise 
 enough to refrain from the liberal employment of 
 paraphrased or directly quoted guide-book informa- 
 tion. Such a book is ' Argonaut Letters,' by Jerome 
 Hart. Mr. Hart visited the Paris Exposition and 
 the Passion Play last summer, but, before doing so, 
 spent a brief time on the Nile, and took a scamper 
 through Italy and Switzerland. Much of this ter- 
 ritory he had previously visited, and therefore was 
 spared the mistake common to every beginner- 
 tourist, of believing that what he saw had never 
 been seen before, and therefore must of necessity be 
 described. His letters are burdened with no lengthy 
 word- pictures, no tiresome historical data, and few 
 statistics. Even Gibraltar and St. Peter's are left un- 
 described, and the tourist-writer who can pass these 
 well- worked but ever- fruitful ' copy ' producers by is 
 in truth great among his kind. What Mr. Hart has 
 given in his letters are the vivid impressions re- 
 ceived during a pleasant jaunt among historic places 
 and famous scenes, and as he shows himself to be a 
 well-informed, wide-awake American, blessed with a 
 
''S/i/den/s sea fed in ji^ roups in the Mosque of El-Azhar. 
 
'Sugarcane vtfuk'rs near Cairoy 
 
healthful sense of humor, and a keen appreciation of 
 what is interesting and what is not, his letters are 
 unusually readable and enjoyable. . . . 
 
 " Written originally for the columns of the San 
 Francisco Argonaut, the sketches, Mr. Hart states 
 in his preface, were orally dictated ' in the little 
 leisure that travel affords.' They complete a book 
 of letters that is unusually pleasant reading. The 
 volume is well printed and contains a three score of 
 full-page illustrations." . . . 
 
 OAKLAND, CAI.. 
 
 Oakland Tribune.—" Mr. Jerome Hart has lately 
 been in ' furrin parts ' — principally Egypt. Italy, 
 and Paris, which is France. During his travels 
 abroad he wrote the results of his observations in a 
 series of dilettante letters to the Argonaut, of which 
 he is the editor. These epistles have now been em- 
 bodied in an attractive volume, beautifully printed 
 and handsomely illustrated, under the title of 
 ' Argonaut Letters." There is a flux of works on 
 travel at this time, but this book of Mr. Hart's is 
 really a contribution to current literature. The 
 style is easy and graceful. While the subjects are 
 neither fresh nor original, they are dealt with in an 
 entertaining manner, and the view-point of the 
 author is that of a clever, observant critic of peoples, 
 manners, and customs. Mr. Hart presumes that 
 his readers know all about the Pyramids, the 
 donkey-boys of Cairo, the Pitti Palace of Florence, 
 St. Peter's and the Colosseum at Rome, the Louvre, 
 Grand Opera House, and Bois de Boulogne, Paris. 
 En passant he alludes to some of these things, but 
 never of them or in description of their hackneyed 
 marvels. He avoids statistics as a pestilence. May 
 Allah bless him ! Gradgrind doing the grand tour 
 has become a capital offense. 
 
 " Mr. Hart's tone is politely cynical, as becomes 
 a clubman, a good diner, and a lover of polite 
 literature. There is a vein of quiet humor running 
 through his comments, but it never loses its well- 
 bred character — never becomes hilarious, nor is the 
 sparkle ever permitted to be obtrusive. The comedy 
 is always elegant — bright persiflage, as it were, with 
 all tendency to farce sternly repressed. It is not a 
 chronicle of small beer, but the intellectual spread 
 is frequently frapp6 and small game, as refined in 
 quality as Mr. Hart's literary manner. 7 he anec- 
 dotes are generally witty, all are respectable, and 
 some of them ripe in years and experience. They 
 are always apropos and well told, and serve ex- 
 cellently as a garnishment for a repast that smacks 
 more of rare duck than roast beef. 
 
 " A stickler for style might find fault with a some- 
 
 what over seasoning in the way of a macaroni ol 
 quotations in foreign languages, but it was a habit 
 to which Thackeray was much addicted, and evi- 
 dently Mr. Hart has followed him rather than Joseph 
 Addison. Nevertheless the book is a most readable 
 one. While being highly entertaining to the culti- 
 vated mind, it contains many valuable hints and 
 some really sound information insinuated rather 
 than imparted directly. There are no dull pages in 
 it, which is saying a good deal when one remembers 
 the innumerable caravan of literary journeymen who 
 have gone before Mr. Hart in search of things that 
 are different— better or worse — from the things at 
 home." 
 
 CINCINNATI, O. 
 
 Cincinnati Times-Star: "The Argonaut is an 
 exceptionally interesting and breezy paper published 
 weekly in San Francisco. Mr. Jerome Hart sent 
 letters to it giving his experiences on a trip around 
 the Mediterranean through Italy. These letters 
 have now been published in book-farm. It is a 
 timely publication, for just now it is the popular 
 fad for Americans to take the southern trip over the 
 ocean through the Azores, Gibraltar, and the Medi- 
 terranean. The charm of these sketches is that 
 they were written during the trip, giving all the 
 little incidents of actual experience. The volume 
 is handsomely illustrated." 
 
 SACRAMENTO, CAI<. 
 
 Sacramento Record- Union. — " ' Argonaut Let- 
 ters ' is the tide of a fat, richly and profusely illus- 
 trated volume by Jerome Hart, editor-in-chief of 
 the San Francisco Argonaut. These letters were 
 written to the Argonaut during Mr. Hart's extended 
 travels in Europe and the Far East. Mr, Hart him- 
 self belittles them as ... ' merely newspaper jot- 
 tings ' and therefore ' not literature because bound 
 in boards.' In that judgment we can not concur. 
 They are more than mere jottings. We have read 
 them as they appeared weekly, and are prepared to 
 class them among the very best works of travel 
 which have come from any press, and as having a 
 still higher value than mere description and narrative. 
 For they are critical, witty, assertive, and searching, 
 and that, too, often in directions few works of travel 
 take. Mr. Hart saw to the centre of things, and his 
 record is a constant comparison of civilizations, 
 manners, customs, preachings, and the lessons to be 
 learned from them. He entered into fields where 
 few have trod, and brought up to view the ways and 
 manners, promptings and motives, of peoples which 
 
most travelers fail to observe, being content with the 
 upper side of what they view. 
 
 "Then, too, Mr. Hart's style is admirable. He 
 is a word-painter, a graphic delineator, often an 
 eloquent writer, and always a graceful one. If it is 
 true that there is much evidence of self-sufficiency 
 on his part, an exalted estimate of his own judg- 
 ment, there is compensation for it all in the fact that 
 his judgments here recorded are sound, and rarely 
 too severe when application of the lash is called for, 
 while his satire has the ring of honest conviction 
 and perfect fearlessness. He applies the whip not 
 alone to the backs of the [>eoples he visited but to 
 his own countrymen and their institutions as well, 
 whenever he believes it to be deserved, and compar- 
 ison invites opportunity. 
 
 " It is a book of delightful reading — the descrip- 
 tions are vivid, strong, and photographic. We like 
 the letters much, though their author, with modest 
 protest, insists that the only reason for their publica 
 tion is found in response to the appeal of friends 
 who wish them in permanent form. But did their 
 author pause to consider that the expression of such 
 a desire might be for better reason than to compli- 
 ment and flatter him ; that these friends found so 
 much of meat in the writings that their expression of 
 desire for their presentation in book-form was hon- 
 est tribute to their literary grace and the strong 
 quality of rational, helpful, instructive entertain- 
 ment ? " 
 
 CliBVKLAND. O. 
 
 Cleveland Plain Dealer. — "Jerome Hart's ' Argo- 
 naut Letters ' is a handsomely made volume, con- 
 taining a series of letters originally published in the 
 San Francisco Argonaut, describing the experiences 
 and impressions of the author during an extended 
 European tour. The sketches are bright and in- 
 formal. . . . With the exception of a few unimportant 
 excisions they remain as at first issued in the news- 
 papers, and will afford pleasant reading. There are 
 sixty full-page illustrations." 
 
 OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
 Oakland Enquirer. — " In that delightful volume, 
 ' Argonaut Letters,' Mr. Hart succeeds in getting 
 further away from the stereotyped ' book of travel ' 
 than any one else we know \\ho has been guilty 
 of writing letters from Europe and afterwards 
 making a book of them. 
 
 "There is no doubt about it, there are many 
 things in Mr. Harts book which tend to mitigate 
 the offense he has committed. He has omitted so 
 many things which he might have put in ; he does 
 not describe any art-galleries or palaces ; he does 
 
 not have much to say about ruins ; he is silent con- 
 cerning those personal incidents of travel which we 
 have learned to look upon as an inevitable inflic- 
 tion. There is hardly anything between the covers 
 of • Argonaut Letters ' which has not the attraction 
 of novelty for one who has not visited the Med- 
 iterranean countries. . . . These letters contained 
 so much which was of genuine interest that there 
 was a real demand for their republication. Hence 
 this book, which, by the way, is one of the most 
 successful examples of book-making that San Fran- 
 cisco has to her credit. In paper, printing, and 
 illustrations it is as perfect a volume as will be 
 issued anywhere this holiday season. It is so thor- 
 oughly a California book that it warms the heart to 
 read it and see how loyal to CaUfornia a person 
 can be when he is abroad and enjoying the best that 
 Europe or Africa has to offer." 
 
 SAN DIEGO, CAL. 
 
 San Diego Union : " ' Argonaut Letters ' is the 
 title of a substantial volume of sketches of foreign 
 travel, written by Jerome A. Hart, editor of the 
 San Francisco Argonaut, during a tour of several 
 months in Southern Europe and Egypt. In his 
 preface the writer modestly explains that his work 
 was hastily done and is ' merely newspaper jottings ' 
 and that ' their only merit is that they are vivid im- 
 pressions.' But those who read the book will not 
 be content with his very modest estimate. Few 
 books of foreign travel will be found so entertaining. 
 Mr. Hart is a keen observer and has a singularly 
 happy faculty of turning his observations into word- 
 pictures. The book is a volume of five hundred 
 pages, printed on heavy paper, and has many illus- 
 trations from photographs." 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 The " Saturday Review " of the New York Times, 
 containing literary reviews and book notices, has 
 come to be looked upon by publishers as one of the 
 most authoritative of all the literary journals. It 
 contains in its number for January 26th a review of 
 " Argonaut Letters," from which the following ex- 
 tracts are made : 
 
 New York Times : " Few travelers of the present 
 day write literature that can be permanent ; they de- 
 pend too much upon personal observation, which 
 while it adds a vitality and freshness to their pages, 
 goes a short way toward establishing a criterion of 
 actuality. The old travelers, although less interest- 
 ing perhaps, wrote with more judgment and less im- 
 pression. Yet, most of our contemporary globe- 
 trotters who put pen to paper believe that what they 
 
 »3 
 
The mined Palaces of the Ccesars. 
 
so entertainly set down will in time become serious 
 literature. It is a relief, therefore, to come upon an 
 observing tourist who entertains no delusions m re- 
 gard to his work. Mr. Jerome Hart writes in the 
 preface to one of the most fascinating books of for- 
 eign travel and sojourn that we have seen for some 
 time : 
 
 " * No one better than the writer knows how 
 ephemeral are these pages. No one better than he 
 knows that they are not literature because they are 
 bound in boards. They are merely newspaper jot- 
 tings of travel during some pleasant months abroad. 
 Their only right to be is the desire which many 
 readers have expressed to obtain them in permanent 
 form. To that desire the writer has yielded.' 
 
 " We do not go so far as to say that Mr. Hart is 
 mistaken, but we certainly are in accord with the 
 readers he mentioned who desired to have ' Argo- 
 naut Letters ' ' in permanent form.' We cheerfully 
 subscribe to their good taste. Mr. Hart saw much 
 that was interesting abroad, and he writes of it as it 
 impressed him at the moment. He writes, too, like 
 an American who is judiciously confident, and who 
 is able to draw a fine distinction, not altogether free 
 from irony, between the culture that is dying and 
 that which is livmg. He has great respect for the 
 monuments of the past, but he pins his faith on 
 those which will arise in the future. His practical 
 way of regarding things is everywhere displayed. 
 In writing about the ' Passion Play ' at Oberam- 
 mergau, he dispassionately makes up a list covering 
 several pages regarding what not to write about, 
 then he discusses the play in the light of modern 
 histrionic art, and adds : 
 
 " ' I have already said that actors can play peas- 
 ants better than peasants can. I will go further — 
 irreligious actors can play a religious drama better 
 than religious peasants can. I saw the "Passion 
 
 Play " when it was put upon the American stage by 
 Salmi Morse years ago. James O'Neill, a good 
 actor and a good Roman Catholic, played the 
 Christ. He played the difficult role reverently and 
 well— far better, in my opinion, than any peasant 
 could — even Josef Mayer. . . . This train of 
 thought suggested to me the idea : How would 
 Edwin Booth have played the Christus ? As there 
 rose up before me the recollection of his magnetic 
 p>erson, his handsome, haunting face, his melancholy 
 eyes, I could not help but think that in his early 
 manhood no one could have played the Saviour bet- 
 ter than Edwin Booth, player.' 
 
 " Mr. Hart takes his readers through the Mediter- 
 ranean, to the cities of Italy, to Egypt, to Lom- 
 bardy, and to Savoy, and his impressions of all 
 that he sees and experiences make delightful reading, 
 which is pleasantly enhanced by many fine repro- 
 ductions of photographs of unusual and interesting 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 
 
 San Francisco Bullettn. — "Jerome Hart, the well- 
 known editor of the Argonaut, has had published, 
 through Payot, Upham & Co., a series of letters 
 written by him while abroad. It is a handsomely 
 bound and printed volume, and is well illustrated. 
 
 " The letters are bright and clever. There is no 
 ponderous effort to show great learning, no long 
 disquisitions into the why and the wherefore, but 
 these letters are just what they should be — chatty 
 and pleasant. Mr. Hart is a keen observer. His 
 long newspaper training has taught him just what 
 to say, and the result is that the reader is given very 
 entertaining descriptions. . . . He has a keen sense 
 of humor, and his description of the German group 
 of tourists is good. Mr. Hart is to be congratulated 
 upon having these letters put into book-form." 
 
 i6 
 
'• Turin's Monument to the Alpine Engineers. 
 
ARGONAUT 
 LETTERS 
 
 BY 
 
 JEROME HART 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 PAYOT, UPHAM & COMPANY 
 
 I 9 O I 
 
Cofyright tgoo 
 By the jirgonaut Publithing Company 
 
 THE MUROOCK PRESS 
 
TO 
 MY AMANUENSIS 
 
 89372 
 
RBPRINTBD BV PBRMISSION FROM 
 THE ARGONAUT OF SAN FRANCISCO 
 
PREFATORY 
 
 No one better than the writer knows how ephemeral 
 are these pages. No one better than he knows that 
 they are not literature because they are bound in boards. 
 They are merely newspaper jottings of travel during 
 some pleasant months abroad. Their only right to be 
 is the desire which many readers have expressed to 
 obtain them in permanent form. To that desire the 
 writer has yielded. 
 
 A word of explanation and apology may not be amiss 
 here. These sketches were written in the little leisure 
 that travel affords — sometimes on a steamer, often on a 
 train. Therefore profound and matured thought may 
 scarcely be looked for in them. They were orally dic- 
 tated, hence their familiar and colloquial tone. They 
 were written with no library at hand, and if the writer's 
 memory has failed him at times, pray let the reader 
 pardon him. He has thought it best to leave the 
 sketches much as they were written, with the exception 
 
 vii 
 
PREFATORY 
 
 of some unimportant excisions. Their only merit is 
 that they are vivid impressions. If they were too much 
 revised they would lose that, and with it their only 
 reason for existence. 
 
 viu 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Crossing the Pond i 
 
 Gibraltar 12 
 
 Around the Mediterranean 20 
 
 A Glimpse of Egypt 44 
 
 Alexandria to Naples 70 
 
 Pompeii 91 
 
 A Roman Garden-Party 97 
 
 Arms and the Man 106 
 
 A Roman Race-Course 115 
 
 The Grave of Romulus 122 
 
 Modern Pilgrims 127 
 
 A Volcano's Thunder 142 
 
 New Things in Old Rome 152 
 
 Making Saints at St. Peter's 160 
 
 The Wheels of the Vatican 181 
 
 S. P. Q. R 197 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Florentine Dilettantes 225 
 
 The Garden of Lombardy 242 
 
 In French Savoy 261 
 
 Paris and Chicago 283 
 
 Of Eating and Drinking 309 
 
 The Passion Play 355 
 
 The Thrifty Swiss 382 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Turin's Monument to the Alpine Engineers . . . Frontispiece 
 
 Facing page 
 
 "The giant rock, Gibraltar** 12 
 
 "Laboriously lifting water'* 45 
 
 "On the great river Nile** 46 
 
 "Mena House, at the foot of the Pyramids" 49 
 
 "An Arab nimbly climbed to the Sphinx's face*' .... 51 
 
 "Students seated in groups in the Mosque of El-Azhar" . 55 
 
 "A petticoated Oriental" 60 
 
 "The crooked stick for a plow" 63 
 
 "The famous alabaster Mosque of Mohammed Ali" . . 65 
 
 "Sugar-cane venders, near Cairo" 66 
 
 "A street in Naples" 80 
 
 "The House of the Vettii is the largest, handsomest, and 
 
 best-preserved house in Pompeii" 91 
 
 "The ruined temple of Jupiter, which had Vesuvius for a 
 
 background" 95 
 
 "From the Pincian Park to St. Peter's, looking across 
 
 Rome" 97 
 
 "The giant flunkeys, massive, impassive" 99 
 
 "In the Pincian Park were numbers of unique booths". . 100 
 
 xi 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "There ran for miles the arches of a mined Roman 
 
 aqueduct" 119 
 
 * The beautiful church of St. John Lateran * * 120 
 
 'Outlined against the sky the tomb of Cecilia Metella, 
 
 on the old Appian Way" 122 
 
 * Dead-and-gone Caesars' columns in the Forum** .... 124 
 'Where Romulus* s grave was uncovered, near the Arch 
 
 of Severus** 130 
 
 ' Fountain-basins overgrown with algae, in Villa Borghese** 1 53 
 
 * Crumbling arches and bits of broken columns * * .... 154 
 
 'The gentlemen-drivers handled the ribbons** 158 
 
 'Castle Sant* Angelo and St. Peter's dome, seen from the 
 
 Tiber*' 160 
 
 'The great square in front of St. Peter's" 163 
 
 ' In the quaint gardens of the Vatican * * . . , 185 
 
 'The stifFest style of landscape gardening*' 193 
 
 'The dome of St. Peter* s, from the Vatican hill**. . . . 195 
 
 'The gardener told us it was the Leonine Tower" . . . 196 
 
 * A street and car-line run over the Forum " 1 99 
 
 'The Piazza Colonna, with the beaudful column of 
 
 Marcus Aurelius" 200 
 
 'The ruined Palaces of the Caesars" 221 
 
 'The Spanish Steps and Trinita de Monti" 222 
 
 'The Fountain of Trevi" 224 
 
 'Florence's park, the Cascine" 226 
 
 'The little Italian golf-caddies" 229 
 
 'The Palazzo Vecchio, on the Square of the Signoria** . 231 
 
 xii 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 *Fra Lippo Lippi*s Virgin and Child'* 233 
 
 * Botticelli's extraordinary composition, 'Calumny' " . . 234 
 
 'Botticelli's telescopic lady" 236 
 
 *Ghiberti's bronze doors, in the Baptistry, Florence" . . 238 
 
 *A portrait of Queen Joan" 240 
 
 'The myriad marble pinnacles of the Milan Cathedral" . 247 
 
 ' The colder Gothic of the north " 248 
 
 'Harvest-time in Savoy" 261 
 
 'Chateau and Gothic Sainte-Chapelle, in Chambery" . . 267 
 
 'The venerable Tov«rer of the Archives" 268 
 
 * A little gorge which, though microscopic, is very pretty" 274 
 'The mediaeval abbey of Hautecombe" 277 
 
 * Even the cows work in Savoy " 278 
 
 'Paris from the Seine" 283 
 
 'The Porte Monumentale" 286 
 
 ' Versailles looks better in photographs than in reality " . . 295 
 
 'The Sainte-Chapelle, in Paris" 308 
 
 'The Rigi, the oldest mountain-railway in Switzerland" . 386 
 
 'The Territet-Glion railway up the Rochers de Naye" . 389 
 
 'The famous Castle of Chillon" 390 
 
 *A railway to Chamounix, at the foot of Mont Blanc" . 392 
 
 xni 
 
I 
 
Argonaut Letters 
 

CROSSING THE POND 
 
 TRIFLES make up travel. A bad ocean 
 passage sometimes spoils a European tour. 
 Dismal, long-continued rain often gives the way- 
 farer distorted ideas of a charming city. One 
 may pass by magnificent headlands land-locking 
 beautiful harbors, and yet not see them by reason 
 of a dense fog. On a previous voyage I had 
 sailed by the Azores, but we passed most of the 
 islands in the night, and saw only one, and it the 
 least beautiful, by day. Ship-captains usually 
 avoid the inter-island channels, whose short, 
 choppy seas make most of their passengers deathly 
 seasick. 
 
 But on this cruise we passed the Azores by 
 day, under a bright sunlight, with a clear atmos- 
 phere, and with a sea so smooth that the captain 
 took his ship through the inter-island course. 
 Rarely has a ship's company been so favored. 
 The peak of Pico was visible forty miles away. 
 For two years the ship's officers had not seen it 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 on account of thick weather, but here to-day- 
 it was visible far ahead of us by noon, and toward 
 sunset it was still visible far astern. 
 
 The first sight of these islands is not unlike 
 that of the Hawaiian Islands. . Like them they 
 rise abruptly out of the sea in mid-ocean. Like 
 them, too, they are of volcanic origin, and the 
 first view of Fayal reminds one of Maui, which is 
 usually the first island you pick up in sailing from 
 San Francisco to Honolulu. But there the resem- 
 blance ceases. The Azores are densely populated. 
 The island of San Miguel alone supports one 
 hundred thousand human beings — about as many 
 as there are in the whole Hawaiian group. And 
 all of the Azores show signs of human occupancy, 
 unlike the desolate cliflFs of leper-ridden Maui. 
 Along the shore for miles we saw villages, towns, 
 and cities, with numerous monasteries and cathe- 
 drals plainly visible, for we steamed not far off 
 shore. In the large cities like Horta and Ponta 
 Delgada, the white -walled, red-tiled buildings 
 rose like steps from the seashore far up the slopes 
 behind. A long breakwater made a fine artificial 
 harbor out here in mid-Atlantic, behind which 
 ships reposed as safely as behind the reef at 
 Honolulu. A gun boomed from a fortification 
 in answer to our fluttering signals. I learned 
 
CROSSING THE POND 
 
 that there are thirteen newspapers published in 
 this prosperous mid-Atlantic city of Ponta Del- 
 gada and that it has twenty thousand inhabitants. 
 And yet, to my shame be it spoken, I never 
 before had heard its name. Have you ? 
 
 Outside of the cities and towns, the islands are 
 checkerboarded with farms and vineyards up to 
 the barren zone. Beyond this comes the snow- 
 line. Looking from the steamer^s deck, these 
 vineyards and farms are sharply defined, much 
 as such boundaries appear when viewed from a 
 captive balloon. In places, the mountain ranges 
 run right into the sea, and perpendicular cliffs 
 frown down on the Atlantic, over whose rocky 
 rims feathery waterfalls descend to the ocean. 
 Some of them seem to be several hundred feet 
 high. 
 
 As we passed between the islands of Fayal and 
 Pico, between Pico and San Jorge, then by Ter- 
 ceira and on toward Santa Maria and San Miguel, 
 the day had declined until the sun was slowly 
 sinking. Clouds were gathering around the is- 
 lands — low-lying clouds. These lofty volcanic 
 peaks serve as cloud-arresters and probably cloud- 
 condensers also ; on the open ocean I have never 
 seen such brilliant sunsets as near land. There 
 was every kind of cloud. School-book recollec- 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 tions of stratus, cumulus, nimbus, and cirrus rose 
 before me as I gazed upon them. And over all 
 the gorgeous cloud-masses heaped in and upon 
 and around the islands rose the lofty peak of 
 Pico — snow-capped, cloud-encircled, piercing the 
 blue vault above the clouds, like Gautier*s 
 
 " Clochcr silencieux montrant du doigt le ciel." 
 
 And the sun winked at us solemnly, said good- 
 night, and bobbed below the horizon. And dusk 
 and darkness began to draw over the ocean like 
 a pall. And a Mittelmeer steward appeared upon 
 deck and performed a solemn fantasia on a bugle 
 — an invitation a la sauerkraut. And we all 
 went below and ate beer-and-herring soup, eels 
 in jelly, ge-boiled schinken with ge-baked pota- 
 toes, fried veal with raisin sauce, baked hen stuffed 
 with liver-sausage and prunes, and pigeon-wings 
 served with green beans and stewed pears auf der 
 same plate mit. For lo you now, it was on the 
 Mittelmeer line. 
 
 And some of us lay awake that night and 
 dreamed dreams. And perhaps it was the gor- 
 geous sunset. And perhaps it was the baked hen. 
 
 A very common remark is, "What interesting 
 people one meets in traveling ! " One may per- 
 haps be pardoned for differing from this belief 
 
CROSSING THE POND 
 
 The interesting people one meets in traveling are 
 extremely apt to keep to themselves. They do 
 not wear their hearts upon their sleeves. There- 
 fore, if they are interesting, that trait is kept for 
 their friends. On the other hand, the fools, bores, 
 and boors obtrude themselves upon you. The 
 only way to escape being bored to death is to 
 avoid their acquaintance. Then if you yourself 
 are interesting — and of course the reader is — the 
 fact remains concealed. 
 
 But, seriously, why should one expect to meet 
 " interesting people while traveling" ? Look over 
 your list of friends and acquaintances. Say you 
 have a thousand. They are made by a process 
 of selection. Your friends meet their friends and 
 their friends' friends, and by a process of winnow- 
 ing you are made acquainted with people who 
 presumably will be congenial by reason of nation- 
 ality, social interest, age, and sex. Yet out of a 
 thousand people you know, how many are "inter- 
 esting"? If you are critical, you will find the 
 number very small. Yet the list from which you 
 draw your chosen names will be a selected list. 
 
 On the other hand, the people you meet in 
 traveling are thrown together purely by accident. 
 There is no selection, no winnowing. They are 
 a hodge-podge — a human hash. They represent 
 
 5 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 many nations and religions, all sorts of callings, 
 the three sexes — men, women, and clergymen — 
 every degree of health from rude hobbledehoy- 
 hood to valetudinarianism. In such a mass it is 
 not the interesting but the disagreeable traits of 
 humanity that are most in evidence. Selfishness 
 is so universal that it is not at all conspicuous. 
 It takes aggressive boorishness to make the trav- 
 eler remarkable. Such little tricks as eating with 
 table-knives, picking the teeth with forks, and 
 combing the whiskers at table with a pocket-comb 
 are so common as not to excite remark. 
 
 In these days of cheap-trippers, when Mr. Cook 
 ships cockneys through Italy and back at ten 
 guineas per cockney, one meets continually the 
 London *Arry. The English *Arry off his native 
 'eath attempts to delude the simple foreigner into 
 the belief that he is an English gentleman, so he 
 wears a single eye-glass, knickers, a deer-stalker 
 cap, and gives to his breezy East-End manner a 
 tinge of what Daudet calls "La Stupide Morgue 
 Anglo-Saxonne." He also imitates some of the 
 more objectionable traits of the traveling English 
 gentleman, such as smoking malodorous briar 
 pipes before breakfast in the faces of semi-seasick 
 people, and wearing pajamas at unseemly hours. 
 For be it known that on the P. & O. boats 
 
 6 
 
CROSSING THE POND 
 
 between England and India — where 'Arry rarely 
 goes — a rule had to be posted forbidding the 
 wearing of pajamas on deck between 8 a.m. and 
 
 8 P.M. 
 
 As for smoking in the faces of seasick people, 
 that habit does not seem to be peculiar to the 
 London 'Arry. The average man who is not 
 seasick is so proud of the fact that he usually eats 
 himself into a torpor and smokes himself into a 
 coma to advertise the fact. I have seen a man sit 
 down on deck beside his seasick wife, blow clouds 
 from a strong cigar into her face, and chuckle glee- 
 fully as the poor creature gagged and fled to the 
 rail. I never was seasick, but the sight of those 
 who are has always excited my sympathy — par- 
 ticularly for the ladies. For when lovely woman 
 ceases to care how she looks, she is pretty sick. 
 And I do not mean "iH"-^I mean sick. This 
 remark is due to hearing a super-aesthetic young 
 woman on deck say that her father " had just got 
 up off his /// bed." 
 
 Among the curios at sea are the seasick men 
 who wear yachting-caps. Why is it that they do 
 this thing .f^ If a man is intent upon being sea- 
 sick, let him be seasick in landsman's garb. On 
 this ship, the first day out, the smoking-room was 
 fairly filled with the presence of an efflorescent 
 
 7 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 German tar. He wore a double-breasted, navy- 
 blue reefer jacket, yachting trousers with stripes, 
 and a gorgeous brass-bound R. Y. S. pattern 
 yachting-cap. He walked with a sea-roll, he 
 smoked many cigars, he shut one eye when he 
 looked off to windward. Many passengers took 
 him for the captain. Even old travelers believed 
 that he was at least somebody's courier. 
 
 But it came on to blow that night, and the sea 
 got rough. When we were leaving the smoking- 
 room to go below and turn in, some one heard a 
 queer sound from under one of the sofas. The 
 steward was ordered to investigate, and from 
 under the seat he rolled forth, disheveled, groan- 
 ing, and seasick, the gorgeous brass-bound Ger- 
 man tar. 
 
 The stewards know the weaknesses of these 
 seasick swells, and doubtless bleed them heavily 
 for their shamming. The stewards get to be good 
 judges of human nature. They ought to. Their 
 functions are multifarious. For example, on this 
 Mittelmeer line there is a band of ten pieces 
 which discourses tunes full sweetly during lunch- 
 eon and dinner, on entering and leaving port, and 
 at various other times and hours. Some of them 
 untimely hours, for on Sundays they play lugu- 
 brious hymn-tunes early in the morning. This 
 
 8 
 
CROSSING THE POND 
 
 may be intended to put passengers into a pious 
 frame of mind, but I fear that it may have an 
 effect directly the reverse. For a man who is 
 wakened from a sound sleep at 7 a. m. by the 
 strains of "Luther's Hymn" is generally inclined 
 toward profanity rather than prayer. 
 
 The protean duties of the stewards at times 
 startle one. ' As the band plays " The Star-Span- 
 gled Banner/* you recognize with surprise in the 
 countenance of the uniformed leader the face of 
 your male chambermaid. And the next day, at 
 the call which summons the band " to quarters," 
 you see a humble servitor in the smoking-room 
 suddenly drop a half-cleaned spittoon and disap- 
 pear, presently to emerge from the companion- 
 way covered with brass buttons and bearing 
 triangles, cymbals, and a large bass-drum. 
 
 Apropos of these musicians, the little German 
 band is in some respects a nuisance. The poor 
 devils are hired by the North-German Lloyd 
 Company at starvation wages as stewards, and 
 are warned that they must look to the passengers 
 for remuneration for their music. As it is, all 
 of the servants on these German ships get very 
 meagre pay, but the band thus does double duty. 
 The steamship company practically compels its 
 passengers to pay its poorly paid servants' wages. 
 
 9 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 The time-honored tip of ten marks (^2.40) to 
 table steward, state-room steward, stewardess, 
 and almost half a score of servants, is practically- 
 obligatory. But at the end of the voyage the 
 musicians start a subscription-list for their music, 
 with which they pertinaciously pursue the pas- 
 sengers. 
 
 Most of the passengers subscribe. They ought 
 not to do so. They have already paid the insuffi- 
 ciently paid musicians their tips as stewards. Their 
 functions as musicians take them away from their 
 duties as stewards. A passenger whose male 
 chambermaid is playing the trombone on deck 
 may fruitlessly ring his bell for half an hour. 
 Thus he is forced to pay a steward for producing 
 music for which he may not care, during a time 
 when he needs him for other duties for which he 
 does care, and for which he also has to pay. Thus 
 he has to pay the North-German Company for 
 passage and service ; he has to pay the North- 
 German Company's servants over again for their 
 service ; then he has to pay the North-German 
 Company's servants a third time for a musical 
 service which he may not want. This last strikes 
 me as a petty swindle. » 
 
 The North-German Lloyd Company advertises 
 boastfully that it is the only steamship company 
 
 10 
 
CROSSING THE POND 
 
 carrying a band of musicians. Since it makes a 
 feature of this fact, I advise that skinflint corpo- 
 ration to stop mulcting its passengers for the 
 stipends of these poor musicians, and to pay its 
 musical scullions itself. 
 
 II 
 
GIBRALTAR 
 
 T TE would be a bold man who would attempt 
 ^ •■' to describe Gibraltar. Probably no place has 
 been so written to death. Seminary girls on the 
 long vacation, clergymen traveling to the Holy 
 Land for homiletic raw material, syndicate corre- 
 spondents for the Sunday newspapers — have not 
 all these described Gibraltar ad nauseam? The 
 derivation of the name, the invasion by the Moors, 
 Gibel-Tarik, British nickname "Gib," the "rock- 
 scorpions," the history of its sieges, British valor 
 and Spanish courage, the heroic garrisons, the 
 final British occupancy — who has not read of and 
 shied at these things? The experienced reader 
 when he sees the very name Gibraltar makes a 
 giant skip over the giant rock and turns the page 
 in terror. 
 
 I am not going to describe Gibraltar. I am 
 too considerate. The fact that once before I 
 visited it, examined it conscientiously, looked at 
 the big guns, went into some of the rock-hewn 
 
 12 
 
XTNIVERSITY 
 
 GIBRALTAR ^^aSsESB^^ 
 
 galleries, wandered over the Gardens of the Ala- 
 meda, sauntered through the queer and crooked 
 streets, tried to drive bargains in bad Spanish with 
 boatmen and cigar-dealers — in short, did the con- 
 ventional Gibraltar act and ever after held my 
 peace, shows that I have a regard for my readers. 
 They will bear witness that never have I babbled 
 of Gibraltar. 
 
 But on a recent visit there I saw the rock by 
 moonlight. The effect was so picturesque and so 
 striking that I feel impelled to jot down a few of 
 my impressions, and I pray that I may be par- 
 doned. 
 
 But, before speaking of the Rock itself, let me 
 tell of the tide of traffic which pours through 
 the great gateway which it guards. During the 
 Valkyrie race-year, a party of us sailed from Hell 
 Gate around Long Island in a yacht, and as we 
 came in from the ocean by Sandy Hook we met 
 a line of ocean steamers outward-bound. It was 
 Saturday, hence the number was large. They 
 were feeling their way for the channel, as the tide 
 was low. I never knew before what a number of 
 ocean steamers sailed out of the port of New 
 York. Not only the big European liners, but 
 numbers of steamers for Charleston, Savannah, 
 New Orleans, Galveston, Tampa, Key West, 
 
 13 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Havana, Santiago, Puerto Rico, Nassau, and 
 Central and South America passed us, all named 
 to us by our veteran sailing-master. This marine 
 procession surprised me. I knew that the ocean 
 commerce of our greatest city was vast. That is, 
 I knew it printed on paper. But until I saw it 
 written on the ocean by the prows of the great 
 steel steamers, I did not know how vast it was. 
 
 Correspondingly I knew that from the Rock 
 at Gibraltar, Great Britain pointed warning guns 
 across the pathway of the world's commerce. 
 But how great that commerce was I did not know 
 until I had sailed through the straits. The first 
 time I sailed there the weather was thick, and I 
 could see nothing. This time the day was clear 
 and the water was dotted with steamships. I 
 make no mention of the innumerable brigs, brig- 
 antines, barkentines, schooners, feluccas, and other 
 sailing-craft we saw, but I give the signal officer's 
 list of the steamers that we met between three 
 o'clock and evening gun-fire at Gibraltar: 
 
 Norwegian steamer Leif, British steamer St. Jerome, 
 
 Swedish steamer Norge, Norwegian steamerUnique, 
 
 Danish steamer Perwie, British steamer Morna, 
 
 British steamer Bolderaa, U. S. training-ship Dixie, 
 
 British steamer Fifeshire, Norwegian steamer Ino, 
 
 British steamer Aleppo, French steamer Meurthe, 
 
 14 
 
GIBRALTAR 
 
 British steamer Kate B. British steamer Starlight, 
 
 Jones, Spanish steamer Cecilia, 
 
 British steamer Garnet, British steamer Cadiz, 
 
 British steamer Diamond, German steamer Trave, 
 
 British steamer Valencia, R. Y. S. steam-yacht Vagus, 
 
 German steamer Kronos, British steamer Gibel-Tarik. 
 
 The list is interesting for more reasons than 
 one: the preponderance of British steamers, the 
 utter absence of American merchant steamers, 
 and the fact that only one Spanish steamer sailed 
 through this sometime Spanish strait. 
 
 But I was talking of Gibraltar Rock by moonlight 
 and not of Gibraltar Straits by day. Naturally 
 we drove, for in the winding, shadowy lanes we 
 would otherwise infallibly have lost our way. 
 Among the queer street-names some smack of 
 ecclesiasticism, like "Cloister Ramp," or the 
 "Convent Square" on which stands the gover- 
 nor's residence, which is " The Convent." But 
 most of the names smell of villainous saltpetre, 
 such as "Casemate Square," "Cannon Lane," 
 "Gunner's Lane," "Engineer's Lane," "Corn- 
 wall's Parade," and "Governor's Parade," while 
 others have personal or historical associations, 
 such as "Prince Edward's Road,'' "Roger's 
 Ramp," and "Turnbull's Lane." There is a 
 faint trace of the Moorish regime in " Ben Zim- 
 
 15 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 bra's Lane" and "Abecasis Passage," but the 
 Spanish names have disappeared. None the less, 
 the Spanish population have names of their own 
 for the streets, and " King's Yard Lane" by them 
 is called "Callejon de la Paloma," "The Little 
 Street of the Dove." 
 
 Through the Little Street of the Dove, then, 
 through Gunner's Lanes and Devil's Gaps and 
 Casemate Squares we whirled along over the wind- 
 ing roads, of which roadway, gutter, and parapet 
 were all cut out of the solid rock. On through 
 the beautiful gardens over which the black shadow 
 of the Rock hung, projected by the early-risen 
 moon. Through this black shadow there shot at 
 times long, luminous tunnels. They were flashes 
 from the search-light of a British battle-ship on 
 the bay below. Around her were moored scores 
 of vessels with their riding-lights — many of them 
 only coal-hulks, it is true, but even a coal-hulk is 
 silvered by the moonlight. Through the white 
 lights of the black hulks there threaded their 
 winding way the red and green sidelights of 
 tenders and tow-boats. To the left gleamed the 
 lights of the Spanish town of Algeciras across the 
 bay. Along the narrow neck of land that links 
 the Rock with Spain there twinkled lights here 
 and there up to and beyond the point where 
 
 i6 
 
GIBRALTAR 
 
 English and Spanish sentries pace up and down 
 on either side of the neutral zone. 
 
 Back from the moonlit Alameda Gardens, under 
 the ancient stone gates, out of the black shadow 
 of the Rock to the brilliantly lighted town below, 
 we rattled along. Through the narrow streets, 
 crowded with British red-coats and blue-jackets, 
 soldiers and sailors, Highlanders and fusiliers, 
 our charioteer threaded his way. Soon we were 
 crossing a parade-ground, and toward us there 
 came a strange procession. Borne by four stal- 
 wart comrades in arms, two at his head and two 
 at his feet, came the body of a British soldier. 
 On his broad chest reposed his little "swagger- 
 stick" and his jaunty cap. The four body-bearers 
 stepped out with long, swinging stride, while 
 another soldier walked by their side, half-dragging, 
 half-bearing a weeping woman. What could it 
 be ? Was it a drill in care of the wounded ? But 
 if so, why the weeping woman ? As they neared 
 us the mystery was cleared. The horizontal 
 Thomas Atkins was in a condition of torpid 
 intoxication, while the perpendicular Thomases 
 were carrying him home — perhaps to avoid the 
 guard-house, perhaps to put him there. 
 
 I am afraid that in my recollections of Gib- 
 raltar by moonlight I shall always think of 
 c 17 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 poor Tommy and his bedraggled Dulcinea del 
 Toboso. 
 
 Rounding the Rock into the straits again 
 the moonlight fell on its black face, if that be 
 face which looks toward the sea. From the face 
 of the Rock there has fallen in the course of ages 
 vast masses of debris — geologists call it "talus," 
 I believe — heaped up to a height of seven or 
 eight hundred feet. Visitors to the Yosemite 
 Valley will recall similar masses heaped up at the 
 base of cliffs like El Capitan. A lady stood 
 beside us on the steamer^s deck gazing silently at 
 the mighty Rock bathed in the moonlight. She 
 had withdrawn from the ordinary mob of passen- 
 gers who were cracking side-splitting jokes over 
 the absence of insurance advertisements on Gib- 
 raltar. The wit of one young gentleman, who 
 kept saying "Insure your life here," was much 
 admired. I mentally approved of her withdrawal 
 from this mob of vacuous globe-trotters, whose 
 loud laughter bespoke their vacant minds, when 
 she suddenly turned and spoke : 
 
 "What an awful lot of work it must have been 
 to cart that rubbish up there !" 
 
 I politely inquired her meaning. When I 
 discovered it, I was amazed. She believed that 
 the town of Gibraltar used the Rock as a dump, 
 
 i8 
 
GIBRALTAR 
 
 and that the city's rubbish was thence shot into 
 the sea. 
 
 I gazed at her in wonder. Here was an intelli- 
 gent human being who believed that other intel- 
 ligent human beings would haul rubbish from 
 sea-level to the top of a rock fourteen hundred 
 feet in the air, in order to dump it into the sea. 
 
 Verily, the mystery of the human mind passeth 
 understanding. 
 
 19 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 /^N the map the distance from Gibraltar 
 ^^ to Genoa seems but a trifle, yet it is a 
 thousand miles as the crow flies. After leaving 
 Gibraltar we steamed all night along the 
 Spanish coast, past Malaga, Carthagena, and 
 Alicante, and by noon had only breasted the 
 Balearic Islands. We passed Majorca, the island 
 where General Weyler, of Cuban infamy, has 
 his estate. And it was while sailing between 
 the Balearic Islands and Barcelona that most of 
 the passengers lost faith in the placid Mediter- 
 ranean. 
 
 Though the voyage across the Atlantic had 
 not been rough, still many were seasick. But 
 every one had great expectations of the Medi- 
 terranean. You heard much of " placid summer 
 seas,'' "cloudless summer skies," and "ideal Med- 
 iterranean sailing." But these optimists were 
 doomed to disappointment. Somewhere off Bar- 
 celona we picked up a stifle northeaster. From 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 there on, all the way across the Gulf of Lyons, 
 the ship labored heavily against a head wind and 
 sea. She pitched, tossed, and rolled, all three. 
 This combination of motions proved too much 
 for many whose stomachs had defied the Atlantic 
 Ocean. The dining-saloon was almost empty 
 at luncheon and dinner, and the smoking-room 
 was deserted. The short, choppy seas of the 
 Mediterranean upset many a hardened smoker. 
 Probably three-fourths of the passengers were 
 seasick while crossing the Gulf of Lyons. The 
 placid Mediterranean is by no means always a 
 summer sea. Old travelers testify that they have 
 experienced some very nasty weather on this 
 "tideless, dolorous, midland sea." 
 
 Yet, although I heard my fellow-passengers 
 speak of this experience more than once as "an 
 awful storm," it was only what sailors term "half 
 a gale of wind." 
 
 It was the morning after we crossed the turbu- 
 lent Gulf of Lyons that we first sighted the 
 Riviera. I use the term as it is ordinarily applied 
 — for riviera means nothing but "coast." The 
 Italians divide their Riviera into two parts — 
 for the French Riviera was once Italian. The 
 stretch of coast extending from Genoa to Leg- 
 horn they call the "Riviera di Levante," or 
 
 21 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Eastern Riviera. That from Genoa to Nice, 
 the "Riviera di Ponente/' or Western Riviera. 
 Nice is still so Italian that you more frequently 
 hear it called Nizza than Nice, except by for- 
 eigners. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock in the morning that 
 we sighted Nice, and from there on, all the way 
 to Genoa, a magnificent panorama unrolled itself 
 before our eyes. The steamer sailed quite close 
 inshore, and the buildings could be plainly dis- 
 cerned with the naked eye. With a good glass, 
 of course, much more could be seen. The Ital- 
 ian Riviera is one of the most beautiful spots 
 upon the earth, and to be viewed to the best 
 advantage it should be seen from the sea. I had 
 already been along the Riviera, stopping at vari- 
 ous points from Pisa to Nice, but I had never 
 seen it in all its beauty until now. Then I trav- 
 eled by rail. The railway runs around the rocky 
 shore, piercing the headlands with many tunnels. 
 Between Genoa and Nice, for example, there are 
 something like a hundred tunnels, and the ride 
 has been not inaptly likened to traveling through 
 a flute and looking out of the stops. Then it 
 must be confessed that many of the Riviera 
 villages — and villagers — are very dirty. Most 
 people who stop at the small villages carry insect 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 powder. But seen from a steamer's deck, sailing 
 offshore, you do not see the dirty villagers nor 
 the dirt. You see only the white buildings, with 
 their red-tiled roofs rising in terraces from the 
 water's edge, set in a background of green foliage. 
 You see innumerable rocky headlands jutting out 
 into the sea, sometimes covered with villas and 
 gardens, and sometimes crowned with old Roman 
 ruins. You see watch-turrets and signal-towers, 
 significant of the days when Moorish pirates 
 harassed the Christians' coasts. You see little 
 toy railway trains winding around the cliffs, now 
 and then disappearing into tunnels, to reappear 
 further on, heralded by white puffs of steam. 
 You see little villages clinging like birds'-nests to 
 cliffs far up on the mountain side, where in the old 
 days they were more secure from the pirates' for- 
 ays. You see the Ligurian Alps running abruptly 
 down to the water's edge, as if striving to push 
 the dwellers into the sea. And behind them you 
 see the higher Alps, at this season still covered 
 with snow. 
 
 For hours this enchanting panorama floated 
 by. It began with Nice. Then came the city 
 of Monaco and the rock of Monte Carlo, named 
 after that Monegasque prince, Charles, of the 
 ancient House of Grimaldi, who first sold his 
 
 23 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 royal birthright to a gang of gamblers. Is it not 
 a bitter sarcasm on royalty that the House of 
 Grimaldi is to-day Europe's oldest reigning dy- 
 nasty, and that it is getting its board and clothes 
 from the dirty money of a gambling-hell ? 
 
 Everybody on deck had heard of Monte Carlo. 
 Succeeding names, like Villafranca and Ventimi- 
 glia, fell unfamiliarly upon their ears. But they 
 all knew of the gambling-den. 
 
 When we were passing San Remo a semi- 
 seasick woman in the green and blue stages of 
 recovery was brought up on deck by an enthusi- 
 astic husband to gaze at the beautiful shore-line. 
 Her first question was : 
 
 "Where is Monte Carlo ? '' 
 
 Her husband's countenance fell, and he was 
 forced to admit that it was many miles astern. 
 
 "Then why didn't you tell me when we were 
 passing it?" demanded the lady, rather tartly. 
 
 "You were asleep, my dear, and I did not 
 want to wake you so early," replied the husband, 
 in a propitiatory tone. 
 
 "And did you wake me up to see this?'' 
 demanded the lady in withering tones, waving her 
 hand at the prospect before her — a bird's-eye 
 view of blue sea and rugged coast-line, with a 
 line of snow-white breakers at its base, with cliffs 
 
 24 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 crowned with castles and villas and gardens, and 
 behind them Alps rising on Alps to the snow-line. 
 "Did you bring me on deck to see this? I 
 wanted to see Monte Carlo." And she went 
 below. 
 
 A clear, calm, logical frame of mind is not to 
 be looked for in a semi-seasick lady, but I think 
 that this one should be sentenced to hard living 
 for life at Kankakee. 
 
 During the few hours' run from Nice to Genoa 
 we passed over two-score towns, cities, and vil- 
 lages. One of them, Villafranca, is the Mediter- 
 ranean station of the United States navy, and 
 there you may always see our beautiful flag, 
 whose appearance is so infrequent in European 
 waters that it does your heart good to see it there. 
 You pass, too, Ventimiglia, the frontier station 
 between France and Italy. Next come Bordi- 
 ghera and San Remo. It was here that Queen 
 Victoria had intended to spend the spring of 1900. 
 But the Italian ministers were regretfully obliged 
 to warn her that so strong was the anarchistic 
 spirit in Italy that they could not be responsible 
 for her safety. The attempted assassination of 
 the Prince of Wales and the murder of King 
 Humbert showed the prudence of the Italian 
 ministers. 
 
 25 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 From this point the towns on the Italian Rivi- 
 era are not so well known to tourists, but they are 
 just as beautiful, seen from the steamer's deck. 
 Past Porto Maurizio, Oneglia, and Savona we 
 sailed, and at last we swept around the Pharos at 
 the end of Genoa's "Molo Nuovo," the new 
 breakwater which was a little twenty-million pres- 
 ent given to her city by the generous Duchess of 
 Galliera. And at the end of our Riviera pano- 
 rama there lay before us on her semicircling hills, 
 crowned with her many palaces of red and white 
 and black marbles, "Genoa la Superba." 
 
 The Latin races have always been notable for 
 their outward veneration of the dead. Any one 
 who has ever been in a Latin country on the 
 "Day of the Dead"— it is All Saint's Day, I be- 
 lieve — must have been struck by this Latin trait. 
 It is not so distinguishing a feature of the Anglo- 
 Saxon race. Every now and again there is an 
 outcry in our journals over some neglected grave. 
 Some years ago, in New York, a little down-town 
 cemetery, in the center of a block surrounded by 
 buildings, was about to be built upon. Many 
 of the tombs were handsome ones, and the more 
 recent of them were only thirty years old. The 
 
 26 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 owners of the ground advertised for surviving 
 relatives to claim the remains if they so desired. 
 Not a human being came forward, and the remains 
 were buried in the potter's field. I do not think 
 this could happen in a Latin country. 
 
 Italy is particularly famous for its burial- 
 grounds. "Campo Santo" is the term usually 
 applied to the cemetery. Compare our Saxon 
 phrase "God's Acre." Each of the large Italian 
 cities possesses an interesting Campo Santo, but 
 that of Genoa is the largest and most interesting. 
 Perhaps the most curious is the potter's field at 
 Naples, where there are three hundred and sixty- 
 six pits, one for each day in the year and one for 
 leap year. Into these dated pits dead paupers' 
 bodies are daily dumped. Quicklime is then 
 thrown into the pit, and it remains sealed up for 
 another year, when it is used again. 
 
 But the quadrangle in Genoa's Campo Santo is 
 the last abode of Dives rather than of Lazarus. 
 A poor man could not aflTord to be buried there. 
 From an inspection of the tombs, I judge that 
 either there must be no poor people in Genoa, or 
 that when poor people die they migrate to some 
 cheaper place to be buried. For a dead man in 
 Genoa who does not possess a costly marble 
 mausoleum is nobody at all. He is socially 
 
 27 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 impossible in the Realm of Shades. No self- 
 respecting ghost could afford to know him. 
 
 The Campo Santo is situated on the range of 
 hills encircling Genoa — a spur of the Apennines. 
 About half-way up the hill-slope is an enormous 
 building, with marble terraces and a succession 
 of marble staircases running to the foot of the 
 hill. This building is constructed entirely of 
 marble — walls, floors, columns, terraces, and stair- 
 cases. It is a massive structure, of a gloomy order 
 of architecture, and its many long corridors are 
 filled with the remains of the Genoese, filed away 
 in niches like pigeon-holes. Some have only mar- 
 ble tablets let into the walls and floor, on which 
 are emblazoned the name and virtues of the occu- 
 pant. Others have elaborate basso and alto- 
 relievos and groups. 
 
 At the foot of this hill is another enormous 
 structure with a funereal facade and peristyle, 
 which precede a vast oblong quadrangle, the inner 
 side of which is a cloister, or colonnade, many hun- 
 dreds of feet in length. Around both sides of this 
 colonnade are tombs. There are marble memo- 
 rials on the inner aspect of each pillar of the 
 colonnade. On the opposing face the tombs are 
 continuous. It is a solid wall of marble tombs, 
 several thousand yards in length. 
 
 28 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 Without seeing them, one could scarcely credit 
 the existence of such strange devices as are here 
 visible. The collection is not notable from an 
 art standpoint, but merely as a curiosity. Most 
 of the work seems to have been done by clever 
 marble-cutters rather than by artists. Their prin- 
 cipal aim has been to carry out the wishes of the 
 sorrowing family, and the result is sometimes 
 grewsome, sometimes ludicrous, and sometimes 
 grotesque. For example, you will see a life-size 
 portrait bust of a dead Genoese attorney, with 
 a magniloquent inscription setting forth his many 
 merits as husband, father, and advocate. The 
 deceased gentleman is so carefully portrayed by 
 the faithful stone-cutter that certain unornamental 
 warts on the edge of his whiskers can be dis- 
 cerned. At the base of the monument is a por- 
 trait group of Mrs. Attorney and all the little 
 Attorneys weeping at the tomb. 
 
 A tomb of a different type represents a man 
 upon his death-bed — again evidently a portrait. 
 The wasted, emaciated face, with glazing eyes and 
 protruding tongue, is turned to the spectator as 
 the head lolls over the shoulder, supported by 
 a nurse — possibly his wife. This is so realistic 
 as to be repulsive ; it is fairly photographic, this 
 death-bed scene in marble. 
 
 29 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Another tomb is that of a philanthropist who, 
 according to the inscription, founded an asylum for 
 the blind. This also has a portrait bust, and the 
 mourners at this tomb are a blind boy and girl. 
 Again the faithful stone-cutter has surpassed him- 
 self in verisimilitude. The boy holds a marble 
 Derby hat in his hand. His garments, of course, 
 are of marble, and he wears a pair of marble con- 
 gress gaiters, with side-elastics of marble. The 
 little girl carries a straw hat of marble and wears 
 a pair of marble pantalets. Marble tears are fall- 
 ing from her sightless marble eyes. 
 
 In another tomb there is a single figure — that 
 of a weeping fat lady. The dead husband here 
 appears merely as an inscription, and upon this 
 background of his virtues is projected the plump 
 figure of his sorrowing spouse. The lady is 
 kneeling, her hands clasped, and her eyes look 
 yearningly upward toward the place where the 
 dear departed is supposed to be. The pose was 
 evidently copied by the stone-cutter from one of 
 the many weeping angels of the masters. Its 
 angelic appearance, however, is somewhat de- 
 tracted from by the fact that the lady is fat ; that 
 the stone-cutter has faithfully depicted her fatness ; 
 that the marble buttons on her marble bodice 
 seem bursting from their marble button-holes ; 
 
 30 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 and that she is attired in a modish gown of the 
 fashion of some ten or twelve years ago. This 
 gown has at the bottom of the skirt a marble 
 halayeuse^ and also has, at what I may call the 
 dome of the skirt, a large marble bustle. 
 
 But other fabrics and textures besides this 
 lady's fashionable gown are reproduced with equal 
 fidelity. Another tomb has the figure of a widow 
 — evidently a portrait again — and a magnificent 
 lace veil is thrown over the head and shoulders. 
 This is reproduced with such fidelity that it is 
 easy to recognize the lace as Venetian. Fancy 
 point de Venise in marble ! 
 
 Not only women's but men's fashions are per- 
 petuated here. In one tomb a sorrowing widower, 
 full length, stands mourning at his wife's grave. 
 He holds in one hand a plug-hat made of mar- 
 ble, in the other a pair of marble gloves. He 
 wears a marble four-in-hand tie, a cutaway coat, 
 and trousers, all naturally of marble. They are, 
 however, a little out of date. From this it would 
 appear that in heaven now they are wearing cut- 
 aways with one button, which ceased to be a terres- 
 trial fashion several years ago. It was much 
 affected by fat men, as the falling away of the cut- 
 away from the single button made their abdom- 
 inal globulousness less noticeable. The deceased 
 
 31 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 gentleman also wore his marble trousers about 
 nineteen inches over the instep, which is wider 
 than they are worn now. 
 
 Of course, amid so many of these marble 
 memorials all could not be grotesque, though it 
 must be admitted that most of them are extremely 
 commonplace. Occasionally a striking one would 
 be seen, although a certain weakness of grasp would 
 almost invariably betray that it was copied from 
 the work of a master by the feeble hand of a 
 workman. There were many angels in striking 
 poses, but these were often rendered ridiculous 
 by slight modifications of the conventional angelic 
 smile, which the stone-cutter would sometimes 
 turn into a simper, and sometimes into a smirk- 
 Then, again, there were angels whose light, 
 diaphanous apparel revealed a great deal of their 
 figures, and these figures were not modeled with 
 the clarity and the purity of the antique, but with 
 an attention to muscular articulation and a wealth 
 of adipose detail which showed that the stone- 
 cutter had modeled them from the life, and very 
 lively life at that, and not at all angelic. 
 
 A not uncommon design was that of a white- 
 robed figure entering a door where all was black 
 beyond. This, in white and black marble, was 
 quite eflPective. But from its repetition it was 
 
 32 
 
AROUND THE MEPrTRRRANKAN 
 
 evident, as already noted, diat these stooe-cnttcfs 
 simply borrow other men's ideas. Or it may be 
 that the sorrowing Bmiily bonows them, and die 
 stone-cutter carries out dieir widies. 
 
 Altogether the Genoese Campo Santo is €me 
 of the cariosities ci Southern Europe. Modem 
 art in Italy is at a low ebb. France and Germany 
 far surpass her. But it is remarkable that in a 
 country which, if no longer mistress of the art- 
 world, is at least art-lovii^ such crimes against 
 art should be permitted. If the Genoese Campo 
 Santo serves no other pur pose, it will at least 
 show to after ages how debased was the Italian 
 art of 1900, in contrast with the Italian art of the 
 Renaissance. And it will also shoiw to po ste r it y 
 exactly how nineteendi-centory men and women 
 dressed, and will perpetuate our women's fashions 
 in bonnets, bodices, skirts, and high-heeJcd shoes, 
 and our men's fashions in swaUow^4ail, 60^, and 
 cutaway coats, fbur-in-hand and Ascot ties, s{Ming^ 
 bottomed trousers and elastic-side gaiters — all in 
 imperishable marble. 
 
 From Genoa southward we sailed between the 
 two islands of Corsica and EJba, both reminiscent 
 of Napoleon. It was in Corsica that he was bom. 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 and it was in the little island to the westward that 
 he held his mimic court and reigned as "Emperor 
 of Elba." And it was across these waters where 
 we are sailing that he took his flight for France, 
 again to terrify Europe with the meteoric splendor 
 of the short-lived Hundred Days. As we sailed 
 by Elba there came into my mind the language 
 of the Paris Moniteur, official journal of the 
 restored Bourbon king, in chronicling Napoleon's 
 progress from day to day. It ran somewhat on 
 this wise: 
 
 I. "The Corsican scoundrel has escaped from Elba ! " 
 II. " The tyrant has landed on the shores of France ! " 
 
 III. "Bonaparte is attempting to raise a rebellious 
 
 army.*' 
 
 IV. " General Bonaparte and his army are as far north 
 
 as Avignon." 
 V. " The ex-Emperor Napoleon is at Grenoble." 
 VI. "Napoleon is at Lyons with a large army.'* 
 VII. " The emperor has reached Dijon." 
 VIII. " His imperial majesty entered his capital of Paris 
 yesterday, amid the rejoicing of his faithful 
 subjects." 
 
 Southward from Elba we passed the island of 
 Monte Cristo. But not the one which Dumas 
 made famous — that islet lies off the port of 
 
 34 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 Marseilles. Leaving Sardinia far to starboard, 
 we hugged the Italian coast toward the Straits 
 of Messina. 
 
 Not far from the harbor of Naples we sighted 
 a rocky islet, apparently a couple of miles off- 
 shore. An elderly man approached me on deck, 
 and sard, politely: 
 
 " Do you know whether this is Mount Vesu- 
 vius or not ?" 
 
 I replied with equal politeness: "I don't know 
 what it is, but I know that it is not Vesuvius." 
 
 "But," said he, with an air of triumph, "if you 
 don't know what it is, how do you know that it 
 ain't Vesuvius?" 
 
 "Because," I replied, pinning him with my 
 glittering eye — "because Vesuvius is inland, and 
 this is outland; because this rock is about three 
 miles around, and Vesuvius is about thirty miles 
 around; because this is an island, and Vesuvius 
 is not; and because Vesuvius is a volcano, and 
 this is not." 
 
 The elderly man sniffed and withdrew. 
 
 Vesuvius was but dimly visible when we were 
 off the harbor of Naples, being shrouded in mist, 
 but we clearly saw two other volcanoes — Strom- 
 boli, before entering the Straits of Messina, and 
 iEtna, after passing through them. Leaving the 
 
 35 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Tyrrhenian Sea, we entered the Straits. Here 
 again we had beautiful panoramas on the Cala- 
 brian and Sicilian shores, for both sides of the 
 straits are lined with cities, towns, and villages. 
 The city of Messina we could see plainly with 
 the naked eye, and could follow the detail of its 
 streets, squares, and buildings with a good glass. 
 Its size so surprised me that I looked the matter 
 up, and found that with its suburbs it has over 
 a hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. Still 
 it is by no means the largest city in Sicily. Pal- 
 ermo, the capital, has nearly three hundred thou- 
 sand inhabitants. 
 
 Through the straits we sailed, and soon were 
 headed for the Ionian Sea. Still we hugged the 
 Sicilian shore, and presently the giant Mount 
 JEtna reared its hoary head before us, snow-capped, 
 cloud -circled, and smoke - crowned. Next we 
 passed Catania and Syracuse, and finally Cape 
 Passero was the southernmost land we saw which 
 was Italian. 
 
 From there across the Ionian Sea to Alexandria 
 we saw no land until we sighted the island of 
 Crete. For miles we ran along the shore, scan- 
 ning it closely with our glasses, but discerned no 
 signs of human habitation. It was very different 
 from the swarming shores of the Italian Rivieras. 
 
 36 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 Two lofty snow-covered peaks arose from the 
 mass of mountains which compose the southern 
 half of the island. The easternmost is Mount 
 Ida. 
 
 The low land-line of Alexandria is difficult to 
 discover from the sea. Unlike the rocky head- 
 lands of Spain, Sardinia, Corsica, Sicily, and 
 Crete, you are almost upon the shores of Egypt 
 before you see them. The knots logged by the 
 ship tell that you are only a few miles away, yet 
 nothing is visible before the big ship's prow but 
 the blue Levantine sky and the bluer Mediterra- 
 nean. Suddenly you see a silver streak start out 
 of the sea. It is the sandy shore of the great 
 delta of the Nile. 
 
 The silver melts into ashen-gray, the gray into 
 brown. Soon you begin to distinguish flecks upon 
 the brown here and there, and you see that they 
 are buildings upon a background of sand. Then 
 there starts up out of the waste of sand and sea 
 a lofty column, which the traveled ones recognize 
 as Pompey's Pillar. And as the eyes of all are 
 glued to the curious sight of this flat, sea-level 
 city, apparently rising out of the sea, there sud- 
 denly hails us a queer, piratical-looking craft. 
 
 37 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 She is, in a way, yawl-rigged — that is, she has two 
 masts, but is not of the schooner tribe. Instead 
 of that, she has two enormous lateen sails, and is 
 one of the great felucca family, found all through 
 the Mediterranean from Gibraltar to Joppa. The 
 crew are even more piratical-looking than the 
 craft. They are clad in* white, long-skirted tunics, 
 black blouses, baggy blue breeches, and crimson 
 fezes, some of them white-wound, turban-wise. 
 Later, we find, on going ashore, that there is great 
 significance in head-gear. 
 
 As the big steamer slows down they bring their 
 felucca smartly alongside, and one of their num- 
 ber grasps the dangling rope-ladder and swiftly 
 climbs the side. It is the pilot. As he comes 
 aboard of us the entire ship's company, officers 
 and crew, as well as passengers, line up at the rail 
 to stare at him. For officers and crew are all alike 
 strangers in this Oriental port. The ship had 
 never been here before. So we certainly "manned 
 the side" in this Oriental's honor. 
 
 After some elaborate salutations the pilot non- 
 chalantly mounted the bridge and took charge 
 of the ship. I observed that the captain, the 
 first, second, third, and fourth officers, and the 
 quartermaster all remained on the bridge too. 
 On their North-German faces there was a look 
 
 38 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 of bewilderment not untinged with apprehension. 
 To hand over their fine ship to this outlandish 
 Oriental seemed to them foolhardy. Perhaps he 
 did not know that the ship came from Deutschland, 
 and that she was named after the great Deutschen 
 Kaiser; he might never have heard the phrase 
 "Gott mitt uns." So, praying that the Kaiser 
 and God — in that order — might guard them in 
 this moment of peril, the captain and his officers 
 breathed hard, watched the Oriental, and pre- 
 pared to throttle him if the ship struck. 
 
 But nothing untoward took place. The Egyp- 
 tian pilot took the ship in past the breakwater's 
 end, and brought her to her anchorage as skill- 
 fully as any Bremerhaven pilot could have done. 
 And presently we were boarded by quarantine 
 and other boats bearing the white-and-crimson 
 crescent and the star — badge of Egypt's suzerain, 
 the Syltan. It struck me that the Khedive's flag 
 should also have been quartered with England's 
 crimson cross, symbol of his other suzerain, the 
 Queen. For at times the much-counseled Khe- 
 dive must wonder whether he owns himself, and, 
 if not, to whom he belongs. 
 
 When the quarantine flag fluttered down the 
 halyards we were invaded by clouds of boats and 
 hordes of boatmen. Bedlam broke loose. All 
 
 39 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the languages of Babel seemed to be ringing in 
 our ears. Boatmen bearing the badges of Cai- 
 rene and Alexandrian hotels, boatmen wearing 
 jerseys branded with the names of tourist agen- 
 cies, and boatmen engaged in individual rather 
 than corporate extortion endeavored to divorce 
 the luckless passengers from their luggage. On 
 one hand might be seen a New York dude, pale 
 but firm, seated upon a pyramid whose base was 
 a trunk, the superstructure made up of steamer 
 trunk and valises, and the apex a hat-box, striv- 
 ing to defend himself from the assaults of a gang 
 of bawling boatmen, while a one-eyed pirate was 
 pulling out the trunk at the pyramid's base pre- 
 paratory to lugging it off to his boat. Elsewhere 
 might be seen an old lady, an octogenarian, bound 
 for the Holy Land — I mean the terrestrial one — 
 shrieking with alarm as these swarthy red-capped 
 fellows tried to tear her from her bonnet-box. In 
 the midst of this pandemonium the German ship's 
 officers remained as motionless and impassive as 
 Pompey's Pillar. Great thing, German phlegm 
 — he in ? 
 
 But all things have an end. After an hour or 
 so the last passenger, the last trunk, the last valise, 
 and the last hat-box had been bundled into the 
 boats and were on their way ashore. The ordeal 
 
 40 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 of the Alexandrian boatmen — for years renowned 
 as the worst on the Mediterranean — had been 
 safely passed, and it is only fair to admit that the 
 devil is not so black as he is painted. 
 
 On board with the hotel boatmen were some 
 favored dragomans. These indefatigable gentry 
 earwigged the passengers for employment, and 
 urged them to have nothing to do with the drago- 
 mans ashore. "Me Number One dragoman," 
 was their favorite remark; "all others very bad." 
 Some of these fellows were not unamusing, al- 
 though it must be admitted that their wit was of 
 the cheap, machine kind to be heard in steamship 
 smoking-saloons, on the variety stage, and in the 
 conversation of smart "co-eds." The incongruity 
 of "Let her go, Gallagher," and "That's all-right- 
 all-right," coming from the lips of Orientals, was 
 amusing. 
 
 Some of these dragomans were white-skinned 
 Osmanlies, some were evidently of Bedouin- Arab 
 blood, and some were Sudanese negroes, black as 
 coal. Yet all had picked up some American and 
 English slang. They probably began as Cairene 
 donkey-boys and grew up into dragomans. The 
 many-tongued head-porters in European hotels 
 are said to grow up from the little pages who 
 have broken out into a rash of buttons, who open 
 
 41 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the door for you, touch their caps ceaselessly, 
 and learn to say " thank you " in twenty-seven 
 tongues. 
 
 While the dragoman wit is not of a high order, 
 it was sufficiently so to cover with confusion sev- 
 eral of our steamship dudes who attempted to 
 "take a rise" out of them. It is the usual fate 
 of him who ventures chaff with a New York news- 
 boy, a London crossing-sweeper, or an Egyptian 
 donkey-boy or dragoman. 
 
 So amid a hurricane of American slang and 
 cockney chaff we landed on the pier at Alexan- 
 dria. 
 
 It is odd, but during all of this loud noise and 
 vacant laughter there rose continually before my 
 mind*s eye a series of pictures of the ancient Alex- 
 andria — of Hypatia, the beautiful pagan lecturess; 
 of the rapt audiences listening to her discourses on 
 the elder creed; of how she thus aroused the jeal- 
 ousy of Cyril, Bishop of Alexandria; of the rabble 
 of monks who, incited by Cyril, dragged her into 
 a church and murdered her before the high altar; 
 of the historian Draper's fiery picture of the scene; 
 of the very words with which he tells how she 
 "fell beneath the club of Peter the Reader"; and 
 how her white body was first defiled and then torn 
 to pieces by the monks. 
 
 42 
 
AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 These were the pictures that rose before me 
 on that starlight night, as we drove through 
 the swarming streets of the ancient city where 
 Hypatia lived and died. 
 
 43 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 pROBABLY the average dweller in Western 
 * America looks upon Africa as a Dark Con- 
 tinent in everything, even in railways. He would 
 smile on hearing that the Egyptian railways are 
 better run than many American ones. Yet the 
 fact is indisputable. The railway that runs from 
 Alexandria to Upper Egypt is one after which 
 many American railways might pattern. It is a 
 double-track road. It has heavy steel rails. The 
 track is well ballasted. It has an elaborate system 
 of signal-towers and pneumatic switches. Much 
 of its roadway is lined with heavy cut-stone 
 masonry parapets. Its station platforms are also 
 built of cut-stone masonry. Its station buildings 
 are of stone. Its bridges and other viaducts are 
 of steel. Its trains run smoothly and swiftly, 
 averaging thirty-five miles an hour. There are 
 many crossings in which the railway is carried 
 over the roadway on steel viaducts ; the few 
 grade-crossings are guarded by gates, with gate- 
 
 44 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 keepers. Signal-men with flags stand at all 
 switches, stations, and crossings. Altogether, 
 the equipment and operation of the road are 
 admirable. 
 
 For hundreds of miles this modern railway- 
 goes through the fertile fields of Egypt — most 
 incongruous amid the primitive methods of hus- 
 bandry to be noted there. For, as the express 
 trains whirl and shriek past the toiling fellaheen 
 in the fields, you see that they are using the same 
 primitive implements that their forefathers used 
 when Pharaoh reigned. They still plow with a 
 simple wooden implement, dragged by patient 
 buff^alo oxen. They still laboriously lift water 
 with a sweep to the head-level of irrigating 
 ditches. They still use the sickle, as they did in 
 the days when Ruth followed the reapers of Boaz. 
 And they still carry their bundles of fodder upon 
 the backs of patient asses, or, in default of asses' 
 backs, upon their own. 
 
 Of course, all agriculture in Egypt is not on 
 such rudimentary lines. Rich men and corpora- 
 tions own land, as well as fellaheen peasants, and 
 many tall chimneys testify to the existence of 
 pumping-works. Then, too, the Egyptian gov- 
 ernment has dammed the Nile at an enormous 
 cost, and is engaged in other water-storage schemes 
 
 45 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 that will widen the narrow strip of irrigated land 
 on either bank of the great river, and thereby 
 enlarge the resources of this wonderful country. 
 
 For it is a wonderful country. To talk of its 
 temples, its pyramids, its ruins, and its dead cities 
 would be telling twice-told tales. But no man 
 can gaze on this flat and fertile river valley with- 
 out being amazed at its productiveness. I have 
 been shown in Virginia worthless lands which the 
 wasteful Anglo-Saxon had exhausted by two cen- 
 turies of tobacco-raising. But here in Egypt I see 
 fields still as fertile as when the first dynasty 
 began, although they have been tilled for four 
 thousand years. 
 
 Some historians believe that Egypt was the 
 cradle of our Aryan civilization. Here, they say, 
 nomadic man paused at the great river when 
 wandering from Arabia-Felix into Africa. Gradu- 
 ally those tired of wandering settled upon the fat 
 and juicy banks of the Nile River and began a 
 fitful husbandry of the soil. Tickled with a stick 
 it laughed with a harvest, as the old saying goes. 
 Gradually villages grew up, and thrift brought 
 peace and prosperity. The rich lands were 
 divided among the villagers: this was the begin- 
 ning of Real Property. The property bound- 
 aries were annually obliterated by the rise of the 
 
 46 
 
? 
 
 1 
 

 ^'-^^1 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 Nile ; regulations were made to settle disputes 
 concerning them : this was the beginning of Law. 
 Wise men among the villagers observed that the 
 sun, moon, and stars had much to do with the 
 volume of the Nile flood : this was the beginning 
 of Astronomy. The simpler villagers looked 
 with awe upon these wise men who spent their 
 time communing with the stars : this was the 
 beginning of the Priesthood. The priests soon 
 claimed supernatural knowledge of the celestial 
 bodies ; they imposed rules regarding the manners 
 and conduct of men ; they ordered the villagers to 
 follow them and to erect temples wherein these 
 rules should be expounded : this was the begin- 
 ning of Religion. But the fierce nomads of the 
 desert found profit in harrying and plundering 
 the weaker villagers by the riverside. Therefore 
 the priests chose from among the villagers those 
 who were not only brave but crafty, cunning, and 
 leaders of men. These bold and cunning vil- 
 lagers succeeded in defeating the fiercer nomads 
 by ambuscade and stratagem : this was the begin- 
 ning of the Science of War. To protect their 
 cities they erected mighty walls and fortresses : 
 thus grew up Engineering and Architecture. 
 And, at last, a bolder leader among the bold par- 
 leyed with the priesthood, terrified the mass of 
 
 47 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 common men, and made himself lord over all, 
 priests and commons. And thus grew up Mon- 
 archy, and thus there resulted Church, State, and 
 King. 
 
 These long-forgotten scraps of reading came to 
 my mind as from a luxurious compartment in an 
 express train between Alexandria and Cairo I 
 looked out upon the Valley of the Nile. 
 
 It was toward evening, and the peasants were 
 returning from the fields to their homes. Pic- 
 turesquely clad, they reminded one irresistibly 
 of old Bible pictures. You would see what was 
 evidently a family — father, mother, grown chil- 
 dren, and little ones — some mounted, some on 
 foot, and with most nondescript collections of 
 animals — all burden -bearing. In one group 
 I noted a camel, several asses, a buffalo bull, and 
 a flock of sheep, all placidly pursuing their 
 homeward way, carrying the fodder for their 
 supper on their backs — except the sheep. And 
 the mild-ty t^ fellaheen looked up with much the 
 same gaze as did their animals as the express 
 train whirled by. For the express train was 
 nineteen hundred years after Christ, and they 
 were nineteen hundred before. 
 
 48 
 
'\ .A^-^^Z" ,■"?"; 4 
 
 Mena House ^ at the foot of the Pyramids.' 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 One of the most unique of the Egyptian hotels 
 is Mena House, at the foot of the Pyramids. Its 
 name comes from Menes, who, tradition says, 
 was the earliest king of Egypt. An invalid Eng- 
 lishman built a house near the Pyramids, some 
 seven years ago. He found that the climate ben- 
 efited him so much that a syndicate imitated him, 
 and erected there a large hotel. It is possible that 
 the climate is suited for invalids, as the air has the 
 extreme dryness characteristic of the desert, but, 
 like all desert climates, the utter absence of hu- 
 midity causes a sharp fall in temperature about 
 sunset. This is notable in the towns on the edge 
 of the desert in Southern California. I should 
 imagine that the sudden fall would be bad for 
 weak lungs. 
 
 However that may be, pleasure-lovers rather 
 than invalids have invaded Mena House. When 
 we were there a majority of the guests seemed 
 to be English army officers, Anglo-Egyptian 
 officials, and English women of the "smart set." 
 They devote themselves to riding, driving, quail- 
 shooting, and golf. Most of the men and many 
 of the women are always in riding togs, and their 
 conversation is decidedly horsey. There is some 
 coaching done, too, and the hotel people regularly 
 run a coach to Cairo. The hotel is comfortable, 
 E 49 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 well furnished, and well kept. It is surrounded 
 with wide verandas looking out upon prim gar- 
 dens — necessarily very small, owing to the sur- 
 roundings, for all vegetation stops with the 
 inclosing wall, and beyond is the desert. 
 
 A few hundred yards from Mena House is the 
 great Pyramid of Cheops. Its base is surrounded 
 by hordes of tourists and gangs of greedy Arabs. 
 Up the Pyramid are other toiling tourists, pulled 
 and propelled by other Arabs. In a tent sits the 
 old Sheik of the Pyramids, who collects toll from 
 the tourists for the labors of his Bedouins at the 
 rate of twenty piastres (or one dollar) per tourist. 
 Then the Bedouins themselves wheedle and extort 
 as much more from the hapless tourists when they 
 get them up on the Pyramid. The climb is fatigu- 
 ing, but with the aid of the Arabs is not difficult. 
 These barefooted fellows offer to race up and 
 down the great Pyramid in ten minutes for two 
 shillings. If you remain obdurate they will do 
 it for one. 
 
 When we were going on camels from the Pyra- 
 mids to the Sphinx we were beset by numerous 
 unattached Arabs, despite the protests of the 
 camel-drivers, to whom we had been farmed out 
 by the Sheik. These gentry exhausted every pos- 
 sible means of raising backsheesh. If one was 
 
 50 
 
■UNIVERSITY 
 
*M« Arab nimbly climbed up to the Sphinx's face.'' 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 mounting or dismounting, they would place a 
 hand upon the cameFs saddle and demand back- 
 sheesh. If a photograph were being taken, they 
 would stick themselves into the landscape and 
 demand backsheesh. One nimbly climbed up to 
 the Sphinx's face, and when he descended sternly 
 demanded backsheesh from every one within view 
 of his feat. One particularly persistent Arab de- 
 manded backsheesh of me because he stood behind 
 me while a man was taking a photograph of the 
 scene. The camera man being a total stranger to 
 me, I told the Arab to go to him for backsheesh; 
 the Arab blandly replied that he had already col- 
 lected from him, and that it was my turn now. I 
 gathered that a partial table of backsheesh would 
 run about as follows: 
 
 To walking by your catnePs side . . . . i piastre 
 
 To stroking your camel's rump i piastre 
 
 To forming background for photograph . 2 piastres 
 
 To smiling in same 1 piastre 
 
 To asking after your health i piastre 
 
 Some of these fellows speak English fairly 
 well. One of them said to me, "How do you 
 do ?" I replied that I was fair to middling, and 
 asked him how he was. He admitted that he 
 was able to be about. "Now," said I, "how 
 
 51 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 much do you charge for asking about my health ?" 
 He replied that he thought one piastre would 
 about settle it. "But," said I, "I asked you 
 about your health, and I always charge two pias- 
 tres for that. So you owe me one piastre. See ? " 
 He grinned and remarked : "Ah, you not Ing- 
 leese; you Amareek." 
 
 I wonder how he knew my nationality ? I think 
 my American accent must have betrayed me. 
 
 Cairo has been so much written about during 
 the last decade that it would be idle to attempt 
 here to describe its sights. Every visitor to the 
 Midway at the Chicago Fair knows his Cairo — 
 or thinks he does. Hence I shall spare the 
 reader any description of sights and sounds and 
 smells or any guide-book lore. 
 
 But there is one place in Cairo which the aver- 
 age tourist does not visit. It is the famous 
 university in the Mosque of El-Azhar. Most 
 tourists know nothing of it ; those who hear of 
 it are told that they will not be welcome there. 
 Furthermore, they are warned against loud talk, 
 noisy laughter, attempting to use cameras, or 
 even staring intently at the students, who, oddly 
 enough, do not seem to like it. They are very 
 
 52 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 "queer" — these Mohammedans — are they not? 
 If a troupe of Cook's tourists from Cairo, per- 
 sonally conducted by Dragoman Said Moham- 
 med, should visit Palo Alto, go into the class- 
 rooms, peer over the students* shoulders at their 
 note-books, examine them with lorgnettes, chat- 
 ter loudly in Arabic, laugh noisily and inces- 
 santly, and take kodak snap-shots of them, it 
 would doubtless be considered not at all rude, 
 and the Stanford students would not resent it. 
 But the Mohammedan students are very queer, 
 and they do. To the average tourist and the 
 traveling girly-girl Hfe without loud talk and 
 vacant laughter would be intolerable; so they 
 keep away from El-Azhar, thereby preventing 
 what dwellers in Cairo call "possible outbreaks 
 of fanaticism" — and it is very much better for 
 all concerned. 
 
 This seat of learning is in an ancient mosque. 
 A mosque, it may be well to say, is not neces- 
 sarily a single building, like a church. It is a 
 sacred or consecrated inclosure, but it may be 
 devoted to other than strictly religious uses. For 
 example, one of the most beautiful buildings in 
 Cairo is a modern mosque, which is practically 
 a mausoleum wherein lie the remains of Khedive 
 Tewfik, and in which the other members of the 
 
 53 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Khedivial family are to repose. It is so gor- 
 geously decorated that the interior of the little 
 mosque looks like a jewel-box, aflame as it is 
 with stained -glass windows, beautiful rugs and 
 carpets, and tapestries from Ormuz and from Ind 
 — which is not an exaggeration, for there hang 
 upon its walls beautiful rugs and prayer-carpets 
 sent from Further Islam. For example, every 
 year Mecca sends from the looms of her most 
 cunning weavers a rug emblazoned with texts 
 from the Koran — sends it to the Khedive, not in 
 token of fealty, not as a vassal to a suzerain, but 
 in greeting and gratitude for aid extended yearly 
 by the Khedivial family to hungry and footsore 
 pilgrims in Mecca. 
 
 On the other hand, the ancient Mosque of El- 
 Azhar is devoted to education. It is a vast pile 
 of buildings, quadrangles, courts, offices, and 
 shrines. It is still a sacred place. True believ- 
 ers cross its threshold barefoot, and Christians 
 must don sandals before they can enter it. Be- 
 fore the shrines, facing eastward toward Mecca, 
 you see at all hours pious Mohammedans en- 
 gaged in their devotions. Last Friday we read 
 in the French daily, Le Journal du Caire : " His 
 Highness the Khedive goes to-day to El-Azhar 
 for his Sabbath-day's prayers." So while it is 
 
 54 
 
^'^ students seated in groups in the Mosque of El -Azhar.'^ 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 Still a mosque, a place of prayer, it is primarily 
 an institution of learning. 
 
 On entering the great quadrangle, the sight 
 which presents itself is most extraordinary. Many 
 hundreds of students are seated in groups upon 
 the stone floor. By the way, the number of 
 students at present is said to be about eight thou- 
 sand. Most of these groups are engaged in 
 study. They are poring over books, swaying 
 the body to and fro (which they believe to be an 
 aid to memorizing), and muttering the words 
 which they are transferring to their brains. From 
 the vocal chords of these thousands of throats 
 there arises a loud humming noise not unlike the 
 buzzing of insects' wings in a meadow on a sum- 
 mer day. Other groups are gathered around their 
 teachers. The students vary greatly in age. 
 Some are as old as their instructors, but the 
 majority seem to be about eighteen or twenty. 
 
 There are younger students in other mosques 
 — classes of fifty or sixty boys and girls learning 
 to read and write. The discipline in these pri- 
 mary schools is sharp and stern. While we were 
 in one mosque an offending school-boy was seized 
 by the master, flogged with a bamboo rod with 
 all the strength of a sinewy arm, and then his 
 wrists twisted until he shrieked with pain. 
 
 55 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 In El-Azhar, court after court succeeded the 
 great quadrangle, all filled with students, seated 
 cross-legged upon the marble floor. In the fur- 
 ther quadrangles were the older students and the 
 more advanced "classes" — if they may be called 
 so — for the teachings are almost entirely religious 
 and almost the only text-book is the Koran. Mo- 
 hammedans believe that everything worth learning 
 is in the Koran, that all learning outside of it is 
 pernicious, and that all who disbelieve in it are 
 dogs and blasphemers. Under the latter polite 
 terms they include us Christians. 
 
 If dwellers in the Occident believe the cur- 
 riculum does not interest the students, they are 
 mistaken. I never saw such concentration of 
 mind on the part of both teacher and student. 
 Take one of many groups : At the base of a pillar, 
 on a low stool, is seated a swarthy man of some 
 forty years, his turban with its distinctive mark 
 indicating that he has been to Mecca. At his 
 feet, seated in a circle, are some two-score stu- 
 dents, most of them bearded men. In his left 
 hand he holds a copy of the Koran, from which 
 he reads — not with the measured tones of one 
 of our clergymen or college professors, but with 
 fiery eyes, with sweat rolling down from his swart 
 brow, with right hand in his excitement fiercely 
 
 56 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 beating the book, with a voice which at times rises 
 into a shrill scream, while around him the dark 
 circle of students listen with almost equal excite- 
 ment, indicating approval at times by sudden 
 gestures, and so wrapped up in their master (at 
 whose feet they sit, literally, as Paul sat at the feet 
 of Garnaliel) that they do not even see the hated 
 Christians, who stand by the circle looking down 
 at them curiously. 
 
 " Hated Christians " ? Yes. For they do 
 hate us. They are taught to hate us. This fiery- 
 eyed fanatic tutor is teaching them to hate us. 
 This book which he is now construing breathes 
 hatred to Christians in nearly every line. The 
 blind beggar at the door, clad in caked dirt and 
 filthy rags, who asked for alms as we entered, 
 secretly despises us because we are Christians, and 
 despises us none the less for our piastre. 
 
 Yet, if its curriculum and its methods are 
 mediaeval, this institution is a great one in point 
 of numbers and influence, for its students are 
 numbered by the thousands, and they come from 
 all Islam, from the Straits of Sunda to the Pillars 
 of Hercules. There are students here from Java, 
 and there are students from Morocco. There are 
 teachers expounding the Koran in all the tongues 
 of the sons of Mahound. You see groups with 
 
 57 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 their instructors from India, from Persia, from 
 Syria, from Algiers, from Tripoli ; white-skinned 
 Osmanlis from European Turkey, brown-skinned 
 Bedouins from Arabia, and black-skinned Ethi- 
 opians from the Sudan ; and on the faces of all 
 there is the same intentness, the same concentra- 
 tion, the same fanaticism. 
 
 As we left this remarkable institution I could 
 not help contrasting its devotees with some of 
 our dilettante college professors and dissipated 
 college students of the Occident. It seems to 
 be the rule in the Occident that the college pro- 
 fessor should be interested in things foreign to 
 his teaching, and that the college student should 
 look upon study as a huge joke. Contrasting 
 these Occidental ideas with the Mohammedan 
 ones, I wondered whether Occidentalism could 
 ever make any breach in Mohammedanism. 
 Looking at Mohammedans performing their 
 devotions regardless of the presence of amused 
 or sneering strangers, I wondered how many boys 
 in a college dormitory would have the courage to 
 kneel down and say their prayers before their 
 mates. I wondered what would happen to them 
 if they did. I wondered how soon our boards 
 of foreign missions would succeed in evangelizing 
 the Mohammedans. I wondered' how long it 
 
 58 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 would take our Government to civilize and 
 Christianize our fierce Mohammedan citizens in 
 the Philippines. If they are one one-hundredth 
 as fanatical as those we saw in the University of 
 El-Azhar, I think it will take some time — prob- 
 ably five or ten years. 
 
 I have often heard women rail bitterly at their 
 skirts, and declare it to be impossible for them 
 even to ride a bicycle as well as a man on account 
 of their petticoats. This I have always secretly 
 doubted. I once saw a female acrobat appear in 
 "full evening-dress" — that is, to all appearances. 
 She wore a low-cut bodice, long skirt, gloves, 
 stockings, and slippers, and looked as most women 
 do in their evening garb, except that her slippers 
 were heelless. Yet she went through an elaborate 
 series of flip-flaps, turned forward, backward, and 
 twisting somersaults, "skinned the cat" on the 
 bar, and finally went through the dashing trapeze 
 act technically known in circus circles as "zam- 
 pillerostation." After that, when I saw young 
 women adopt tight-fitting knickerbockers, visible 
 silk stockings, and high-heeled shoes for bicycle 
 wear, because they "could not ride a wheel in 
 skirts," I opined that it was not the exigencies of 
 
 59 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the bicycle but the possession of curvilinear ad- 
 vantages which made these young women eschew 
 skirts. 
 
 Egypt confirms my belief. Nearly all the men 
 wear petticoats. High up in the air on unfinished 
 buildings you see bricklayers and stonemasons 
 hard at work, with the wind blowing their petti- 
 coats about their shanks. You see railway " nav- 
 vies," or "section-men," digging along the line 
 in petticoats. You see ships* pilots clambering up 
 the lofty sides of ocean steamers, over dangling 
 hempen ladders, in petticoats. You see the plow- 
 man plodding his weary way across the lea in pet- 
 ticoats. You see, astride of donkeys, grave and 
 gray-bearded Mohammedans in petticoats. You 
 see Arabs running up and down the pyramids in 
 petticoats. And in a school-yard near the Mosque 
 of Omar you see boys playing football in petti- 
 coats. Football is a sort of breeches apotheosis 
 in the minds of young persons, both male and 
 female. If ever a girly-girl sighs to be breeched 
 it is when she gazes on the gridiron. Therefore, 
 after noting the petticoated Oriental, I shall no 
 longer heed the plaint of the American girl 
 against the "tyranny of skirts." 
 
 But if the Egyptian clings to his petticoats, it 
 is not so with other articles of his apparel. They 
 
 60 
 
^'A petticoated Oriental.^ 
 

A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 seem to incline to wearing slop-shop Occidental 
 coats and waistcoats with their Oriental petti- 
 coats. They are like Gilbert's comic-opera hero 
 who was a man from his waist up and a fairy from 
 his waist down. 
 
 It is this variety of Oriental that you find prin- 
 cipally at the Cairo cafes. There are said to be 
 over one thousand cafes there, and I can easily 
 believe it. At almost any hour of the day you see 
 the tables in front of these places thronged with 
 dreamy Orientals, sipping mild beverages like 
 lemonade and sugared water, and smoking ciga- 
 rettes — for the hookah^ or hubble-bubble pipe, 
 you rarely see, and it is principally used to sell 
 at exorbitant prices to ingenuous tourists. It is 
 remarkable how all these idle cafe frequenters 
 make a living, although doubtless their method 
 of living costs but little here. Yet the amount of 
 idleness is really astounding, side by side as it is 
 with the hard, grinding, unending labor from dawn 
 to dark of the field-laboring fellaheen. In Cairo 
 one sees idle men by the scores of thousands. 
 They have not the apologetic air of the idle 
 workmen in Occidental countries. On the con- 
 trary, they seem to be idle and glad that they are, 
 and they pass their time gazing with idle curiosity 
 at the other idlers. The more active idler at times 
 
 6i 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 makes some sudden movement, such as to light a 
 cigarette, and then the idlers around him follow 
 his movements with idle curiosity. If a new idler 
 arrives and goes to sleep, the earlier idlers gaze 
 upon him with interest until he begins to snore. 
 It is a common sight in Cairo to see one man 
 doing nothing with five men watching him do it. 
 
 As to slumbering idlers, I do not think there 
 can be any word for " insomnia " in the Arabic 
 tongue. I have seen men asleep here in every 
 conceivable posture and in every imaginable 
 place — on the top of a wall, leaning against a 
 camel, astride of a donkey, on top of a fodder- 
 heap, on an ambulant cart, in the shade by the 
 bank of the Nile, on the parapet of a bridge 
 across that river, and on the scorching stones of a 
 mosque quadrangle at mid-day with the babble 
 of thousands going on around the sleeper. And 
 I even saw a man asleep seated on the lever of a 
 Nile water-wheel — one of those primitive con- 
 trivances for raising water from the river into 
 irrigating ditches, worked by a buffalo plodding 
 in a circle, mercifully blindfolded lest the crea- 
 ture see whither it was going and grow weary 
 of its monotonous task. 
 
 Elsewhere I speak of lifting water for irrigat- 
 ing by sweeps. If the lifting of water by such 
 
 62 
 


A GLIMPSE OF EGYl __.^ 
 
 primitive means seems odd in this day and gener- 
 ation, what do you think of lifting it by hand ? 
 Yet even that primitive operation is to be seen 
 from the Nile bridge near Cairo. The patient 
 peasant, with bent back, stooping to the river 
 level, and hour after hour lifting jars of water into 
 a higher-level irrigating ditch, is a not uncommon 
 sight. So, too, is the crooked stick for a plow, 
 of which we have all heard so much. The Ameri- 
 can who is used to our elaborate agricultural 
 implements and modern methods of farming is 
 amazed. His first thought is to sell out his own 
 business and at once bring over here a stock of 
 American agricultural implements. But he would 
 be doomed to bankruptcy. The people here 
 prefer the crooked stick. Very absurd of them, 
 doubtless, but they do. It is the case in other 
 primitive countries besides Egypt. They decline 
 the ingenious reapers, binders, and headers, and 
 gigantic gang-plows of America, and cling to the 
 crooked stick, the sickle, and the scythe. Their 
 excuse is calculated to fill any "hustling" American 
 with disgust. They say that if they buy a machine 
 by which one man can do the work of twenty 
 men, the other nineteen would have no work to 
 do. This puerile argument makes them con- 
 tented with their degraded condition. 
 
 63 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 On the other hand, if Egypt's peasants cling 
 to primitive agricultural methods, Egypt is cer- 
 tainly up to date in other things, such as methods 
 of transportation, railway bridges, handsome 
 buildings, and modern hotels. From the bent- 
 backed peasant raising water by hand, you may 
 lift your eyes to the fine steel bridge spanning the 
 Nile, and over it you will see pouring at all hours 
 a motley throng — English ladies and gentlemen 
 in the nattiest of riding togs, mounted on fine 
 satin-skinned horses ; veiled harem ladies looking 
 out from the windows of elegant closed carriages, 
 with gorgeously arrayed saises, or running foot- 
 men, in advance ; hordes of tourists in hackney 
 carriages ; strings of camels and camel-drivers ; 
 dashing young Egyptians in fezes, tooling swift 
 automobiles ; a four-in-hand coach with a gay 
 party, bound from Cairo to the Pyramids ; lofty 
 loads of green fodder, depending from one end 
 of which may be seen the switching tail of a minute 
 donkey ; Cairo clerks, mounted on bicycles ; and, 
 through the mass, a stream of peasants on foot, 
 borne on asses, borne on camels, and themselves 
 bearing burdens like the beasts of burden. Thus 
 you may see the new and the old Egypt on the 
 Nile bridge. 
 
 64 
 
**y^ young Mohammedan at prayer in the famous 
 alabaster Mosque of Mohammed All:'' 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 In the citadel at Cairo stands the famous alabas- 
 ter mosque of Mohammed Ali, founder of the 
 Khedivial dynasty. I am not going to describe 
 it. Suffice to say that it is a large and beauti- 
 ful building, within it a magnificent mausoleum 
 to the first Khedive. What leads me to speak 
 of it is the long life of a lie. For it is from the 
 eastern terrace of this mosque that Emin Bey 
 is said to have made his wild leap to the rocky 
 depths below. 
 
 You remember the old story — the massacre 
 of the Mameluke Beys. Mohammed Ali scented 
 a conspiracy, and invited them to parade in the 
 court of the citadel. They entered through the 
 Bab-el- Azab gateway, mounted on their Arabian 
 horses and wearing their brilliant uniforms, the 
 finest cavalry in the world. But when the 
 portcullis fell behind them they found the dark 
 walls spitting fire. From behind the battlements 
 came volleys of musketry. They were ruthles3ly 
 shot down, and soon the brilliant Mamelukes 
 were a bloody and writhing mass of men and 
 horses. 
 
 All except Emin Bey. He spurred his charger 
 over a heap of bodies to the battlements, and 
 leaped from the dizzy height to the rocks below. 
 
 This is the story the dragomans tell. They 
 F 65 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 luxuriate in it. They roll it as a sweet morsel 
 under their tongues. They used to point out on 
 the old wall the hoof-marks of Emin Bey's 
 charger. But when Mohammed Ali built his 
 beautiful alabaster mosque, the old wall was torn 
 down and a new one took its place. It is scarcely 
 credible, but hoof-marks have been cut in it, in 
 order that the guides may tell their old story about 
 the new wall ! 
 
 It may be interesting to add that Emin Bey 
 was not there at all. Being warned of the massa- 
 cre he fled into Syria and there died of old age. 
 
 But the story of his leap will never die of 
 old age. There is nothing like the life of a lie. 
 To most minds nothing appeals so strongly as 
 that which is incredible. Still it is remarkable 
 that such foolish lies as this should endure. 
 That they do is shown by the grave way in which 
 the guides show you "Joseph's Well" in Old 
 Cairo; "Mohammed's foot-print" on a stone in 
 the mosque of Kait Bey ; and in the ancient 
 Coptic church in Old Cairo, "the place where 
 Mary and Joseph rested." 
 
 At this Coptic church, by the way, the Chris- 
 tian beggars are worse than the Mohammedans. 
 They kept assuring us "Me Christian — give 
 me backsheesh!'' One particularly persistent girl 
 
 66 
 
Sui^ar-cane venders near Cairo. 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 actually had a cross tattooed on her wrist, at 
 which she pointed incessantly to prove that she 
 was indeed a Christian — blown in the bottle, as 
 it were. 
 
 Another long-lived lie is that about the Caliph 
 Omar and the Alexandrian library. When asked 
 about the books — so the story runs — he replied 
 briefly : 
 
 " If the books contain matter against the Koran, 
 they are heretical. If they contain matter that 
 is in the Koran, they are superfluous. Burn 
 them." Which was done. 
 
 There is a curious volume by Edouard Four- 
 nier, entitled "L'Esprit dans FHistoire." It at- 
 tacks a great many traditions, among them this 
 Alexandrian story. Fournier says that Caliph 
 Omar burned no library at all, and that he did 
 not destroy the great library at Alexandria, be- 
 cause it was accidentally burned before he was 
 born. 
 
 But the season in Cairo is short. The time 
 came when we must quit Egypt. It was rapidly 
 growing too hot for non-Orientals. The so-called 
 winter was giving way to summer — for there is 
 no spring. Already the fields were dotted with 
 
 67 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 wild -flowers. Regretfully we prepared to take 
 our leave. 
 
 Ever since we journeyed southward from 
 Alexandria, there have been running in my head 
 some lines from Victor Hugo. I think they are 
 in " Les Orientales." The lines run hke this : 
 
 "L'Egypte! — elle etalait, toute blonde d'epis, 
 Ses champs, barioles comme un riche tapis, 
 
 Plaines que des plaines prolongent j 
 L*eau vaste et froide au nord , au sud le sable ardent 
 Se disputent I'Egypte : elle rit cependant 
 
 Entre ces deux mers qui la rongent.'* 
 
 Before I had ever seen Egypt the lines had 
 always impressed me as of exceeding beauty. 
 The metaphors are striking — they might be 
 paraphrased thus : 
 
 Egypt unrolls her vast fields extending to the 
 horizon, plain upon plain, all flower-bespangled , 
 upon the North the cold waves of the Mighty Mid- 
 land Sea — upon the South the hot waves of the 
 ardent Sea of Sand — fight for the fair one. But 
 Egypt, flower -crowned and blonde with wheat, 
 laughs at the two seas gnawing at her sides. 
 
 Now that I have had a glimpse of Egypt, 
 Hugo's lines will always have for me an added 
 beauty. 
 
 68 
 
A GLIMPSE OF EGYPT 
 
 The subtle charm of the ancient land was upon 
 us. We were loath to go. But from "the 
 ardent Sea of Sand" there came the Khamseen — 
 the hot wind — the evil wind. It is a warning to 
 the wise traveler. So there began a great hegira. 
 And wafted forth on the wings of the Khamseen, 
 wandering wind from the Sea of Sand, we sailed 
 out on the Mighty Midland Sea, and bade fare- 
 well to Egypt. 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 THE steamships from Alexandria to Europe 
 carry a much more polyglot passenger -list 
 than those from New York. The Americans are 
 a well-dressed, well-to-do, well-behaved lot, but 
 they seem monotonously similar. From Egypt, 
 however, the passengers come from every quarter 
 of the globe, and they form a curious array. 
 There are Egyptians wearing fezes, young Eng- 
 lishmen wearing knickerbockers, and youthful 
 German brides and grooms proudly wearing their 
 trousseaux. 
 
 You see some queer costumes among the 
 passengers. One young man was attired in 
 sage-green knickerbockers, a short jacket with a 
 sealskin collar, tartan stockings, patent-leather 
 slippers, and a velvet tam-o'shanter cap. This, 
 to me, was a new sea-rig — he looked for all the 
 world like Bunthorne. Another type was a fat 
 and elderly Englishman who wore white kid 
 gloves on deck, leaned on his valet's arm, and 
 
 70 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 had his face painted. He might have been 
 Thackeray's model for Joseph Sedley in "Vanity 
 Fair." 
 
 The German brides and grooms were a never- 
 ending source of interest. As the lofty snow- 
 capped mountains of the island of Crete were 
 sighted there appeared on deck a little German 
 bride who had been absent from her dearest for 
 at least a quarter of an hour. With lover-like 
 alacrity he springs forward to meet her, crying, 
 "Ach, du! — Hast du Crete gesehen?" and they 
 repair to the rail and try to look at the island 
 through one glass at the same time — and fail. 
 Alas! even love has its limits. 
 
 In addition to fez-wearers and other polyglot 
 freaks, we have some harem ladies and many titles 
 on board. The passenger-list says briefly and 
 discreetly: ^^Harem (quatre personnesjJ' In an- 
 other place: ^^ 'Trots dames du Harem du Prince 
 ChawkarJ' And there is a ^'Monsieur Pappado- 
 poulis, sa dame Mme. Pappadopoulis^' and four 
 little Pappadopoulises, together with other Greeks. 
 Then we have a Russian prince and princess, look 
 you; also a Baron von Blank and a Baronin von 
 Blank; likewise a baronin without a baron, but 
 with a famous name; we have an Italian count 
 and countess, another baron and baronin without 
 
 71 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 any Von, a French vicomte and vicomtess, and an 
 Honorable Mrs. and an Honorable Mister — of 
 different ilks. Then we have an Oberst and a 
 Frau Oberst, and also a Geheimrath. Of these 
 last we would possibly have been proud under 
 other circumstances. But not with a Russian 
 prince and princess aboard — even if they speak 
 to nobody except the stewards. 
 
 The prince and princess are not only Russian, 
 but they bear a famous Russian name. There 
 are names and names, and there are princes and 
 princes. Italian princes count for little, Russian 
 princes for more. There is a story told of one 
 Anatole Demidoff, a Franco-Russian, rich but 
 low-born, who purchased a little estate in Tuscany, 
 which carried with it the title of "Prince of San 
 Donato." At first M. Demidoff was discreet, but 
 he rang the changes on his name like plebeian 
 Paul Granier, whose father was deputy from 
 (de) Cassagnac, but who dropped the plebeian 
 Granier, and who now uses the noble-sounding 
 "Paul de Cassagnac." M. Demidoff's changes 
 ran thus: 
 
 "M. Anatole Demidoff, de San Donato.'* 
 "M. Demidoff, Prince de San Donato." 
 " M. le Prince de San Donato." 
 "M. le Prince Anatole Demidoff." 
 72 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 Under this name and style he came up for 
 membership in the Jockey Club of Paris. After 
 the Royal Yacht Squadron, this is the most exclu- 
 sive club in the world. When his name was 
 placed in the candidates' book, the secretary of 
 the Russian legation entered one day, walked to 
 the book, and through the line "/<? Prince Anatole 
 Demidoff'' deliberately drew a heavy pen. Under 
 it he wrote, ^^ There is no Prince Anatole Demidoff^^ 
 and signed his name. 
 
 All Paris waited feverishly for Demidoff's sec- 
 onds to be sent to him. But none came. So 
 M. le Prince Anatole Demidoff was unanimously 
 blackballed, and all Paris breathed again. 
 
 To return to our traveling nobiliary menagerie. 
 Probably the flower of our titles is an English 
 marchioness and her two daughters. I know she 
 is a genuine marchioness, because she has her 
 name and title painted on her steamer-chair in 
 large black letters about an inch long. 
 
 Experts in heraldry do not wax enthusiastic 
 over Continental titles. English titles are quoted 
 higher in the American matrimonial market. 
 Among Continental ones, probably the Austrian 
 rate the highest and the Papal the lowest. Even 
 when the Pope ruled the States of the Church 
 his marquisates and dukedoms did not count for 
 
 73 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 much. Now that he is merely a spiritual sover- 
 eign, his titles go for naught. 
 
 If titles count for little, orders count for 
 less. Papal and Turkish orders particularly go 
 a-begging. The Legion of Honor at one time 
 stood high in France, but it has made Paquin a 
 chevalier. Fancy a knight trimming bonnets ! 
 When a man-milliner is made an officer of the 
 Legion of Honor, it remains a legion, but is it a 
 legion of honor? 
 
 This recalls an anecdote of Napoleon the Third. 
 That luckless monarch was much worried by 
 " politicians with pulls " making demands for 
 French election -workers. In addition to his 
 famous plebiscite. Napoleon the Third had many 
 queer elections to " fix." One of the valued 
 government gifts in France is a license to sell 
 tobacco, a bureau de tabac. Tobacco is a gov- 
 ernment monopoly, and such a license means 
 a small but comfortable living for life. Hence 
 these bureaus are greatly in demand. To Napo- 
 leon came one day an importunate statesman 
 demanding one of these places for a henchman. 
 The emperor looked over his list, but was unable 
 to comply. The statesman talked warningly 
 of dissatisfied political workers. Napoleon's cor- 
 rugated brow cleared. " I have it," said he ; 
 
 74 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 " I can not give your man a tobacco-shop, but 
 I will give him the cross of the Legion of 
 Honor." 
 
 The Italians have a habit of saying " The 
 April of life/' for to them April is the equivalent 
 of May in colder climes. But this year the Italian 
 April was so raw, so rainy, and so cold that one 
 required heavy clothing continually. Ladies 
 driving were muffled in furs, and gentlemen wore 
 heavy overcoats. Vesuvius was covered with 
 snow. So were the mountains between Naples 
 and Rome. Icy winds whistled over the Cam- 
 pagna from the Alban Mountains. The curious 
 spectacle was presented toward the Paschal fes- 
 tival of ladies wearing furs with their new Easter 
 bonnets. 
 
 I felt a little doubtful about putting on the 
 heaviest clothes I had, for it was springtime and 
 we were in sunny Italy. But I met two shivering 
 Canadians gazing with chattering teeth over the 
 Bay of Naples from Capodimonte, and both 
 swore it was colder than at Montreal in February. 
 Then I became convinced that it was Naples that 
 was cold, and not myself. For if the climate 
 of sunny Italy can strike into the marrow of 
 
 75 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Canadian Bluenoses, a Californian is justified in 
 feeling a little chilly. 
 
 The weather during this Italian winter has been 
 execrable. Over most of Europe the weather 
 reports show that it rained almost incessantly 
 during January and February — except when it 
 was snowing. There has been much snow, even 
 in southern Europe. During the first week of 
 April a man was found frozen stiff in a Viennese 
 street, and the Easter races at Vienna were an 
 utter failure, partly owing to the villainous 
 weather, and partly because the horses had not 
 been able to exercise on the frozen ground. 
 During the first week of April snow was still 
 lying in Vienna's streets. 
 
 The climate of sunny Italy leaves much to be 
 desired. After a raw and bitter winter there has 
 been apparently no spring. The winter lingered. 
 Yet even in the midst of a bitterly cold April, 
 there came a sudden change. The snow on the 
 mountains melted. The raw north winds ceased. 
 For a day or two fitful eddying breezes blew. 
 Then the wind was "up and down the mast," 
 as sailors say. A sudden rise in temperature 
 followed. And then came a sirocco. 
 
 This hot and evil wind comes straight from 
 the great Sahara. By its long flight across the 
 
 76 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 Mediterranean to France it is made slightly hu- 
 mid, so that when it reaches the French Riviera it 
 is robbed of some of its terrors. Even then it is 
 not loved. Along the French Riviera, by the 
 way, the dwellers are between two winds, the bitter 
 blasts that blow down from the icy Alps, and the 
 hot winds from the African desert. They are 
 like those who dwell between the devil and the 
 deep, deep sea. 
 
 In southern Italy the African sirocco comes 
 upon the inhabitants like blasts from a furnace. 
 So was it now. In Sicily it was at its worst. 
 From there a Palermo dispatch came telling us 
 that the heat was awful and the wind unendur- 
 able ; that infants were dying from its evil breath ; 
 that the late-budding fruit-trees, the flowers, and 
 the fields were being burned and scorched as if 
 by fire. Even some hundreds of miles further 
 north, the sirocco was severe. It swept tourists 
 from south to north as if before a broom. For 
 two or three days it blew, and then the temperature 
 suddenly fell. Torrential rain-storms descended 
 upon Italy. The Florentine papers humorously 
 remarked that their streets had become Venetian 
 for the nonce, and cabs would give way to gon- 
 dolas. The rivers rose rapidly, and much damage 
 was done by floods along the Arno and the Po. 
 
 77 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Violent hail-storms swept over Lombardy and 
 Tuscany, destroying growing crops. In Pied- 
 mont and upper Italy there were snow-storms, 
 and the thermometer fell to zero. 
 
 On May 19th the Italian papers reported the 
 finding of the dead body of one Luigi Bernardi, 
 in Bolzano, on Lake Maggiore, frozen to death. 
 It is true, he had lain down to sleep on the ground 
 the night before, while intoxicated. But think 
 of a man being frozen to death toward the end 
 of May ! 
 
 Yet this is the climate of the Italian peninsula, 
 climatically the most favored spot in all Europe. 
 Compare it with that of our own fortunate State. 
 More and more it becomes apparent to me that 
 the climate of California spoils one for any other 
 in the world. If Californians ever doubt that 
 their winter weather is the finest in the world, 
 let them try that of sunny Italy. If they have 
 ever grumbled at their gentle rains, brought on 
 the wings of mild winds from the south, let them 
 try the raw rain, hail, snow, and sleet storms of 
 sunny Italy. And then forever after let them 
 hold their peace. 
 
 Bad as the weather has been in Italy, it has 
 been better than in more northern climes. This 
 is very evident from the crowded condition of the 
 
 78 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 Italian hotels. And not only ordinary tourists 
 but royal personages have been forced to flee from 
 their own climates. At least a dozen " royalties " 
 were in Italy during the late winter and early spring 
 — from King Leopold of Belgium to Ferdinand 
 of Bulgaria. The royal families of England, 
 Belgiur(i, Austro-Hungary, Sweden, Russia, and 
 several grand -duchies were represented. Here 
 also was Princess Stephanie, widow of Crown 
 Prince Rudolph and daughter of the Belgian 
 king. She has married a Count Lonyay, against 
 the wishes of both her royal families, and was 
 spending her honeymoon in Italy, shadowed by 
 reporters. 
 
 Another royal highness was the Duke of 
 Orleans, pretender to the French throne. This 
 list is not given because I believe these personages 
 to be any better than the uncrowned kings of our 
 great republic. But it shows what villainous 
 weather they must have had in their own coun- 
 tries when they come here in such numbers. For 
 there must be a certain lack of ease about foreign 
 travel for royalty, as all these royal personages are 
 here incognito. 
 
 I never was a royal person ; but if I were, I 
 think I would object to stopping at the Grand 
 Hotel just like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, of Podunk, 
 
 79 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 U. S. A. Royalty should entertain royalty, as 
 in the old days. To put up at ordinary hotels 
 like common folk " gives the thing away." And 
 for Princess Stephanie and her lover to go billing 
 and cooing through Italy, kodaked and snap- 
 shotted at railway stations and hotels, makes an 
 extremely comic royal honeymoon. But royalty 
 is becoming more of an anachronism every day. 
 About the only monarch left reigning by " divine 
 right " (and without any sense of humor) is 
 William, the War-Lord of Deutschland. 
 
 Naples flocked on Monday to the Campo di 
 Marti for the first spring race-meeting of the 
 "Societa degli Steeple Chases." The races were 
 postponed from the preceding day, Sunday, on 
 account of rain. In Latin countries races nearly 
 always take place on Sunday. In France, for 
 example, the Grand Prix is always run on a Sun- 
 day. 
 
 Not only the name of the Italian racing club 
 is half-English, but many English terms were 
 continually used. Here is a sentence from a news- 
 paper account of the race: "Lo sport fu molto 
 interessante, ed il betting animatissimo per un 
 primo meeting,'^ Such words as book, book-makaire, 
 
 80 
 
'A street in Naples. 
 
CAU 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 and startaire could be heard on every side. Most 
 of the horses had Italian names, but all the 
 jockeys who rode them bore English names, 
 among them Goddard, Jarman, Chapman, and 
 Wright. 
 
 The races were not particularly interesting. 
 We found the crowd in attendance more so. 
 There were handsome private carriages there by the 
 hundred, with well-groomed horses, clean-shaven 
 coachmen, footmen in shining hats and handsome 
 liveries, and natty grooms in spotless buckskins 
 and trig top-boots. We counted fifteen four-in- 
 hands. Among these there were mail-coaches, 
 breaks, drags, mail - phaetons, break - phaetons, 
 and an eight-spring Daumont caleche driven by 
 the Marquis of Aqua Viva — >for these were all 
 great swells who were tooling the four-in-hands. 
 Among them were many of the Neapolitan nobility 
 and some dashing army officers. Of course, we 
 knew nothing of the social standing of these 
 personages, but next day's Mattino gave a list of 
 "among those present," from which we learned 
 that we had gazed upon Neapolitan princesses, 
 duchesses, countesses, marquises, and baronesses. 
 Or, as the Italian paper put it, "Nel ring mol- 
 tissime dame della nostra aristocrazia." 
 
 The procession of four-in-hands, tandems, and 
 
 G 8i 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 carriages down the Via Roma and the Chiaia was 
 a brilliant one. The . streets were thronged and 
 the balconies filled with people. Although a fine 
 carriage parade is an almost daily sight in Naples, 
 the four-in-hands were evidently more novel. As 
 to the attire of the ladies, although the day was 
 raw, they had donned spring costumes, and many 
 wore straw hats with white plumes, which with 
 heavy furs made a rather odd combination. 
 
 To show the use of English terms by the Itahan 
 reporters, I copy a few lines about the races from 
 the Carrier e di Napoli : 
 
 '* Abbiamo notata la duchessa di Guardialombarda 
 con la figliuola, la baronessa Barracco-Doria, en una 
 steach; la contessa Filo de Leone, la principessa di 
 Spinoso, la baronessa de Riseis, la duchessa di Novoli, 
 en uno steach; la contessa Piscicelli di Collesano, la 
 principessa Pignatelli-Fici, la marchesa de Medici Acqua- 
 viva-Massa, la contessa de Marsi, en uno steach-hreack; 
 la baronessa Silvestri - Gcnoino, la marchesa Torre, la 
 baronessa Angeloni, la signora Ripandelli, en uno steach- 
 coach; la principessa Melo-Barese con la figliuola, en uno 
 mail-coach^ con quattro steppheurs^ 
 
 Until I came to the end of this paragraph in 
 the Corriere^ I had no idea what a steach meant. 
 But it is evident from the context that the Italian 
 reporter believed that he was writing the English 
 
 82 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 word "stage," for he subsequently compounds it 
 with the word "coach." I am confirmed in this 
 belief by the journal Bon Marzio, which speaks 
 of the ^^ stage'' of the Marchese della Castelluccia. 
 This reporter, however, speaks of the Princess 
 Melo-Barese's steppheurs. He and the other 
 reporters evidently believed they were using the 
 English word "steppers." 
 
 One of the four-in-hands returning from the 
 races pulled up at the Palazzo Vittoria. It was 
 evidently the rendezvous, for here the party broke 
 up. Some of the ladies who lived in the palace 
 made their adieux, and disappeared in the gate- 
 way. Others had their private carriages waiting 
 for them, into which they mounted and drove 
 away. But there were two or three fashionably 
 dressed couples who had to take the plain, ordi- 
 nary, jay street-cab of Naples — which is about as 
 plain, as ordinary, and as jay as any cab in the 
 world. The horse, while strong, is always a 
 scrubby-looking little beast; the driver is some- 
 times ragged, invariably dirty, and the cab is gen- 
 erally so. To descend from a fine, well-appointed 
 coach, behind four handsome horses, with natty 
 grooms holding their heads; to be handed your 
 umbrella by an obsequious servant; to bid fare- 
 well to a lot of swells; to get into one of these 
 
 83 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 decrepit cabs, drawn by a knee -sprung horse, 
 and tooled by a dirty ruffian smoking a bad 
 cigar — this certainly seems from a horsey point 
 of view to be a descent from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous. 
 
 The Naples newspapers seem to be thick as 
 leaves in Vallambrosa. There are dozens of 
 daily and scores of weekly newspapers. They 
 are little four-page sheets, consisting principally 
 of gossipy signed articles on Naples happenings. 
 For the rest, they are made up largely of dis- 
 patches from Rome concerning the proceedings 
 of the Chamber of Deputies. The "local news" 
 of Naples is very briefly chronicled. The reason 
 probably is that most of it is about the unimpor- 
 tant half-million who make up the mass of the 
 population, while the upper ten thousand do not 
 stab one another and get into jail. The only 
 two "spreads" or "sensational features" in the 
 Naples press since we have been here are the 
 races and a row at the San Carlo. The director of 
 this famous opera-house is one Signore Musella. 
 The theatrical critic of the Naples journal, Roma^ 
 Signore Petriccone, criticised the management 
 adversely. As a result, Signore Musella fell upon 
 
 84 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 the critic that night, with intent to do him griev- 
 ous bodily harm. But the critic immediately 
 "slugged" him, or, as La Liberia puts it, gave 
 him "una buona dose di pugni," to the great 
 edification of the brilliant Neapolitan audience 
 and the amazement of two American tourists 
 seated near the scene. We have been expecting 
 to hear of a duel, but nothing has been shed but 
 ink. Both gentlemen have printed sarcastic let- 
 ters in the newspapers, and there is great pother 
 among the critical fraternity. 
 
 By the way, the newspaper spoken of. La 
 Liberia^ styles itself "the organ of the Neapol- 
 itan Catholics.'* Rather odd in a Roman Cath- 
 olic country, but the church and politics here are 
 inextricably mixed. It is, of course, a conserv- 
 ative journal and bitterly opposed to the extreme 
 left, or Radicals. In a recent number it con- 
 tains a fierce attack on Gabriele d'Annunzio, 
 the well-known novelist, whose works have been 
 translated and largely sold in the United States. 
 D'Annunzio was recently elected to the Cham- 
 ber of Deputies as a Conservative. He has, 
 however, gone over to the extreme left, in conse- 
 quence of a crisis in the Chamber. La Liberta 
 denounces him under the heading of "Alcibiades 
 d'Annunzio," calls him a renegade, a traitor, an 
 
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ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 apostate, and winds up by saying that his patri- 
 cian patronymic is bogus, and that the parochial 
 register shows that he rightfully bears the plebeian 
 name of Carlo Rapagnetta. 
 
 // Giorno, a daily paper, is running articles by 
 D'Annunzio on the political situation, at which 
 his political adversaries sneer as being "poetry" 
 and "fine writing." They say he is a poet among 
 politicians and a politician among poets. Another 
 newspaper item of interest is that the Corriere 
 della Sera is running daily "II Cristiano, Romanzo 
 de Hall Caine," translated from the English. 
 
 Every tourist goes to see the Royal Palace in 
 Naples, and I shall not describe it here. It is 
 like many other royal palaces in Europe — sump- 
 tuous and magnificent. Palaces are very much 
 alike. But when we were there we caught a 
 glimpse of the Prince of Naples and his bride, 
 the heir to the Italian throne. 
 
 The House of Savoy considers it politic to have 
 a member of the royal family live in each of the 
 large Italian cities. Thus there is a semi-regal 
 state kept up by the Duke and Duchess of Aosta 
 at Turin; the Duke of Genoa at Venice; the 
 crown prince and princess at Naples and Florence. 
 
 86 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 The royal family is thus kept ever before the 
 people's eyes. Italy is still unified only in name. 
 The Neapolitans differ as much from the Tuscans 
 as the Tuscans from the French. The old king- 
 doms cling to old associations. In every large 
 ItaHan city since 1870 some principal street has 
 been called "Via Roma," after the capital, and 
 there is generally another called "Via Umberto," 
 after the king. But the people use the old names. 
 The main street in Naples, for example, was called 
 for centuries "The Toledo," after a Spanish 
 viceroy. Although officially denominated "Via 
 Roma," the people call it the Toledo still. 
 
 So the crown prince lives in a corner of the 
 vast Royal Palace at Naples in order to win the 
 Neapolitans' hearts. He is not particularly pop- 
 ular, however, although he gives away large sums 
 in charity, in prizes for race-courses, etc. He is 
 reputed to have la jettatura — the evil eye — and 
 every second Neapolitan wears a charm against 
 that omen of ill. 
 
 Our visit to the Royal Palace was notable only 
 because the prince and princess appeared unex- 
 pectedly in a corridor leading from their apart- 
 ments to the private chapel of the royal family. 
 They were accompanied by several ecclesiastics, 
 and appeared so unexpectedly that the palace 
 
 87 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 guardian who was taking around the two plebeian 
 American tourists could do nothing except to 
 "shoo" his charges into a little ante-room. 
 
 The prince is small, weazened, and sickly look- 
 ing. His bride, on the other hand, is tall and 
 very handsome. She was Princess Helena of 
 Montenegro. The king and queen do not con- 
 ceal their disappointment over the fact that this 
 marriage has not been fruitful. If the prince and 
 princess remain childless, the royal line will pass 
 to the son of the Duke of Aosta. 
 
 It turned out that the prince and princess were 
 a little ahead of time. Visitors are allowed in the 
 Royal Palace up to twelve o'clock, and it lacked 
 {ive minutes of that hour. The guardian escorted 
 us to the staircase, and turned us over to a gor- 
 geous flunkey in a cocked hat, scarlet coat, plush 
 breeches, silk stockings, and a gold-headed staff. 
 This imposing person conducted us from the 
 staircase to the palace gateway. I had given the 
 guardian twenty cents, and it seemed unjust to 
 give as much to the lackey. So, after wavering a 
 moment, I bestowed upon him ten cents. This 
 the gorgeous lackey accepted with great gratitude, 
 and bowed low. I never got such a magnificent 
 bow and so much livery for ten cents. 
 
 I used to hesitate at times about offering tips 
 
 88 
 
ALEXANDRIA TO NAPLES 
 
 to uniformed officials and liveried lackeys. But 
 I never knew one to refuse. In fact, the only- 
 time I had a gratuity refused was in Paris once 
 at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I was pestered 
 by a photograph vender, and finally to get rid 
 of him I offered him a copper. He drew him- 
 self up to his full height, stared at me, and said : 
 " Pardoh, monsieur; I do not beg — I seliy He 
 was the only man I found in all Europe who 
 refused an offered gratuity, and he was in rags. 
 Perhaps he was an anarchist. And then, perhaps, 
 he was crazy. 
 
 One of the institutions of Naples is the estab- 
 lishment of Luigi Caflisch on the Chiaia. It is a 
 curious composite. In a way, it is the Huyler*s 
 of Naples, for Caflisch deals in confectionery, and 
 of sweets the Neapolitans are very fond. But not 
 only does he deal in confections, but also serves 
 tea, coffee, and chocolate, and every afternoon the 
 place is filled with women coming for a cup of tea 
 and a brioche^ or some of his many kinds of cake. 
 Caflisch also serves liqueurs^ wines, etc., and a 
 great many men drop in for an aperitif. With 
 the French this is often an absinthe or an Amer 
 Picon; with the Italians it generally takes the 
 
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ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 form of vermouth. This cordial they drink in 
 rather an odd fashion — in a tall glass like a brandy- 
 and-soda glass, one-third vermouth and filled up 
 with siphon soda-water. 
 
 As the women drop in for their tea and the 
 men for their appetizers at about the same hour, 
 there are naturally a great many meetings. But 
 the place seems to be of unexceptionable char- 
 acter, and the people who frequent it of the better 
 class. Ladies of position are not seen in the 
 principal cafes here, like the Cafe Gambrinus, 
 Cafe Staraci, and the Cafe di Torino, although the 
 guide-books say that these establishments are 
 " respectable." But the term applied to a woman 
 is not high praise. So with a cafe. 
 
 The Italian has a sweet tooth. At Caflisch's 
 it is not unusual to see two or three gray- 
 mustached Italian gentlemen enter, pick out, one 
 a cream cake, another a chocolate puff, a third 
 a lemon cake, amicably eat them together, wipe 
 their mustaches, each pay for his own, and go 
 out. But a more ludicrous sight is to see a tall 
 cavalry officer, with nodding plume, long cloak, 
 fiercely bewhiskered, booted and spurred, and 
 with sword girt on thigh, enter the candy-shop, 
 buy a nickel's worth of gum-drops, and go out 
 eagerly eating them. 
 
 90 
 
■^1 B R A n p 
 
 09 TALK 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 »^AUF05SS^ 
 
I 
 
 •5. 
 
POMPEII 
 
 THERE is nothing new to say about Pompeii. 
 Talk in and of the city stopped eighteen 
 hundred years ago. It was resumed in the last 
 century, however, and has continued ever since. 
 The little city has been described so often that 
 many know it by heart who have never been 
 there. The wheel-ruts in the stone-paved streets, 
 the saucepans containing beans and oil, the grid- 
 irons with remnants of meat upon them, the jars 
 of honey — who has not heard of all these things ? 
 So there is nothing new to say of the old city 
 itself. 
 
 But stop. There is a new house in Pompeii 
 — at least a house has been newly uncovered 
 since I was there a few years ago. It is the 
 House of the Vettii, and it is the largest, hand- 
 somest, and best-preserved house in Pompeii. It 
 far surpasses in interest any of the well-known 
 sights of Pompeii, such as the House of the 
 Tragic Poet, the House of the Faun, the House 
 
 91 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 of Pansa, or the House of Sallust. In 1895 
 they were excavating in the Sixth Region in 
 Pompeii, and it was there that the House of the 
 Vettii was uncovered. This is one of the few 
 houses in Pompeii which has not been stripped 
 for the Museum at Naples. The government 
 keeps it intact, with all the paintings and statuary 
 in situ. There are locked gates to protect it 
 from marauders, rooms with locked doors to pro- 
 tect them from lady tourists — or to protect the 
 lady tourists from the locked rooms. Differing 
 from most of the Pompeiian houses — which are 
 so small as to seem like little boxes — the House 
 of the Vettii is quite spacious. The peristyle is 
 large, and contains numerous pieces of statuary 
 and marble fountains. There are, also, some fine 
 marble tables in the peristyle. There is a large 
 dining-room which is elaborately frescoed with 
 mythological scenes, and the work is rather better 
 than most of the Pompeiian paintings, which, 
 from an art standpoint, are frequently rather poor. 
 There is a dining-room, several bed-rooms, a 
 kitchen with all its utensils, a bake-house, and a 
 bath-room. All these are on the ground floor. 
 The upper stories are, of course, gone. There 
 are some fine mosaic pavements in this house, 
 and the peristyle has been laid out as a garden, 
 
 92 
 
POMPEII 
 
 as was the Pompeiian fashion eighteen hundred 
 years ago. Probably the House of the Vettii 
 more nearly reproduces a rich man's mansion as 
 it was than any house in Pompeii. 
 
 But if Pompeii is old, the people who go there 
 are ever new. And the number of tourists seems 
 to have increased largely. When I was there 
 a few years ago, there were not to exceed a score 
 of tourists in the ruins; there were only half 
 a dozen at luncheon at the Villa Diomede, then 
 the only tavern outside the Porta Marina. Now 
 there is quite a cluster of taverns, and the day we 
 were there a long train-load of tourists alighted — 
 nearly two hundred. There were so many that 
 one official guide was told off to a score of peo- 
 ple, while on my previous visit every tourist had 
 a guide to himself and there were guides left over. 
 
 At that visit I remember that some Italian 
 musicians came in to play for us at luncheon at 
 the Villa Diomede. I asked them if they knew 
 the intermezzo from "Cavalleria Rusticana." No, 
 they did not. Did they know what the " Caval- 
 leria Rusticana" was ? No, they had never heard 
 of it. Did they know of the composer Mas- 
 cagni — Pietro Mascagni ? No, they had never 
 heard of him, either. Yet at that time all north- 
 ern Italy was ringing with the fame of young 
 
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ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Mascagni, who had been discovered by Edoardo 
 Sonzogno, the public-spirited music publisher of 
 Milan. But the Neapolitan musicians had never 
 heard his name. Such is fame. 
 
 I asked these modern troubadours to play 
 what they liked. There at the gates of the dead 
 city of Pompeii, at the base of the mighty moun- 
 tain whose ashes had covered it so many centuries 
 ago, these Italian musicians played us " Daisy 
 Bell"! 
 
 This time they began with the " Washington 
 Post March," but closed with the intei'tnezzo^ 
 thus showing that Mascagni has "arrived" at 
 Pompeii. A musician is not without honor even 
 in his own country. 
 
 Among the large number of tourists, Germans 
 seem to preponderate. We heard but little Eng- 
 lish around us. It was principally German, some 
 French, a little Spanish, and Italian — for there 
 are many Italians making the tour of Italy. The 
 Germans are very energetic sight-seers, and very 
 vociferous in their admiration or dislike. One 
 of them became involved in a heated altercation 
 with a guide as to whether a certain statue was 
 that of " Martzelloos," or "Owgoostoos." De- 
 spite the guide's protests, he insisted that it was 
 Owgoostoos, and from the chorus of "ja, ja," 
 
 94 
 
I 
 
 
 ^ 
 
POMPEII 
 
 "ganz gewiss/' "nicht wahr," and the nods of the 
 Teutonic circle, it was evident that they beUeved 
 the German rather than the guide. 
 
 I can not help but admire the self-satisfied 
 air of the German tourist. Sydney Smith once 
 said that he wished he was as sure of anything as 
 Macaulay was of everything. But while I admire 
 the German cocksureness, I do not envy them 
 its possession. They may keep it. Story the 
 sculptor lived many years in Rome, and was a 
 good classical scholar and archaeologist. He did 
 not like the German "Yoolioos Kaiser" and 
 " Kikero '* method of pronouncing Latin. He 
 remarked sardonically that it was reserved for a 
 people that had never settled the pronunciation 
 of its own language to presume to settle that of a 
 dead one. 
 
 But even the gabbling Germans with their 
 guide-books were silenced at times. We were 
 seated on broken pillars in the Forum, gazing at 
 the ruined temple of Jupiter, which had Vesuvius 
 for a background. Of the two summits of the 
 mountain Monte Somma was black, while the 
 crater summit was covered with a cone of snow 
 extending far downward into the deep valleys on 
 its flanks. On the snow was faintly outlined the 
 dim zigzag of the roadway. A hail-storm had just 
 
 95 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 passed off to the northeast, clearing the atmos- 
 phere, which had been misty. From the cone 
 there arose a cloud of steam which was like the 
 snow, but softer and more silvery, while above 
 this arose a tall column of smoke broadening at 
 the top so that it resembled a pine-tree. Looking 
 up the slight incline of the Forum toward the 
 ruined temple, the massive columns and jagged 
 walls were sharply outlined against this back- 
 ground of purple mountain and shimmering snow, 
 of silvery steam and inky smoke. The sight was 
 a beautiful one, and it silenced even the noisy 
 Germans as they poured into the Forum. 
 
 In a few moments the scene changed. Another 
 storm was coming up. Clouds gathered round 
 the mountain, and soon it was nothing but a 
 gigantic shadow looming vaguely through the 
 mist, while the sun shone on the villages of Torre 
 del Greco and Annunziata, and the dead cities of 
 Pompeii and Herculaneum in the valley below. 
 And with this picture in our minds we turned 
 and silently left the ancient city. 
 
 96 
 

^ 
 
 ^H 
 
A ROMAN GARDEN-PARTY 
 
 IN Rome the average tourist repairs to the 
 hotel porter for information as to where to 
 go and what to do. The porter is thoroughly 
 posted on museums and galleries, but he rarely 
 reads the papers. If the tourist also fails to read 
 them he will miss many things. Carefully as the 
 Italian papers endeavor to omit the news, they 
 occasionally get some in by accident. Thus, 
 from a brief paragraph in La Tribuna, we learned 
 that there would be a charity kermess on the 
 Pincian Hill the following day. 
 
 As every one knows, the Pincian Hill of 
 ancient Rome is a pleasure-ground of modern 
 Rome. It is a well-kept park, with winding 
 drives, with trees and terraces, with flowers and 
 fountains — a place where nurse-maids and chil- 
 dren go to "hear the band play," and naturally 
 a place where carahinieri^ hersaglieri^ and various 
 other kinds of uniformed idlers also go to ogle 
 the coquettish nurse-maids. And, likewise, my 
 H 97 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 lady drives there in her fine carriage, and eke 
 silk-stockinged John and Jeames — or, in Italian, 
 mayhap, Giovanni and Jacopo. And it was in 
 this beautiful park that the garden-party took 
 place. 
 
 The weather was superb, the scene ideal. An 
 inclosure had been erected in the Pincian Park, 
 and within it were numbers of unique booths. 
 There was a wheel-of-fortune booth presided over 
 by the Princess Sonnino Colonna, with a half-score 
 of duchessas, cohtessinas, and plain donnas to 
 assist her. There was an Indian tea pavilion, 
 where Lady Currie, the British embassadress, 
 presided, assisted by half a dozen ruddy English 
 girls. There was a cigar and cigarette booth, 
 where the Marchesa Marignoli and her noble 
 cohorts sold very poor cigars at very good prices. 
 There was a flower booth directed by the Princess 
 di Frasso D entice, where fascinating Roman 
 patricians pinned pink camellias on your coat at 
 ruinous rates. There was a Russian kiosque 
 where the Princess Bariatinsky marshaled a num- 
 ber of ladies, all of whose names ended in either 
 off or ski^ and where only Russian knicknacks 
 were for sale. There was a Venetian kiosque 
 where the Princess Voriedoges and her ladies sold 
 Murano glassware. And there was a bufl^et where 
 
 98 
 
" The giant flunkeys^ massive^ impassive.'' 
 
A ROMAN GARDEN-PARTY 
 
 the Marchesa Rudini, wife of the ex-premier, and 
 a group of noble barmaids dispensed beverages 
 at prices which would make a reasonable degree 
 of intoxication cost a fortune. There was also 
 a cafe-concert where a performance was given by 
 a "grand international troupe of eccentric acro- 
 bats," all of whom seemed to be well acquainted 
 with the audience ; the most successful tumbler 
 was Count Baldassare Negroni, who won the 
 plaudits of the queen. For not the least attrac- 
 tion was the presence of Queen Margherita. 
 
 About five o'clock the kermess was in full 
 swing. Dapper officers were touting for trade in 
 front of the booths. Other dapper officers were 
 whirling the wheel - of- fortune for the ladies. 
 Handsome old gentlemen, faultlessly dressed, 
 perfectly groomed, were handing bank-notes right 
 and left for pincushions and flowers. Younger 
 gentlemen, also faultlessly dressed, were gravely 
 whirling about upon wooden carrousel horses in 
 the merry-go-rounds. Ladies in fetching spring 
 gowns and picture hats were fluttering from booth 
 to booth, buying trifles and greeting friends, and 
 there was light talk and laughter on every hand. 
 Even the giant flunkeys, massive, impassive, whis- 
 kered, relaxed their stern features and seemed to 
 take a faint and fleeting interest in the scene. 
 
 99 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 But there was a sudden movement. The crowd 
 precipitated itself toward one side of the garden. 
 A double line of uniformed attendants was formed, 
 and up this line, smiling, bowing, radiant, appeared 
 Queen Margherita, and through the line she made 
 her way to the " Padiglione a the delF Ambas- 
 ciatrice della Gran Brettagna." There in Lady 
 Currie's tea pavilion she held a reception for a 
 time, and then made the round of the booths. 
 
 The queen was not accompanied by the king. 
 Humbert's tastes are simple, and he is rarely 
 seen with the queen on her numerous appear- 
 ances in the gay world. Besides, he has had 
 experiences which must have embittered him. At 
 Naples in 1878, for example, Passavante leaped 
 upon his carriage-step and attempted to stab him 
 with a dagger as he was seated beside the queen, 
 but Humbert felled him with a blow of his sabre. 
 Some years later another assault by the assassin 
 Acciarutio showed that Humbert is no coward. 
 But such attempts do not make him fond of 
 appearing in public with the queen, whose life 
 would thus be also in danger. 
 
 The king rides in the early morning hours, 
 and sometimes in the afternoon drives a light 
 phaeton with two spirited horses, frequently 
 holding the ribbons himself, and accompanied 
 
'4 >. 
 
 
 " /« /^(f Pincian Park were numbers of unique booths.'" 
 
A ROMAN GARDEN-PARTY 
 
 only by an aid. He is then always in civilian's 
 garb, and his equipage has no sign of pomp. 
 
 The queen generally drives in state. On the 
 Corso and on the Pincio her caleche is conspicu- 
 ous. The four servants wear scarlet liveries, and 
 on state occasions powdered periwigs and silk 
 stockings. One day when we were at the race- 
 track she drove out with four horses, with postil- 
 ions and a mounted escort. The queen was once 
 very beautiful, and is still handsome. She is fond 
 of jewels, and her pearls are famous. Her name, 
 " Margherita," signifies pearl, and the king each 
 year adds to her collection of enormous pearls. 
 The king's father left debts of fifteen millions 
 behind him, and it took years of economy on 
 Humbert's part to pay off these debts. He sold 
 off nearly all the family lands to do this, and 
 acquired habits of economy which stick to him 
 still. But he never economizes in his wife's pearls. 
 
 The queen is not only fond of the theatre, but 
 she is also devoted to letters, music, and art. 
 She regularly receives the most notable new books 
 in Italian, French, English, and German ; she is 
 a warm admirer of Duse and Novelli, the two 
 leading Italian actors, and at her Wednesday 
 evenings on the Quirinal she frequently has 
 musicians of note as her guests. She also takes 
 
 TOI 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 a great interest in the schools of art in Rome, 
 among them the French Academy in the Villa 
 Medici. 
 
 Humbert and Margherita do not lack for 
 residences. They have palaces everywhere — in 
 Rome, the Quirinal ; in Naples, the old palace 
 of the Bourbon kings, as well as the two other 
 royal palaces of Capodimonte and Caserti ; in 
 Genoa, the magnificent Durazzo palace on the 
 Via Balbi ; in Florence, the Pitti palace ; in 
 Venice, the old doge's palace ; in Milan, the 
 palace of the former grand dukes ; in Turin, the 
 palace of the Piedmont kings, where Humbert 
 was born. At Monza,* near Milan, they have 
 a beautiful summer residence, surrounded by a 
 great park miles in extent. Then in the Alps 
 of northern Italy they have a mountain home at 
 Gressoney. 
 
 Humbert is hereditary King of Sardinia and 
 Piedmont. Hence a somewhat anomalous con- 
 dition of things in Italy, for not all the Italians 
 recognize him as King of Italy. Many refuse to 
 salute him in his own capital at Rome. The 
 more bigoted Catholics ignore him, and refuse 
 to cast a vote at any election while " the usurper " 
 
 * While these pages were passing through the press. King 
 Humbert was murdered near Monza, by the assassin Bresci. 
 
A ROMAN GARDEN-PARTY 
 
 is on the throne. Half the Roman aristocracy 
 will not go to the Quirinal. Some foreign Catholic 
 princes will not go there. Even Humbert's 
 nephew, King Carlos of Portugal, will not visit 
 him at the Quirinal. His sister Clotilde, whom 
 he tenderly loves, has refused to accept his 
 hospitality there. Emperor Francis Joseph has 
 never returned the visit Humbert made to him 
 in Vienna. Foreign Catholic noblemen who do 
 go to the Quirinal will not afterward be received 
 at the Vatican until they have first " purified " 
 themselves by calling on theip own legations to 
 the Vatican. For be it understood that the 
 Roman Catholic powers have two embassadors 
 to Rome, one to the king and the other to the 
 Pope. The ban of excommunication rests upon 
 Humbert so long as he occupies the former 
 Papal territory. 
 
 But on the other hand, while the Pope does 
 not recognize him as King of Italy, he does recog- 
 nize him as King of Sardinia and Piedmont. 
 Therefore the king assists at mass and receives 
 the sacrament from a Piedmontese chaplain. 
 When the Pope appoints a Bishop of Turin, the 
 king's approval is necessary as King of Piedmont. 
 On Humbert's "Saint's Day" the Vatican allows 
 Te Deums to be sung in the churches of Piedmont, 
 
 103 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Tuscany, Lombardy, Venetia, Sicilia, and Sar- 
 dinia, as these lands were taken from other poten- 
 tates, and not from the Pope. The Pope also 
 tacitly permitted the Crown Prince's marriage to 
 Helena of Montenegro, in 1896, to take place in 
 Rome, but in a minor church — Santa Maria degli 
 Angeli. 
 
 This is, perhaps, dry reading after a garden- 
 party, but it shows the curious condition of 
 "United Italy,*' which to me does not seem to be 
 united at all. Humbert's subjects speak of them- 
 selves as Romans, Neapolitans, Tuscans, and 
 Venetians, rather than as Italians, and ugly ques- 
 tions crop up continually. Recently the cham- 
 bers were dissolved almost in a riot over one of 
 these vexed questions, and immediately the stu- 
 dents all over the kingdom engaged in sympa- 
 thetic riots. At Foggia a royalist deputy was 
 viciously assaulted. Even in Rome there was 
 a religious riot on the Corso. A popular priest. 
 Father Theodosio, was preaching in the fash- 
 ionable church at San Carlo al Corso. A panic 
 occurred owing to the screams of an hysterical 
 woman. An anti-clerical mob gathered outside 
 of the church and began to shout "Down with 
 the priests !" A clerical mob gathered with coun- 
 ter cries, and for a time the Corso was blockaded, 
 
 104 
 
A ROMAN GARDEN-PARTY 
 
 and the police had difficulty in dispersing the 
 mob. And all this took place at a fashionable 
 church on the Largo al Corso in the very heart 
 of Rome. 
 
 105 
 
ARMS AND THE MAN 
 
 WHAT first strikes the American in Europe 
 is the number of men in uniform. Our 
 officers at home and those in England are in 
 mufti except when on duty. But on the Conti- 
 nent, officers, as well as privates, must wear their 
 uniforms everywhere. As a result you see them 
 by thousands in the streets of every large city. 
 The number is swollen by the semi-military 
 gendarmery found in all Continental countries. 
 On the streets there is a continual saluting of 
 uniformed men which is so incessant that it is at 
 times almost ludicrous. When a middle-aged offi- 
 cer is trudging along through the slush, a careworn 
 expression on his countenance, his wife on his left 
 arm, a baby on his right, an umbrella in his left 
 hand, with the rain pouring in sheets upon this 
 military family, it seems a trifle absurd for him to 
 disembarrass himself of baby and umbrella in order 
 to return the salutes of four or ^ve stiffly standing 
 soldiers whose hands are glued to their caps. 
 
 io6 
 
ARMS AND THE MAN 
 
 But most of the officers one meets are not so 
 encumbered. Probably marriage on their meagre 
 pay is impossible. In fact, in most Continental 
 countries army officers are forbidden to marry 
 unless the two spouses between them have a cer- 
 tain income — so much for a captain, so much for 
 a lieutenant, etc. As a result, many thousands 
 of able-bodied, energetic, and ambitious men, the 
 flower of the land, are cut off from professional 
 and other careers, debarred from marriage and do- 
 mestic Hfe, and condemned to — what? Loafing. 
 
 For that terse Americanism expresses exactly 
 the occupation of the European army officer. In 
 England he loafs in his clubs, or, if he loafs else- 
 where, his attire renders him undistinguishable 
 from other loafers. But on the Continent he has 
 no clubs, or, if he has, he prefers to do his loafing 
 in the cafes and on the street. Here at all hours 
 of the day you see crowds of officers drinking in 
 cafes^ smoking on street-corners, staring in shop- 
 windows, leaning against lamp-posts, peering into 
 carriages, and ogling the women. They seem to 
 lead listless, lazy lives, and their home, apparently, 
 is the street. They remind me irresistibly of that 
 dreamy lounger, the American police officer. Like 
 him, too, they are prepared for all kinds of weather. 
 They are so used to living on the street that they 
 
 107 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 can not even go in when it rains, and in Europe it 
 rains a great deal. So they wear long mackin- 
 toshes, with hoods to protect their caps. You see 
 a tall figure, cowled and shrouded in black, leaning 
 against a lamp-post, smoking a long cigar. The 
 rain streams over it into the gutter. But the rain 
 stops. The sun shines again, and the black object 
 steps into a cafe\ sheds its caoutchouc cocoon, and 
 comes out again a brilliant military butterfly, with 
 glittering uniform, with helmet of gilt and steel, a 
 long sword clanging upon the pavement, in the 
 basket-hilt of which is a pair of white kid gloves. 
 And again the warrior resumes his work — walking 
 the streets. 
 
 I said they have no clubs. I mean in the 
 American and English sense of the term. In 
 Rome they have a Circolo Militare, but it is an 
 association rather than a club. Papers are read 
 there on technical subjects by those officers who, 
 weary of their idle lives, have turned to study as 
 a relief There is also in Italy a Union Mili- 
 tare, but that is merely a cooperative institution 
 for the purchase of all kinds of wares, like the 
 great Army and Navy Cooperative Stores in 
 England. 
 
 There is no doubt that this military element 
 lends much light and color to the streets. Although 
 
 io8 
 
ARMS AND THE MAN 
 
 there are uniforms more brilliant than in Italy — 
 in Austro- Hungary, for example — the Italian 
 uniforms are very handsome. The variety is 
 striking. You see infantry officers in dark-blue 
 tunics with silver facings, blue-gray trousers with 
 scarlet stripes, and long blue-gray cloaks. You 
 see bersaglieriy an elite rifle corps, in dark-blue and 
 crimson uniforms, wearing round hats with cock's 
 plumes hanging in a large bunch from one side. 
 You see cavalry officers in blue and gray uniforms, 
 some wearing fur caps, and the Savoy regiments 
 wearing gold - crested steel helmets. You see 
 artillery officers in blue and yellow, engineer offi- 
 cers in blue and crimson, the royal body-guard in 
 blue and silver, and finally you see the royal 
 horse-guards, imposing creatures in helmets with 
 black horse-hair plumes, steel cuirasses, white 
 leather breeches, and high boots. Then there 
 are the carabinieri, or gendarmes^ who wear a sim- 
 ple, old - fashioned uniform — long-skirted coat, 
 cocked hat, pipe -clayed belt and scabbard. It 
 is quaint and effective. 
 
 What we would call the police officers wear 
 different uniforms in different cities. In Rome 
 their uniform is much like that of the infantry 
 of the line, which adds to the apparent number 
 of military in the streets. In other Italian cities 
 
 109 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 they wear various costumes, probably dating from 
 the days before United Italy. In Genoa their 
 garb is indeed extraordinary. They wear long, 
 black surtout coats, cut like what our tailors call 
 a Newmarket or paddock coat. The costume is 
 crowned with a " stove-pipe hat." This seems 
 incredible, but it is true. When it rains they 
 substitute a cap for the stove-pipe. 
 
 In addition to the military, the rural gendarm- 
 ery, and the municipal police officers, practically 
 all government employees wear semi -military 
 uniforms. Firemen, custom-house officers, post- 
 office clerks, postal-wagon drivers, railway em- 
 ployees (the railways belong to the government), 
 telegraph employees (the telegraph belongs to the 
 government also), octroi employees — all of these 
 men are in uniform. And people who are fond 
 of advocating government ownership of railroads 
 and telegraphs ought to try it over here. These 
 petty officials in brass buttons are so swollen 
 with bureaucratic importance that they are not 
 even civil. The railways do not advertise their 
 time-tables, or anything else for that matter. If 
 you want to find out details concerning trains, 
 rates of fare, rates on luggage by passenger train, 
 rates on luggage by fast freight, rates on luggage 
 by slow freight, rates for transporting luggage 
 
ARMS AND THE MAN 
 
 from station to domicile in railway vans — well, 
 you may succeed if you are persistent, but you 
 will get little help and much insolence from the 
 railway officials. If you purchase a sleeping-car 
 coupon with a first-class ticket you are entitled, 
 under the law, to demand that a sleeping-car be 
 placed on the train, even if you are the only pas- 
 senger. But the railway officials will never tell 
 you of your rights. I found this out from a 
 tourist agency, and took great pleasure in compel- 
 ling the railway officials to put on a sleeping-car 
 for our special use and behoof. 
 
 As for the telegraph, the government plainly 
 says on its blanks that it is not responsible for 
 anything — errors in transmission, failure to trans- 
 mit, battle, murder, sudden death, pestilence, 
 famine, or act of God. If you send high-priced 
 cablegrams by the Italian government's telegraph 
 service you had better demand a receipt for the 
 money. A receipt, by the way, will cost you 
 twenty-five centesimi extra. An American in 
 Italy recently complained of having sent six cable- 
 grams to the United States in one month, five 
 of which were never received. Probably the 
 employees pocketed the money and threw the 
 cablegrams in the waste-basket. The post-office 
 so distrusts its employees that they have a contri- 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 vance for emptying letter-boxes by which the 
 letters are slid from the locked box into a bag 
 with a locked top, so that the employee cannot 
 handle them. Newspaper boxes are emptied into 
 a bag, as in our country. The government rail- 
 ways have so poor an opinion of their brass- 
 buttoned employees that they will accept no 
 luggage unless it has strong locks upon it. 
 Even with that precaution there are so many 
 thefts from trunks on Italian railways that prudent 
 people insure their luggage. 
 
 Why is Italy so poor ? Why is official honesty 
 at so low an ebb that she can not trust even her 
 own government employees ? Why is it unsafe 
 to hand a letter to a postal -carrier to post, lest he 
 should steal the stamps ? The answer is simple. 
 It is because of the brilliant uniforms which give 
 color to the streets ; of the vast number of sol- 
 diers who live upon the tax -payers. For every 
 idle officer loafing at a cafe^ three or four men are 
 working hard to earn his living and their own. 
 The unfortunate country is ground down with 
 taxation. There is nothing that is untaxed. Even 
 the food you eat pays a double tax — once to the 
 state and again to the city. The very sunlight is 
 taxed, for there is a heavy tax on windows. 
 
 California and Italy are about the same size. 
 
ARMS AND THE MAN 
 
 Roughly speaking, California contains about 
 150,000 square miles, Italy about 120,000 square 
 miles. They are not dissimilar in physical char- 
 acteristics.. They extend over a long distance 
 from north to south, and each has an extensive 
 coast line. Each is destitute of coal mines. Each 
 produces large quantities of wheat. Each pro- 
 duces citrus and other fruits, olives, wine, and 
 raisins. The climate is about the same, although 
 California's is superior. They are in about the 
 same zone. Rome lies in about the same latitude 
 as San Francisco. Our State is one of the richest 
 and most fertile of all the United States. Yet 
 suppose that California were as populous as 
 Italy — some day it will be. Suppose it had a 
 population of millions. Could California, even 
 with its vast resources, support an army of a 
 quarter of a million men as Italy does P She 
 could do it only as Italy does, by grinding the 
 people into the dust with oppressive taxation. 
 
 It is a fact that Italy — about the size of Cali- 
 fornia — has over 200,000 men under arms, with 
 a reserve of 2,000,000 more. She also has a 
 large and costly navy. 
 
 The Italian government is much concerned at 
 the enormous emigration. They try to stop it, 
 but it can not be stopped. The young men flee 
 I 113 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 to avoid conscription. Recently some Italian 
 chemists were arrested for selling drugs which 
 enabled young men to feign chronic maladies so 
 skillfully as to avoid conscription. This is another 
 symptom of the army ulcer which is eating into 
 Italy. 
 
 Of course, every one in America knows these 
 things. We know them on paper. But there is 
 nothing like seeing them. They had grown dim 
 in my memory since I was last in Europe. But a 
 glimpse of militarism revives my old impressions. 
 Here it is hated and dreaded. The ambitious 
 and energetic flee from it and go to other lands. 
 The Germans in America are a type of this class. 
 It is no wonder that the menace of militarism in 
 our own country is arousing such distrust and 
 hostility among our naturalized citizens of Eu- 
 ropean birth. In Europe, militarism is a black 
 and blighting shadow. May it never fall across 
 our republic's onward way. 
 
 114 
 
A ROMAN RACE-COURSE 
 
 AT the spring race-meeting of Rome the prin- 
 ^*> cipal races are the "Steeple-Chase Nazionale," 
 the "Grand Steeple -Chases di Roma," and the 
 " Derby Reale." The English tinge to the sport 
 may be inferred from these Anglo-Italian titles. 
 The stewards of the course bore ancient names. 
 They were Prince Colonna, Prince Doria, and 
 Prince Rosano. A number of other princes, 
 marquises, and counts held ornamental positions, 
 but I observed that the starter was a plain Amer- 
 ican named George Bartlett. The Royal Derby 
 prize of 24,000 lire was won by the Italian horse 
 Cloridano. It was quite evident that the jockey 
 who rode the horse was not a " Romano di 
 Roma," for his name was Jones. 
 
 It would be useless to give the time of these 
 races, for the distances are all in metres, and 
 comparisons with our races in miles would be 
 difficult. There were no book-makers' stands at 
 this Roman race -track, but the public betting 
 
 115 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 was all done on the mutual plan at stands called 
 by the Italians " totalizzatori." This is similar 
 to the French system once in use on our race- 
 tracks called " Paris Mutuals." It may be still 
 in use. Horsemen are not, as a rule, strong in 
 philology; this phrase, paris mutuels — "mutual 
 wagers" — was by them universally beheved to 
 mean a form of betting peculiar to Paris. 
 
 The prices of admission are higher than on 
 our tracks. The tariff (in American money) was 
 as follows : 
 
 Admission to course i^-io 
 
 Admission to the reserved stand — 
 
 Gentlemen 4.00 
 
 Ladies 2.00 
 
 Officers in uniform 2.00 
 
 Admission to seat in covered pavilion 40 
 
 Admission to seat in uncovered pavilion (bleachers) .20 
 
 Admission four-horse vehicle : . 8.00 
 
 Admission two-horse vehicle 4.00 
 
 Admission automobile 4.00 
 
 Admission bicycle 20 
 
 The scene at the race-course was an animated 
 one. Overlooking the quarter-stretch were the 
 royal tribune, the tribunes of the various racing 
 clubs, and the reserved grand stand, or "Tribuna 
 Reservata." In front of these tribunes there 
 
 116 
 
A ROMAN RACE-COURSE 
 
 promenaded a brilliant throng. In addition to 
 Roman swelldom, there was the foreign and diplo- 
 matic colony, which is large. There were also 
 some visiting personages, such as the Grand 
 Duke of Mecklenburg. Several members of the 
 Italian royal family were present to receive the 
 king and queen. Both houses of the ItaHan par- 
 liament were represented, and many titled sports- 
 men came from Florence, Naples, and Turin. 
 Upon the rich carpet of greensward there gathered 
 gay groups in the paddocks, and between the 
 races numerous parties seated themselves at tables 
 in the open air and partook of hearty luncheons 
 washed down with champagne. Some of the 
 noble Roman dames have very fine appetites I 
 observed. 
 
 On the other side of the track, in the centre of 
 the field, there was a similar yet a different scene. 
 It was the Roman populace, also eating and drink- 
 ing, although not in so dainty a way. But it was 
 infinitely more amusing than the aristocratic 
 gathering. Booths had sprung up like mush- 
 rooms, and here the Roman populace was filling 
 itself with macaroni and spaghetti, with risotto 
 and ravioli, with yard -long loaves of bread, with 
 strange stews of kid's flesh and veal, with mysteri- 
 ous sausages like mortadella, and with white and 
 
 117 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 red Chianti wine — and a great deal of it. For I 
 regret to state that a large part of the Roman 
 populace was intoxicated. If the "Senatus Ro- 
 manus" drank French champagne, the "Populus 
 Romanus" drank the wine of the country. All 
 over the field were gathered groups of men, red 
 in the face, flushed with wine, and shaking their 
 clenched fists in each other's faces with loud 
 shouts. But they were not fighting. They were 
 only playing morro^ the national game, which 
 apparently consists in quickly guessing the num- 
 ber of unclosed fingers in the opponent's partially 
 closed hand. The crowd seemed to be good- 
 humored, if intoxicated, and I saw no fights. 
 
 But a ripple of excitement sweeps over the 
 quarter-stretch, and hats go off^ like magic. It 
 is the king, who drives himself in his phaeton, 
 accompanied by a single aide-de-camp. A few 
 moments afterward arrives the queen, accom- 
 panied by the Princess Pignateli Strongola and 
 a gentleman-in-waiting; to-day she has postilions 
 and outriders. After a brief period another car- 
 riage brings the queen's mother, the Dowager 
 Duchess of Genoa. They are met by one of the 
 royal family, the Count of Turin, the stewards 
 of the course, and the Syndic of Rome, who 
 usher them to the royal tribune, whence they 
 
 ii8 
 
'^\ B R A « yT 
 
 or T«« 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
■ 
 
 ■■ 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 -^ ^^^'iffiif 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 5< 
 
A ROMAN RACE-COURSE 
 
 follow with interest the course of the Royal 
 Derby. The king was carefully dressed in 
 ordinary afternoon garb — silk hat and frock 
 coat. 
 
 To me the most interesting part of the races 
 was the return. Races are very much the same 
 all the world over, whether at Epsom or Long- 
 champ, at Morris Park or at Ingleside. But 
 the setting of these Roman races was very differ- 
 ent. Around us stretched for miles the rolling 
 Roman Campagna, for we were at Cappanelle, 
 some five miles out of Rome. To the east lay 
 the Alban Mountains, their flanks covered with 
 villas and villages clearly outlined through our 
 field-glasses. To the northwest the great dome 
 of St. Peter's seemed suspended like a ball over 
 the city of Rome. Hard by there ran for miles 
 the arches of a ruined Roman aqueduct. To the 
 left of the Via Appia Nuova, over which we 
 drove, there could be seen outlined against the 
 sky the beautiful tomb of Cecilia Metella on the 
 old Appian Way. It was on the new Appian 
 Way that we drove to and from the races. I 
 noted an ancient milestone, moss-covered, earth- 
 embedded, on which I could faintly trace the 
 words "Via Appia Nuova." Yet this new 
 Appian Way is centuries old. 
 
 119 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Toward the old city we whirled along over 
 this new-old way. At first we saw only the soli- 
 tary hostelry of the Cappanelle. But as we 
 neared the city the osterias grew thicker. At 
 every wine-shop rows of chairs at the door and 
 rows of heads on the walls betokened the interest 
 of the people in the return from the races. As 
 we neared the city wall and the gate of San 
 Giovanni, the crowd formed a continuous line 
 on either side of the roadway. The mounted 
 carabinieri had much ado to keep the passage 
 clear, and as the long line of carriages dashed 
 through the gate and by the beautiful church of 
 St. John Lateran, the great square in front of it 
 was packed with people. From there on, all the 
 way into the heart of the city, and even up the 
 Corso, there were throngs of people waiting to 
 see the carriage parade returning from the races. 
 They crowded the chairs in front of the cafes. 
 They lined the edges of the sidewalks. They 
 even stood in the streets. One might have 
 imagined it to be a rising of the Roman people, 
 but it was nothing but a childlike Roman crowd. 
 
 Once before I had driven in from the Cam- 
 pagna after viewing the Roman picnic known as 
 the feast of the '* Divino Amore." We were 
 greeted on our return by a similar curious crowd. 
 
 I20 
 

 ■5, 
 

A ROMAN RACE-COURSE 
 
 I thought at the time that it was due to the 
 importance which the Romans attach to this dis- 
 tinctively Roman festival. But since our return 
 from the races I have concluded that it is a 
 common occurrence. For whenever anything 
 takes place on the Campagna, half Rome goes 
 out to see it, and the other half goes out to see 
 them come back. 
 
 121 
 
THE GRAVE OF ROMULUS 
 
 W EARLY there takes place in the Forum 
 ^ a curious festival — the celebration of the 
 " Birthday of Rome." Why the modern Ro- 
 mans originally selected the twenty-first of April 
 for this anniversary I do not know. While they 
 were about it they might as well have said that 
 Rome was founded on the twenty-first of April, 
 753 B.C., at 3: 17 P.M. I believe it was the pious 
 Archbishop Usher who, in his Biblical chro- 
 nology, gave the exact time of day when Adam 
 was created. 
 
 Probably the Italian government was impelled 
 this year to cook up some kind of a special 
 celebration as a counter-check to the rival shop 
 over the way. For the Vatican was a human 
 ant-hill and St. Peter's was in full blast. On the 
 other hand, the Quirinal Hill was deserted — even 
 the Baedeker palmers went across the Tiber to 
 join the pious pilgrims. Something had to be done. 
 The king must not be entirely eclipsed by the 
 
 122 
 
Si, 
 
 Co 
 
 s 
 
 ■5. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
THE GRAVE OF ROMULUS 
 
 Pope, so Premier Pelloux hatched up this scheme 
 of an extraordinary celebration of the " Birthday 
 of Rome." It should take place in the Roman 
 Forum ; the Roman school - children should be 
 marshaled there ; and in the excavations the day 
 before the celebration the engineers should un- 
 cover the grave of Romulus. 
 
 It was not a bad idea. It was well-conceived 
 and dramatic. But from an ultramontane stand- 
 point it would seem to be bad politics. This 
 pitting of the monarchy against the Papacy, of 
 the king against the Pope, of the Forum against 
 the Vatican, must to the minds of the faithful 
 irresistibly suggest Pagan Rome as against Chris- 
 tian Rome. 
 
 The celebration took place according to pro- 
 gramme. The day was beautiful. The Forum 
 was open only to the school-children, the officials, 
 and the invited guests — many foreigners obtain- 
 ing tickets through their embassies. Before the 
 arrival of the king and queen the school-children 
 poured into the Forum, each of the various lyce- 
 ums and institutions headed by its banner-bearer. 
 To the Forum's edge on the Via Bonella many 
 strangers drove down even at the early hour of 
 nine o'clock to view this curious sight. The 
 students were addressed by archaeologists in Latin 
 
 123 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 and in Italian. Doubtless these discourses were 
 of extreme interest, but we could not hear them 
 where we were, nor could we have understood 
 them had we heard them. 
 
 An hour later the invited guests poured into 
 the Forum, awaiting the arrival of the king and 
 queen. The "recinto" surrounding the Forum 
 — which in America we would call a rail fence — 
 marked the limits of a dense mass of people. 
 Heads protruded from the windows of all the 
 old houses overlooking the Forum. The roofs 
 of the palaces on the Capitoline Hill, and even 
 the towers of the Senate House, were black with 
 people. The small boys of Rome shinned up on 
 dead-and-gone Caesars' columns as recklessly as at 
 home they do upon the humble lamp-posts. 
 
 A movement like a wave ran over the vast 
 crowd. The notes of the royal fanfare were 
 sounded by the trumpeters. The well-known 
 scarlet liveries appeared on the Via San Teodoro, 
 and the king and queen appeared amid the cheers 
 of the populace. Upon a scaffolding outside the 
 barrier near the site of Santa Maria Liberatrice 
 stood a crowd of young women bearing red- 
 bound guide-books. They cheered frantically, 
 and gave the "Chautauqua salute" with their 
 handkerchiefs. Although not in it, they were 
 
 124 
 
: 
 
THE GRAVE OF ROMULUS 
 
 determined to be of it. The king and queen 
 were followed by the ladies and gentlemen of 
 their household and the military officials attached 
 to the court. They were received by the Syndic 
 of Rome, Prince Colonna ; Signore Boni, the 
 engineer directing the excavations ; and Professor 
 Cinquini, the archaeologist in charge. A brilliant 
 suite followed them, including the diplomatic 
 corps. 
 
 The royal pair were first taken to the Basilica 
 Emilia and were then led to the House of the 
 Vestals, where some new discoveries had just been 
 made ; from this point they could survey the 
 remains of a Greek church newly uncovered on 
 the flanks of the Palatine Hill. 
 
 But the honne-houche of this Roman repast was 
 the serving up to them of the grave of Romulus. 
 Not the tomb, look you — one could stand a 
 tomb — but the grave. Not many months ago 
 a piece of black marble pavement was uncovered 
 which enthusiastic archaeologists at once iden- 
 tified as the grave of Romulus, because ancient 
 authors speak of it being marked by a " black 
 stone." The day before the celebration a new 
 piece of pavement was uncovered, which settled 
 the matter. To this the king and queen were 
 led by the engineer and the professor, gazed 
 
 125 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 at the black stone with due reverence, read the 
 inscriptions, and were doubtless much impressed. 
 At least the queen seemed to be. She was very- 
 enthusiastic, and vowed that this official visit would 
 not satisfy her ; she told the gratified engineer that 
 she would surely return incognita and make a more 
 thorough inspection under his guidance at some 
 later day. She is a smart queen. Margherita 
 knows her business. 
 
 The king, who is less impressionable, promised 
 to send Minister Baccilli to look into matters, and 
 see if the excavations could not be expedited. For 
 Italy is poor, and these archaeological researches 
 cost a great deal of money. The king also con- 
 ferred upon Engineer Boni the title of Com- 
 mendatore, and upon Professor Cinquini that of 
 Cavaliere, and amid the cheers of their loyal 
 subjects and the frenzied acclamations of the 
 Baedeker maidens on the scaffolding, their majes- 
 ties withdrew. 
 
 The very next day, as a counterblast to this 
 Quirinal attraction. Pope Leo left the Vatican, 
 came down into St. Peter's, and blessed ten thou- 
 sand people all in one lump. Five thousand of 
 them were pilgrims and five thousand were mixed. 
 At this writing the volatile Roman populace in- 
 clines toward the Vatican again. 
 
 126 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 ALL roads lead to Rome. All the Roman 
 ^ roads are crowded. And Rome is full 
 of pilgrims. They are of two kinds — guide- 
 book pilgrims and prayer - book pilgrims, or 
 Baedeker pilgrims and St. Peter pilgrims. 
 Of the two, the Baedeker pilgrims are cer- 
 tainly the cleaner, though possibly less pious. 
 They are here in swarms — I had almost said 
 streams, for at any converging point in the Ro- 
 man microcosm you see tourists in cabs pouring 
 through the opening in streams, like water running 
 out of an irrigating ditch or grain out of a hopper. 
 The sight is amazing. Hour after hour there 
 streams by this curious mass of humanity in cabs. 
 Its general tone is elderly, and women predomi- 
 nate — elderly women with gray hair and specta- 
 cles. Mingled with these are large numbers of 
 young women — among them the girly-girl who 
 has " finished her education," delivered her vale- 
 dictory, and sallied forth to view the world 
 
 127 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 through her eighteen-year-old eyes, and to ex- 
 press surprise and disapproval when she finds 
 manners and customs differing from those in her 
 native village. Then there is the other type 
 of young woman. She is about thirty, has seen 
 many social seasons, is still unwed, and is now 
 beginning her education instead of finishing it, 
 like her eighteen-year-old sister. She is pains- 
 taking in her study of art, and is often an ardent 
 art-lover. I was going to say enthusiastic, but 
 the veteran maiden has but little enthusiasm left. 
 Yet she is a nice girl — much nicer than her 
 eighteen-year-old sister, more sensible ; not so 
 prone to say that Rome is "real nice," and 
 less inclined to hysteric shrieks and girly-girl 
 giggles. 
 
 Among the Baedeker pilgrims there is quite 
 a sprinkling of hobbledehoy youths of fifteen or 
 sixteen ; men, however, are in a notable minority. 
 
 The elderly women predominate. I shall 
 always carry away an indelible impression of this 
 visit to Rome — that of a stream of elderly women 
 with gold-rimmed spectacles rolling by me in 
 cabs ; trying to read Baedeker and see Rome at 
 the same time ; sitting uneasily and one-sidedly in 
 their cabs, like one who is trying to catch a train ; 
 with an anxious look upon their elderly faces, as 
 
 128 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 if they feared that before they got there Rome's 
 seven hills might vanish or the Colosseum might 
 fall down. 
 
 Dear old ladies ! Millions of women have 
 been born, have borne yet other millions, have 
 lived upon the seven hills, and now their molder- 
 ing bodies make up the soil which is bridging the 
 spaces between the Roman hills and making both 
 hills and valleys into a rolling plain. And still 
 the Colosseum stands, and still stands Rome. 
 
 Dear old ladies ! Let no one think that because 
 I repeat these adjectives "old" and "elderly" 
 that I am sneering at their age. Not so. I am 
 only wondering that their years have not made 
 them wiser. 
 
 The tourist pilgrims are to be found in groups 
 as well as singly. In the Colosseum, on the 
 Palatine Hill, in the Forum, you will see groups 
 composed generally of these three classes — the 
 spectacled lady, the veteran maiden, and the 
 girly-girl, gathered around some lecturer, listen- 
 ing attentively to his flood of words and making 
 careful notes. I wonder why they make notes. 
 Does anybody know why? These lecturers are 
 French as well as Italian, but they generally 
 lecture in English — at least I suppose it is 
 English. I hope the lectures are edifying and 
 J 129 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 improving; heard in passing, they are certainly 
 amusing. 
 
 There is still another kind of tourist group. 
 This is the German group. Here the men pre- 
 dominate. You are seated, like Marius, on a 
 broken column; you are trying to think the 
 commonplace things that everybody thinks; sud- 
 denly a wild whirring noise falls upon your ear 
 like the "honk! honk! honk!" of a flock of 
 wild geese. You look up in alarm. Toward 
 you comes — V-shaped, like the wild geese — a 
 triangular mass of humanity, a German flying- 
 wedge. It is headed by the Herr Professor. 
 The Herr Professor wears large round spectacles, 
 and has long hair, long mustaches, long whiskers, 
 long nails, and long teeth. He is talking. The 
 sides of the triangle are talking. The base of 
 the triangle is talking. Everybody is talking. 
 The Herr Professor gallops up to the Temple of 
 Castor and Pollux. He elevates his voice above 
 the babel to a roar, and declaims fiercely for ten 
 or fifteen seconds. The triangle still talks. With 
 another shout the professor darts toward the 
 Basilica Julia. The flying-wedge follows him. 
 Ten seconds here. With a whoop the professor 
 turns toward the Arch of Severus. Fifteen sec- 
 onds. Then with gabble and roar and rattle, 
 
 130 
 
''^ Where Romulus' s grave was uncovered ^ near the 
 Arch of Severust^ 
 

 #FCAt\ 
 
 fQ> 
 
9W TMS 
 
 MODERN PILGRIl 
 
 like the noise of a passing train, the wild-eyed 
 German tourists whirl toward the exit. The 
 tip-touting guardian feebly tries to flag them as 
 they dash by, but fails. The Germans are gone. 
 But in a few moments you hear the " honk ! 
 honk ! " again borne back on the wings of the 
 wind. The Germans have reached the Palatine 
 Hill. 
 
 The Baedeker pilgrims were far outnumbered 
 by the St. Peter pilgrims. To give an idea of the 
 size of these pilgrimages, let me copy the figures 
 of arrivals by train from the newspapers of a single 
 day : 
 
 At 4:17 o'clock 946 pilgrims from Arezzo. 
 
 At 5:45 o'clock 1,030 pilgrims from Vald'arno. 
 
 At 6:30 o'clock 1,017 pilgrims from Tiberina. 
 
 At 7:18 o'clock 450 pilgrims from Casentino. 
 
 At 8:45 o'clock 877 pilgrims from Milan. 
 
 At 9:20 o'clock 954 pilgrims from Milan. (Second 
 section of train.) 
 
 At 10:25 o'clock 831 pilgrims from Terrasina. 
 
 At 1 1 :oo o'clock 450 pilgrims from Goritz. 
 
 At 12:15 o'clock 617 pilgrims from Leibach. 
 
 At 13:45 o'clock 460 pilgrims from Belgium. 
 
 At 14:00 o'clock 301 pilgrims from Gaeta. 
 
 At 15:15 o'clock 954 pilgrims from The Marches. 
 
 At i6:oo o'clock 1,500 pilgrims from The Marches. 
 (Second section of special train.) 
 
 131 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 At 17:00 o'clock 1,722 pilgrims from Florence. 
 
 At 18:50 o'clock 949 pilgrims from Tuscany; gen- 
 erally from Tuscan dioceses Fiesole and Modigliana. 
 
 At 19:50 o'clock 450 pilgrims from Bohemia. 
 
 At 20:17, 21:45, 22:30, 23:18, and 24:35 five 
 special trains of 4,000 Tuscan pilgrims. 
 
 These items show how the pilgrims poured 
 into Rome. In this one day 17,508 pilgrims 
 arrived. The majority, of course, were Italians, 
 but there were among these arrivals pilgrimages 
 of Belgians, French, Austrians, Hungarians, Gali- 
 cians, and Slovaks. The large number in the 
 trains is explained by the fact that most of them 
 rode in fourth - class vans, something like our 
 cattle -cars. 
 
 There was an occasional pilgrimage of the better 
 classes. For example, one was made up entirely 
 of members of the Viennese aristocracy. This 
 was headed by Monsignore the Count of Lippe, 
 of St. Stephen's Cathedral, archbishop of Vienna ; 
 he is a member of the reigning house of Lippe in 
 Germany. In this pilgrimage were the Princess 
 Lichtenstein, the Princess Lobkowiz, the Countess 
 Szecheny, and a number of others bearing the 
 proudest names of Austro - Hungary. These 
 pilgrims were received by the Pope in private 
 audience, presented by the Austro - Hungarian 
 
 132 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 embassador, and for days Rome gossiped of the 
 magnificent gifts they brought as Peter's pence. 
 This was the only aristocratic pilgrimage, and 
 there were very few pilgrims even of the middle 
 class. Most of the pilgrims were peasants. 
 
 Like the Baedeker pilgrims, the St. Peter pil- 
 grims were generally elderly. Few young people 
 were among them, although you occasionally saw 
 an elderly woman carrying a new baby. Some 
 of these peasant women — like Elizabeth, who bore 
 John the Baptist when she was " well stricken in 
 years " — apparently defy the flight of time. But 
 not in visage, for they all are wrinkled and all 
 look old. If any one believes that " living near 
 to nature," as peasants do, makes fine physical 
 types, a look at these pilgrims would undeceive 
 him. I have never seen so many physical de- 
 generates among people not actually deformed. 
 With minor physical defects they are very largely 
 endowed. Among them were knock-kneed pil- 
 grims, bow-legged pilgrims, club-footed pilgrims, 
 humpbacked pilgrims, splay - footed pilgrims, 
 one-eyed pilgrims, hare -lipped pilgrims, ataxic 
 pilgrims, epileptic pilgrims, and cock-eyed pil- 
 grims — for of converging and diverging strabismus 
 I never saw so many cases in my life. 
 
 The St. Peter pilgrims were frightfully dirty. 
 133 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 There was nothing picturesque about them, for 
 only two or three groups wore any distinctive 
 costume — the Calabrians, the Slovaks, and a few 
 others. They were so filthy that the terrified 
 Romans abandoned the tram - cars for insect- 
 ivorous reasons. Even the Papal authorities 
 became alarmed at the bad sanitary condition 
 of some of the pilgrims, and decided to forbid 
 the pilgrimages during the summer months, fear- 
 ing an outbreak of disease at Rome. 
 
 If the pilgrims drove the Romans out of the 
 trams, they drove the tourists out of the gal- 
 leries — at least the free ones. Through the 
 Vatican there tramped ceaselessly hordes of these 
 unclean creatures, gazing goggle-eyed at the pic- 
 tures and statuary. The marble floors were 
 defiled by them ; the light rendered dim by clouds 
 of dust from their grimy clothing; the air be- 
 fouled by their fetid breath. The smells were 
 awful. The Vatican was an excellent place to 
 stay away from while the pilgrims were there. 
 
 However, this is a characteristic of free days 
 and free galleries. At the Paris Salon there are — 
 or used to be — three rules regarding admission : 
 Fridays, five francs ; Sundays, free ; other days, 
 one franc. On Fridays the people you meet 
 there are clean ; on one-franc days it is a little 
 
 134 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 smelly ; on Sundays it is awful. I once went 
 into the Tower of London, not knowing it was a 
 free day. But I got no further than the Bloody 
 Tower. There I was obliged to give it up, and 
 returned to the outer air half-strangled by the 
 smell of the British populace. 
 
 Lest any one should consider these remarks 
 " snobbish," coming from a citizen of a republic, 
 I may state that I am a firm believer in repub- 
 licanism, but I believe in the Republic of Soap. 
 
 The Italian omnibuses and street-cars receive 
 passengers only until the seats are " complete," 
 when they carry a signboard to that effect. After 
 the advent of the pilgrims in Rome, the employees 
 were unable to enforce this rule. So they did not 
 try. It was not uncommon to see an electric car, 
 its inside jammed with pilgrims, its platforms 
 choked with pilgrims, with pilgrims' heads stick- 
 ing out of the windows, with pilgrims hanging 
 like bunches of grapes from the hand-rails, and 
 with pilgrims on the roof. In front you saw the 
 signboard " Completo." 
 
 The sign seemed unnecessary. 
 
 All sorts of things happened to the pilgrims, 
 and many things happened to the people who had 
 
 135 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 to handle them. The luckless conductors and 
 motor -men of the electric trams were badly- 
 used in their attempts to prevent the pilgrims 
 from hurting themselves in their wild rushes 
 upon the incoming cars. At terminal points 
 like the Piazza Venezia the scenes were extraor- 
 dinary. When a car appeared bound for St. 
 Peter's, hundreds of pilgrims took it by storm, 
 climbed over the wire railings, clambered through 
 the windows, even hung on to the brake-beams. 
 Here is a paragraph from a Roman daily : 
 
 " The frenzied crowd of pilgrims, themselves hurling 
 upon the trams in the Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano, 
 at the seventeen and three-quarters o'clock of the evening, 
 caused a deplorable disgrace. The conductor Sante Ver- 
 delocco of tram No. 233, while attempting them to re- 
 strain, received the handling so rough that he experienced 
 the fracture of the sixth rib on the left side. At the hos- 
 pital the Doctor Stefani decided that he would be dis- 
 charged cured in twenty-five days." 
 
 Note the curious ending. In all the Roman 
 dailies accounts of accidents are followed by a 
 similar prophecy from the hospital doctors. 
 
 Here is another local item concerning the 
 achievements of the frenzied pilgrims on the 
 trams : 
 
 136 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 " In the Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano in the 
 middle day (me7,7.ogiorno) of yesterday the under-brigadier 
 of the Guard of Public Security, Alexander Bonalli, in 
 attempting to prevent from mounting on the tram the 
 frenzied crowd of pilgrims, was trampled upon and badly 
 injured at the left knee and at the right arm. At the 
 hospital it was decided that he would be discharged cured 
 in sixteen days. 
 
 " It is marvelous the service that do the employees 
 with such crowds in all the stations principals of the 
 trams-electrics. It is due to the admirable Cavalier Fucci 
 who is at the head of the service of the trams-electrics, 
 and makes honor to the city." 
 
 As an acknowledgment of the hard work 
 of the tramway employees the following adver- 
 tisement appeared in the Roman newspapers : 
 
 Office of the Societa Romana Tramways-Omnibus. 
 Paid-up Capital, 5,600,000 Lire. 
 
 Rome, April 29, 1900. 
 
 It is my pleasant duty to inform the employees of this 
 company that the board of directors is much pleased with 
 the laudable zeal that they have shown in handling the 
 present extraordinary influx of passengers. As a proof of 
 our satisfaction with the faithfulness of our employees, 
 and to render them, if possible, even more devoted to the 
 company and attentive to the public, we have resolved 
 that every employee shall receive double pay for his ser- 
 
 137 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 vices for to-morrow, the thirtieth of April. For the board 
 of directors. 
 
 Signed, F. Paganini, President. 
 
 The foregoing document may make American 
 readers stare. They might be justified in sus- 
 pecting President Paganini's sanity. But the 
 board of directors could not all go crazy at the 
 same time. 
 
 The terror which the terrified pilgrims inspired 
 in those who had to deal with them was justifiable, 
 as will be seen from the foregoing. But while 
 untoward things happened to those who handled 
 them, not a few things happened to the pilgrims 
 themselves. The following paragraphs are of a 
 type which was only too frequently seen in the 
 Roman dailies. It was evident that the religious 
 fervor of some of the pilgrims was very closely 
 allied to mania : 
 
 " Yesterday the pilgrim Alexander Deino, of years 
 thirty-four, of Rocca San Casciano, who lodges in the 
 Piazza Santa Chiara, No. 49, fourth floor, was so im- 
 pressioned by a visit made to St. Peter's and the Cata- 
 combs that he commenced to delirium. The exaltation 
 of the pilgrim increased, and toward midday he began 
 to throw the landlord's furniture out of the window. The 
 demented was visited by the Doctor Borruso, who ordered 
 him transferred to the maniackery." 
 
 138 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 " This night at midnight and a half, outside the gate 
 Cavalleggeri, a pilgrim Belgian, the Professor Giuseppe 
 Warnier, made himself to push the cries frenzied and to 
 make the gestures of madness. The brigadier of cara- 
 hinieri^ Osvaldo Carrara, and the Carabiniero Carletti, 
 who passed at this moment, could only with great diffi- 
 culty conduct him to the Hospital of the Holy Spirit, 
 where it was obliged to put on him the jacket of force. 
 The Doctor Pastano, from the disordered discourses 
 of the unfortunate, concluded that he was attained of the 
 monomania religious." 
 
 Some of the pilgrims who stormed the trams 
 came to grief, as will be seen by this : 
 
 "At fourteen and a half o'clock of to-day, the tram- 
 electric No. 264 has invested the pilgrim Giuseppe 
 Foglieni, of years forty-eight, of Calupo d'Adda. The 
 Foglieni bears lacerated and contused wounds on the 
 occiput and grave contusions and ecchymoses at the left 
 flank, and commotions cerebral. He was transported to 
 the Santo Spirito Hospital, where the Doctor Bindi decided 
 that he would be discharged cured in forty-five days." 
 
 As in the days of eld, when pious pilgrims 
 sought the Holy Sepulchre, evil men lay in 
 wait for pious ones. Even in Rome there were 
 light-fingered gentry preying on the pilgrims : 
 
 " Yesterday morning the Signore Halsigray and his 
 wife, pilgrims from Bordeaux, were went to visit the 
 
 139 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Church of St. Peter. What was not the surprise of the 
 Signore Halsigray when at his return he found in the 
 pocket of his top-coat a portfolio to him not belonging, 
 and containing thirty marks in gold and two coupons 
 of bonds Russian. This portfolio miraculous had simply 
 been introduced into the top-coat of the Signore Halsi- 
 gray by some pickpocket who, after having stolen it, had 
 feared the arrest, and disembarrassed himself of the port- 
 folio incriminating." 
 
 But the two most remarkable pilgrim cases 
 were of a man who had lost his pilgrim father 
 and of a pilgrim who had lost his lodgings. 
 Here is the case of the lost father: 
 
 " The pilgrim John the Baptist Giacopetti, of years 
 72, of Petritoli, on Friday morning went out of the house 
 of his son John, living in the Street of the Four Saints, 
 No. 3, for to go for to see the Colosseum. From that 
 moment he has not more returned. He is of stature 
 ordinary, with beard and hair white, vestured with jacket 
 and waistcoat of black, pantaloon of gray, hat of black. 
 Who can give notice to the afflicted son will do a work 
 meritorious." 
 
 And here is that of the man who lost his 
 lodgings : 
 
 " The pilgrim, Vincenzo Cuntinelli, of years 58, 
 from Jesi, yesterday evening at 19 o'clock, issued from 
 the house where he was lodging, and where he had paid 
 
 140 
 
MODERN PILGRIMS 
 
 five days in advance, for to go for to buy some fried fish. 
 He forgot his street, and at 23 o'clock was still circling 
 around Rome. At the office of the Public Security of the 
 Monti he could say no more than that he inhabited at 
 the number 22, but could give no indication of the 
 street." 
 
 The plight of the unfortunate pilgrim who 
 went forth to buy fried fish, and remembered his 
 street number but forgot his street, was indeed 
 pitiful. It was like that of the man who knew 
 the answer to a conundrum, but did not know 
 what the conundrum was. 
 
 141 
 
A VOLCANO'S THUNDER 
 
 TOURISTS are like sheep. Before Easter, 
 every one was flocking from Naples to 
 Rome for Holy Week. After Holy Week, the 
 trend of travel was still northward from Rome. 
 But after May Day tourists began flocking back 
 to Naples. Cause — a sudden outbreak of Mt. 
 Vesuvius. 
 
 There were other attractions, beside the vol- 
 cano, which brought Italians as well as foreigners 
 to Naples from all over Italy. The king and 
 queen had gone there to inaugurate " a grand 
 exposition of hygiene." In honor of their visit 
 an elaborate programme had been prepared, in- 
 cluding reviews of troops, a sword tournament, 
 a court ball, a public ball, sailing and rowing 
 regattas, a tennis tournament, horse-races, a naval 
 parade, and a " grand pyrotechnic display on the 
 water." 
 
 An ending not foreseen when the programme 
 was drawn up was a grand pyrotechnic display 
 
 142 
 
A VOLCANO'S THUNDER 
 
 which eclipsed that on fleet and shore. It came 
 from Mt. Vesuvius. 
 
 Only a few weeks before, we had driven from 
 Naples to Pompeii, returning thence the next day 
 to Resina, to make the ascent of Vesuvius. The 
 drive along the bay shore is a beautiful one. For 
 about eighteen miles you drive through towns, 
 villages, and villas, so continuous that the high- 
 way seems like a street. The chief towns are 
 Portici, Resina, Torre del Greco, and Torre 
 Annunziata. Along the roadway one sees home- 
 made macaroni hung on lines to dry, looking like 
 the family " wash.** It trails almost to the ground, 
 and little dogs playfully frisk back and forth, part- 
 ing the curtains of macaroni as they go. 
 
 One can not help but wonder at the inhabitants 
 who live so placidly in the shadow of Vesuvius 
 with these terrific engines of nature laboring 
 beneath them — for nearly every one of the busy 
 towns and pretty villages has been at least once 
 destroyed by the volcano. 
 
 The ascent of Vesuvius is now made with com- 
 parative ease. If at Pompeii, you may go up 
 from the Hotel Diomede by horse-trail. Or you 
 can go back from Pompeii by carriage-road to 
 Resina, thence up to the wire-rope railway. Most 
 tourists drive by carriage from Naples to the foot 
 
 143 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 of the cone near Resina. From there the carriage- 
 road zigzags up the mountain-side some 2,200 
 feet. The mountain is about 4,300 feet high, 
 varying as the crater changes. Some 2,200 feet 
 up is the observatory, with a seismograph and 
 other earthquake apparatus for recording seismic 
 and volcanic phenomena. About a mile and a 
 half beyond this point, the winding carriage-road 
 ends. The lower station of the railway is about 
 2,600 feet above the sea, the railway is 2,700 feet 
 long, and the upper station is 1,300 feet higher 
 than the lower. At the upper station you are 
 obliged to take the official guides if you wish to 
 go to the brink of the crater. The carriage drive 
 from Naples to the railway takes four to five 
 hours ; back, two to three hours ; and the railway 
 ascent is made in twelve minutes. In addition to 
 the Diomede horse-trail, there are other trails up 
 the mountain by which the ascent is made on 
 horseback or on foot ; for these also guides are 
 obligatory. Needless to say, the ascent by trail 
 is a most fatiguing trip. 
 
 The stream of curious tourists up Vesuvius was 
 suddenly checked. About the first of May signs 
 of activity were first noted. The gigantic "pine- 
 tree" formed of smoke which crowns the crater is 
 a certain index to the condition of the internal 
 
 144 
 
A VOLCANOES THUNDER 
 
 fires. This curious smoke-plume suddenly ele- 
 vated itself to a height of some fifteen hundred 
 feet. Through its black shadows red flashes be- 
 gan to appear, followed by loud explosions. After 
 each explosion showers of red-hot stones, scoriae, 
 and ashes fell in fiery rain. As if echoing the 
 noise of the explosions, subterranean rumblings 
 were heard, ' and slight but almost continuous 
 earthquake shocks were felt from Portici to Pom- 
 peii. The panic-stricken inhabitants of the Ve- 
 suvian towns and villages remained without doors 
 all night, and the railway company kept trains in 
 readiness to take them away if need arose. For 
 about forty-eight hours this activity of the volcano 
 continued to increase. Then there was a period 
 of quiescence for a day, which was followed by 
 fresh outbreaks. 
 
 The detonations of the volcano even at a dis- 
 tance were awe-inspiring. In Naples the natives 
 call this volcano-thunder "dinanismo" — a word 
 coined from "dynamite." I have heard several 
 great dynamite explosions — once being near a 
 vanishing powder-mill at Pinole — but they are 
 fire-crackers compared to the artillery of Vesuvius. 
 How the detonations sounded on the mountain- 
 side I do not know. We were no nearer than 
 Resina. There the sound was deafening. At 
 K 145 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Naples it was somewhat muffled by the distance. 
 Even at Naples the sight was a grand one. It 
 would thrill the most blase. But people do not 
 become hlase to earthquakes and volcanoes. 
 In San Francisco I have seen listless club- 
 loungers skip for the street with great vivacity 
 when a little temblor came. Here in Naples you 
 saw on the high hills vast crowds watching the 
 volcano by night as well as day, for the spectacle 
 was infinitely more impressive by night. 
 
 Grand as it was, the people said that the 
 eruption was a minor one. None the less, the 
 authorities forbade tourists to ascend the moun- 
 tain. The royal carabineers drew a cordon around 
 the base of the cone, within which line no one was 
 allowed to enter save the official guides. The 
 guides* house above the upper railway station was 
 destroyed by the fiery showers from the volcano. 
 The upper end of the funicular railway was also 
 destroyed, and the railway people were ordered 
 by the authorities to cease operations. Professor 
 Semmola stuck to his post at the observatory, 
 although the telegrams showed that the building 
 was continually struck by falling stones. It is 
 probably safe from lava flows, however, as it is 
 built on a projecting spur of the mountain. 
 
 Of course, the newspapers exaggerated the 
 146 
 
A VOLCANO'S THUNDER 
 
 eruption. Newspapers all over the world are very- 
 much alike. The Naples newspapers printed de- 
 tailed accounts of the awful death of four daring 
 English tourists. They approached too near the 
 crater, and the newspapers destroyed them with 
 showers of red-hot stones. The evening papers 
 gave the news baldly, but the morning papers 
 reprinted the story with all sorts of harrowing de- 
 tails. The sequel was curious and not unamusing. 
 In our country the newspapers print fakes freely. 
 No one ever heeds them, and they never take 
 back their fakes. In Italy it is different. The 
 official guides and the carabineers became indig- 
 nant — the soldiers because they were responsible 
 for keeping tourists off the mountain ; the guides 
 because they were responsible for the tourists' 
 safety after they got there. The military officers 
 and the authorities of Resina, who control the 
 guides, protested. Cavaliere Cacciottoli, Syndic 
 of Resina, objected. The old common-law theory 
 of the corpus delicti was unconsciously invoked: 
 the newspapers could not produce the bodies. 
 First they said the Englishmen were burned to 
 death. Then they reluctantly admitted that they 
 were only badly burned, but were lying in the hos- 
 pital at the point of death. Next they admitted 
 that they were only scorched. Finally the news- 
 
 147 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 papers in the handsomest manner stated that the 
 Englishmen, although scorched, had been miracu- 
 lously saved by the bravery of the guides and the 
 royal carabineers. 
 
 There are some curious features to officialism 
 here. A large body of carabineers was ordered 
 to each of these Vesuvian towns. They were 
 placed under the control of Cavaliere Cavasola, 
 the prefect of the district. I asked why they were 
 ordered there, as there was no disorder, only panic. 
 I was told by cynical Neapolitans that it was to 
 keep the villagers from running away ! When the 
 Cavaliere Cavasola concluded that it was time for 
 them to flee, they could flee — but not before. 
 
 Cardinal da Prisco happened to be visiting at 
 the villa of a friend near Torre del Greco. Such 
 was the panic among the people that the parish 
 priest appealed to him to calm them. So the car- 
 dinal, in full rig, went to the church and adjured 
 the terrified congregation not to quit their homes. 
 
 The rival attraction on the peak of Vesuvius 
 did not detract in any way from the success of 
 the fetes at Naples. Perhaps it added to them. 
 The review of the troops by the king was an 
 interesting spectacle. The province of Naples 
 
 148 
 
A VOLCANO'S THUNDER 
 
 is a military department, and the city is the head- 
 quarters of the Tenth Army Corps, of which the 
 Crown Prince of Naples is the titular head. This 
 is a large body of troops to be garrisoned in a city 
 the size of Naples. Yet you see little of them. 
 The troops are kept shut up in barracks. Only 
 a few hundred are visible on the streets at any one 
 time. The sight of this large body of men under 
 arms on the reviewing-ground was therefore sig- 
 nificant. The government does not want the 
 people to see them every day. They savor too 
 strongly of conscription and taxes. But the gov- 
 ernment lets the people see them once in a while 
 — in force and under arms. 
 
 At this review I counted ten regiments of in- 
 fantry, one of Bersaglieri (riflemen), eight batteries 
 of artillery, and two troops of cavalry. The 
 review took place at ten o'clock in the morning. 
 The Prince of Naples appeared at a quarter to 
 ten, accompanied by his staflF. He was mounted 
 on a handsome bay, and was saluted with three 
 ruffles of the drums. He assumed command of 
 the troops, which command was turned over to 
 him by General Mezza. At precisely ten o'clock 
 the queen arrived, accompanied by the Crown 
 Princess of Naples and her ladies and gentlemen 
 in waiting, filling four carriages. The Prince of 
 
 149 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Naples saluted and rode by the side of the queen's 
 carriage to the royal tribune, where the queen and 
 the Princess of Naples seated themselves. As 
 they entered the tribune the troops drawn up 
 around the field presented arms. At a quarter- 
 past ten the trumpets sounding the royal fanfare 
 announced the king. Descending from his car- 
 riage he mounted a fine sorrel, and the review 
 began. When the troops marched past, the king 
 had at his right the Prince of Naples, at his left 
 the minister of war, and behind them the Duke 
 of Genoa and a brilliant staff. The infantry- 
 marched by in columns of companies, the artil- 
 lery in columns of batteries at the trot, and the 
 cavalry in columns of squadrons at the gallop. 
 After the march past the king dismounted, re- 
 turned to his carriage, and the royal party drove 
 back to the palace by the principal streets, amid 
 the applause of the populace. The streets were 
 gay with flags, banners, rugs, and carpets, for the 
 Italians have a fashion of hanging these from bal- 
 conies for decorative purposes. 
 
 Humbert appeared to be received in Naples 
 rather more cordially than in Rome. It is said 
 the Neapolitan populace still remember with 
 gratitude his fearlessness, his generosity, and his 
 devotion during the cholera epidemic some years 
 
 150 
 
A VOLCANO'S THUNDER 
 
 ago. During this visit he gave the mayor one 
 hundred thousand lire for the poor of Naples. 
 
 The official festivities closed with a naval re- 
 view. Probably there is no harbor better fitted 
 for such a pageant than Naples, unless it be that 
 of San Francisco. Every one is familiar with the 
 conformation of the Bay of Naples. The town 
 itself is • on a range of high hills sloping steeply 
 to the sea. Running from Posilipo to the an- 
 cient Castel del Ovo is the Riviera di Chiaia, 
 a horseshoe sweep, with the fine Caracciolo 
 embankment along the bay-shore. The bay was 
 the stage, the Riviera the orchestra, the hills 
 the gallery. It made a perfect amphitheatre. The 
 populace in the gallery could see as well as the 
 patricians in the orchestra. Before the enormous 
 audience there defiled under slow steam the great 
 vessels of war, commanded by Thomas, Duke 
 of Genoa. The king and queen went aboard 
 of the man-of-war Lepanto, When the royal 
 standard fluttered up the halliards a salute of 
 twenty-one guns was fired by every ship in the 
 squadron. While these guns were thundering 
 in the Bay of Naples, Vesuvius's guns were thun- 
 dering eighteen miles away. 
 
 151 
 
NEW THINGS IN OLD ROME 
 
 T^HE Roman world is a busy world. In 
 -■■ pleasure -loving Rome one festival follows 
 fast upon another. The Easter season was 
 crowded with "social events," and while the 
 indoor feasts were reserved for the inner circle, 
 the outdoor festivals were open to the Roman 
 populace and the stranger within the Roman 
 gates. Most of them were for charity, and to 
 kermess and garden - party, fair and festival, 
 flower-show and tilting tournament, went both 
 Romans and "forestieri" — their gentle term for 
 the strangers from over seas and beyond Alps. 
 The event of the waning season was a day of 
 sports at the Villa Borghese. 
 
 What more charming setting for an outdoor 
 festival than this old garden ! One may not 
 write about it, for it has been written about by 
 every writer who ever visited Rome — from the 
 frivolous Alfred de Musset to the learned his- 
 torian Niebuhr; from the witty Frenchwoman, 
 
 152 
 
Fountain-basins overgrown with algcs in Villa Borghese. 
 
NEW THINGS IN OLD ROME 
 
 Mme. de Stael, to the dreamy American, Na- 
 thaniel Hawthorne. One may not describe the 
 villa, then, in 1900, but one may describe an 
 end-of-the-century show within the villa's wails. 
 Four-in-hands, automobiles, bicycles — these 
 startle one within the precincts of the venerable 
 villa, for as you look around you everything is 
 old. -Aged ilex -trees nod to whispering pines 
 and solemn cypresses. Through their vistas one 
 sees crumbling arches, bits of broken columns, 
 ruined temple porticoes — artificial ruins these, 
 put there three centuries ago by Cardinal Scipio 
 Borghese because his villa looked new. Now 
 it is old enough, in sooth, and these Renaissance 
 ruins have grown hoary like their predecessors, 
 the real ruins of ancient Rome. Around you 
 are marble vases, black with age ; marble 
 statues, stained with time and often broken- 
 nosed ; marble sarcophagi, gray with the flight 
 of years ; moss-covered marble dolphins, out 
 of whose gaping mouths the murmuring waters 
 spout into marble fountain - basins overgrown 
 with algae. Through these dim ruins the drive- 
 ways wind under the ilex-trees, over rolling 
 hills, grass - grown, and at this season cov- 
 ered with wild flowers — violets, daisies, butter- 
 cups, and poppies — not golden poppies, like 
 
 153 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 our California Eschscholtzia, but vivid, flaming, 
 blood-colored. 
 
 Except for the little garden by the lake, these 
 are the only flowers you see in Villa Borghese. 
 There are no flower-beds there. It is not an 
 attempt to put nature in a straight-jacket, but 
 only to restrain her exuberance. This you often 
 see in European parks and gardens. There is in 
 Munich a beautiful park called — why, I know 
 not — the "Englischer Garten." It too has an 
 air of nature's wildness which is most refreshing 
 to the eye. You can leave the streets of the busy 
 city and in five minutes fancy yourself in a wood- 
 land far from the madding crowd. In our coun- 
 try we are too prone in our parks to "fix things." 
 The average American park is laid out in prim 
 little flower-beds and walks like the front-yard of 
 a Brompton villa, or a retired Paris grocer's vil- 
 legiature at Asnieres. Our park-gardeners trim 
 nature's wandering locks and comb her hair until 
 she looks like a soaped and plastered urchin made 
 ready for school. 
 
 I have no doubt that if some Chicago million- 
 aire were to buy Villa Borghese — which heaven 
 forfend — he would weed out all the wild flowers, 
 trim all the grass-grown hills, put plaster-of-paris 
 noses on the mutilated statues, scrape the dingy 
 
 154 
 
^* Crumbling arches and bits of broken columns. ^^ 
 

NEW THINGS IN OLD ROME 
 
 moss off of the fountain spouts, and take the 
 slimy weeds out of the fountain basins. There is 
 no doubt that from the Chicago standpoint the 
 villa is very much out of repair. 
 
 But even if not up to date, the Villa Borghese 
 is very charming. There is to us hurried moderns 
 something soothing and restful in driving over its 
 pseudo-sylvan roads and wandering over its mock- 
 woodland ways ; an air of quiet melancholy broods 
 over its temple ruins and its gray statues, which is 
 an admirable corrective to the uneasy spirit of the 
 city dweller of to-day. 
 
 There is no new thing in Villa Borghese. Even 
 the signs are old. Old signboards point to the 
 palace, wherein are stored such gems of art — to 
 the beautiful Borghese Casino, itself a jewel-box, 
 fitting receptacle for such gems. Old and time- 
 stained boards point to the dairy, to the lake- 
 garden, to the amphitheatre. And there are 
 weather-stained signboards which bear the unique 
 legend: "It is forbidden to throw dogs into the 
 basins of the fountains." Why, I wonder? Is 
 dog-ducking a Roman custom? The only new 
 signs in the villa are those restricting certain paths 
 "SuoH al Pedone." This thoughtfulness for pe- 
 destrians is evidently due to the encroachment of 
 the bicycle, for the carriage-ways and bridle-paths 
 
 155 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 are indicated by ancient signboards. The bicycle 
 is new — hence the new sign in the old villa. 
 
 But the old villa saw many new things in this 
 day of sports. Even the name was new, for the 
 official programme bore the title "gymkhana," 
 which word the Romans have borrowed from the 
 English and the English from the Anglo-Indians. 
 And the old villa saw all sorts of modern con- 
 trivances in the way of motor-bicycles, gasoline- 
 tricycles, and automobiles generally. These new- 
 fangled vehicles, gayly flower-bedecked, swept 
 around the amphitheatre called the "Piazza di 
 Siena" — for there is an amphitheatre within the 
 villa's walls. Around it rises terrace after terrace, 
 with tiers of marble benches. On one side of the 
 amphitheatre was a special inclosure wherein was 
 gathered Rome's gay world — the Roman aristoc- 
 racy, the diplomatic corps, the foreign colony, and 
 such transient visitors as chose to pay a good 
 round sum for admission. Within the inclosure, 
 overlooking the race-track, was a gayly decorated 
 tribune, from which "queens of love and beauty" 
 conferred prizes upon fortunate knights. This 
 reserved inclosure was filled with a brilliant throng 
 — ladies in their Easter bonnets and spring frocks, 
 officers in their gorgeous uniforms, and gentlemen- 
 riders in brilliant silk and satin jockey-caps and 
 
 156 
 
NEW THINGS IN OLD ROME 
 
 shirts. Around the rest of the amphitheatre the 
 populace was gathered, and the price of admission 
 to them was ten cents. Perhaps it was a survival 
 of the old Roman spirit of "Panem et circenses." 
 
 The automobile parade was followed by a series 
 of fantastic races. For these there were a large 
 number of entries of gentlemen-riders. In the 
 first the entire field — some ten horsemen — left 
 the post at the word, circled the track, taking 
 several high hurdles, passed under the wire, dis- 
 mounted, unsaddled, placed under the saddle a 
 handkerchief borrowed from some lady, resaddled, 
 remounted, and again circled the track, taking its 
 hurdles in the other direction. This was natu- 
 rally a severe test of all-round horsemanship. 
 Baron Monpurgo won the first prize and Prince 
 Rospiglosi the second. There were several of 
 these races, and in all of them the gentlemen- 
 jockeys rode with great dash, taking their hurdles 
 with boldness and skill. I saw but one "come a 
 cropper," and he mounted again like a flash. 
 
 The most interesting part of the programme 
 was the four-in-hand competition in obstruction 
 driving. There were ten entries, and among the 
 vehicles were coaches, drags, breaks, gentlemen's 
 driving phaetons, and a char-a-banc. All seemed 
 to be in admirable form. The horses were ex- 
 
 157 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 quisitely groomed, and most of them well-trained. 
 The coaches were perfectly appointed ; the grooms 
 were all in trim liveries and immaculate buckskins 
 and boots ; the gentlemen-drivers were all of them 
 good whips, and handled the ribbons with much 
 skill. Both prizes in this contest, for appoint- 
 ments and driving, were won by Baron Mon- 
 purgo, who had already won prizes at a driving 
 contest in England. This was followed by a 
 similar competition for grooms ; the driving was 
 good, but they did not drive so well as their mas- 
 ters. I noticed with some curiosity that the Roman 
 populace applauded the masters more than they 
 did the grooms. 
 
 Another point which struck me was that those 
 who were most successful in obstruction driving 
 did not adhere strictly to " driving in form." By 
 " form - driving " I mean the antithesis of the 
 open, free-handed handling of the reins with 
 which we Californians are so familiar among our 
 mountain stage-drivers. I have always believed 
 it to be the kind of driving a man would natu- 
 rally fall into in a bad place, but as I know nothing 
 about driving four, I may be wrong. 
 
 I was reminded of a talk I once had in Paris 
 with Willie Whiffletree, admittedly one of the 
 best whips of America or Europe. I had sat 
 
 158 
 
The gentlemen-drivers handled the ribbons. 
 
TnAft 
 
 
 CAUfS 
 
NEW THINGS IN OLD ROME 
 
 on a coach-box from Paris to Maisons-Laffitte 
 beside an amateur whip, and was discussing his 
 toohng with Whiffletree. I modestly advanced 
 these views of mine — heterodox views in Europe. 
 Whiffletree hstened to me kindly. I said that 
 when it came to going over a mountain road in 
 California behind six half- broken mustangs I 
 greatly, preferred the free, two-handed, loose - 
 hitched team -driving of the Californian stage - 
 driver. I also asked Whiffletree whether he 
 thought that the short, close-buckled, low-handed 
 " form - driving '* would do on our wild roads 
 over steep mountain grades. Whiffletree replied 
 that both kinds of driving were good in their 
 respective ways. 
 
 " But," said I, " have you ever driven over our 
 California stage-roads ? '* 
 
 " Driven over them ! " replied Whiffletree, " I 
 should say I had. I drove stage in California 
 from Independence to Bodie for six months, and 
 used to throw Uncle Sam*s mail-bags out of the 
 boot at every station." 
 
 " What did you do it for ? " I asked in some 
 wonder. " For fun ? " 
 
 "No," replied Whiffletree, briefly; "I did it 
 for a living. I was broke." 
 
 159 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 /^NE night in the early summer of the "Holy 
 ^-^ Year" the pilgrims saw the facade of St. 
 Peter's and Bernini's Colonnade brilliantly illu- 
 minated. Rows of Venetian lanterns were placed 
 along the salients of the vast heap of buildings, 
 outlining them in fire. For hours, seen from 
 across the Tiber, the great basilica burned into the 
 blackness of the night. But the dome was dark. 
 So many years have passed since St. Peter's was 
 illuminated that the daring steeple-jacks who used 
 to climb the dome have either died or disappeared, 
 and none could be found bold enough to take 
 their places. 
 
 The illumination was in honor of the canoni- 
 zation of two new saints. One of these two 
 saintly persons, before he was a saint, was a man, 
 Jean Baptiste de la Salle. The other was a 
 woman, Rita da Cascia. Rita was born in 1 3 8 1 . 
 She was unhappily married, prayed God to release 
 her — which He did — and as soon as she was a 
 
 160 
 

 OS 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETERS S 
 
 widow she became a nun. For forty-four years 
 she was a shining example of convent life. Con- 
 cerning her claims to sanctity 1 shall speak later. 
 
 Jean Baptiste de la Salle was born in Rheims, 
 France, in 165 1. He became a priest at twenty 
 years of age, and took up the task of popular 
 education. 
 
 I had heard that in the old days saint-making 
 was a trial at bar, a court proceeding, with advo- 
 cates for and against the saint, the saint's oppo- 
 nent being termed the " advocatus diaboli." But 
 if this be so, the legal proceedings in nineteen- 
 hundred Rome were not public, and we did not 
 see the devil's lawyer. Three " congregations " 
 were held to settle the claims of the two candidates 
 to sainthood. The first was secret. In the second 
 all the cardinals took part and voted for canoni- 
 zation. The third congregation was held before 
 the Pope. 
 
 At least two miracles must have been per- 
 formed by the candidate for sainthood. If this 
 be proved, the candidate is " beatified.'* This 
 means that the saintly person enjoys in heaven 
 eternal beatitude, but it is not canonization. New 
 miracles must be performed to obtain that dis- 
 tinction. The miracles must continue after death. 
 The body of Saint Rita, for example, did not 
 L 161 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 decay, but " after death emitted a fragrant per- 
 fume." Sometimes the candidates wait long. La 
 Salle has been promoted rapidly. He was beatified 
 in 1838 and canonized in 1900. Like the beati- 
 fication, the claims for canonization were exam- 
 ined by three consistories. When the decision 
 of the third has been approved by the Pope a 
 solemn decree is issued for canonization. 
 
 When the date was set by this decree there at 
 once began an active competition for tickets of 
 admission. It was not difficult to obtain ordinary 
 tickets. The Vatican is very leaky, and one can 
 always buy tickets of admission to solemn cere- 
 monials for from two to ten francs. Of course, 
 the tickets were not openly for sale. Here, for 
 example, is the form of admission ticket for the 
 receptions to pilgrims which took place in St. 
 Peter's for many weeks. It will be observed 
 that it is plainly stamped "gratis." None the 
 less these tickets were for sale all over Rome : 
 
 [Papal Arms.] 
 Anticamera Pontificia al Vaticano. 
 Biglietto d* ammissione nella Basilica Vaticano per 
 
 ricevere la Benedizione di Sua Santita nel giorno di , 
 
 , 1900, alle ore ii}4 ant. 
 
 II Maestro di Camera di Sua Santita 
 
 O. Cagiano de Azevedo. 
 162 
 
nARV 
 
 V^ .r T.» 
 
 ^^xvBBsrrj 
 
 »2f CAUF< 
 

 » 
 
 ^ 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 N. B. — I. Le Signore possibilmente in abito nero e 
 velo in testa. 
 2. I Signori possibilmente in abito nero. 
 [Seal of the maestro di camera.] 
 
 L* Ingresso e dal Portone di bronzo. II biglietto e 
 personate. 
 
 GRATIS. 
 
 The rush at this canonization ceremony was to 
 get tickets for the reserved tribunes up near the 
 high altar. These were not easy to obtain. The 
 diplomatic corps, the Roman nobility, and visiting 
 Roman Catholic aristocracy from other countries 
 were first served. Some few lucky heretical for- 
 eigners succeeded in getting tickets through their 
 embassies. The ceremony was long, and so was 
 the wait that preceded it. But it was certainly 
 very unusual, and perhaps it was worth while. 
 
 As early as four in the morning, we were told, 
 the pilgrims began collecting on the great square 
 in front of St. Peter's. Many thousands of them 
 were fellow-countrymen of La Salle. Much later 
 came the fortunate possessors of invitations to the 
 tribunes. Later still came the carriages of the 
 cardinals and other prelates and dignitaries of 
 the pontifical court. By the time the late arrivals 
 reached the square the pilgrims had poured into 
 the church, the doors of which were open at seven 
 
 163 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 o'clock. But the great square was still packed 
 with people. The tramway company carried over 
 thirty-five thousand passengers to St. Peter's, and 
 over thirty thousand more went on foot and in 
 vehicles. 
 
 Although the Italian government does not 
 meddle much with St. Peter's, it got a hint from 
 the Vatican that it would be agreeable if troops 
 were sent to maintain order on the square. There- 
 fore there was a large military force in attendance. 
 A double cordon was drawn around the square, 
 while within it and at the foot of the church steps 
 were lines of carabineers and civil guards to handle 
 the enormous crowd. The troops were needed, 
 for some of the pilgrims acted like maniacs in 
 their senseless attempts to storm the great bronze 
 doors. Even within the church they sadly needed 
 control. A battalion of French and German 
 priests — queer allies — coveted a tribune devoted 
 to ladies, and assaulted it with such impetuosity 
 that the Papal guards forced them to retire with 
 most unclerical haste. 
 
 Many ladies, by the way, never succeeded in 
 reaching the tribunes for which they had tickets. 
 They became lost in the struggling masses of 
 pilgrims, and some of them suffered from the 
 rough usage of their brawny peasant neighbors. 
 
 164 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 The female pilgrims seemed to resent their car- 
 rying portable seats, and every now and then a 
 crash and a stifled scream showed that another 
 camp-stool had gone down. Many ladies who 
 entered carefully veiled and dressed came out 
 total wrecks, with their gowns half-torn from their 
 backs. In fact, after the first assault of the crowd 
 upon the church, the square between the obelisk 
 and the steps looked like a millinery battle-field. 
 It was covered with gloves, sunshades, scarfs, veils, 
 shoes, slippers, and other articles of wearing ap- 
 parel; one even saw in the wreckage priests* 
 caps or hats — for nearly all the pilgrim priests 
 wore low, round - topped, broad - brimmed hats, 
 made, apparently, of the same material as men's 
 high silk hats. I heard that some of the women 
 were so badly mauled that they were scratched and 
 bleeding, but I saw none in that condition. 
 
 A large number of women fainted in the crush, 
 and were revived at extemporaneous pharmacies 
 which Dr. Lapponi, the Pope's physician, had 
 established in the church. When asked in the 
 morning if these life-saving stations were for the 
 Pope, the doctor replied sardonically that "they 
 were not for the Pope, but for the pilgrims — they 
 would need them more than His HoHness." 
 None the less. Dr. Lapponi hovered near the 
 
 165 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Pope throughout the ceremonies, and at one time 
 administered to him a cordial, evidently much 
 against the Pope's desire. 
 
 There was plenty of work for these emergency 
 hospitals, for the number of bruised, contused, 
 and fainting women was large. The most seri- 
 ously injured was a French pilgrim, one Marie 
 Lequerq, of Paris, who had lived over seventy 
 years without accident and came to St. Peter's 
 on a holy errand just in time to have a block of 
 wood fall upon her from a lofty cornice and frac- 
 ture her skull. 
 
 At another point in the crowd there was great 
 excitement, and the inanimate form of an aged 
 man was carried away. They tried to revive him 
 at one of the temporary hospitals, but the attempt 
 was fruitless. I was curious to know what had 
 befallen him, so I looked the matter up next day, 
 and found that he was a Genoese pilgrim, one Bar- 
 tholomew Picconi, and that the cause of his death 
 was heart disease. It struck me that this would 
 have been an excellent opportunity to try the 
 miracle-working powers of the new saints. Pilgrim 
 Picconi came to his death in doing them honor. 
 
 The vast church had been gayly, not to say 
 gaudily, decorated for the ceremony. The great 
 pilasters were covered with bands of gold-brocaded 
 
 i66 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 crimson damask. In the niches upon the inter- 
 pilasters were placed immense stucco vases filled 
 with artificial flowers. From each lateral arch 
 of the nave hung enormous banners of red velvet 
 with a rich border of gold lace, whereon were 
 depicted some of the miracles attributed to the 
 new saints. From the ceiling depended hundreds 
 of crystal chandeliers. The pontifical throne 
 was decorated with crimson velvet. On either 
 side to right and left were the tribunes for the 
 pontifical court, the diplomatic body, the Roman 
 Catholic aristocracy, and the invited guests. The 
 entire diplomatic corps accredited to the Holy 
 See were in full uniforms. The diplomats accred- 
 ited to the Quirinal appeared in civilian's attire. 
 In this tribune appeared also the order of the 
 Knights of Malta, presided over by Count Ches- 
 chi, the grand master. Until I saw them I had 
 supposed this mediaeval order was extinct. In 
 a post of honor in the pontifical tribune were 
 the family of the Counts Pecci, to which family 
 the Pope belongs. The French De la Salle family, 
 with the duke at the head, descendants of the new 
 saint, were also in this tribune. They were under 
 the wing of M. Niscard, French embassador to 
 the Vatican. 
 
 The "papal army" were all there. There were 
 167 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the Swiss halberdiers wearing the mediaeval cos- 
 tume of red, yellow, and black, said to be Michael 
 Angelo's design ; there were the Noble Guard and 
 the Palatine Guard, all in gala uniforms; there 
 were also those officers of the Papal court known 
 as the "Chamberlains of the Cloak and Sword," 
 in their curious Carlovingian costumes. 
 
 The procession was announced by distant music. 
 First came the guard of honor, made up of the 
 Swiss, Palatine, and Noble Guards; innumerable 
 monastic orders, many of them barefooted friars; 
 the alumni of the religious seminaries; the Con- 
 gregation ; parishes of Rome ; Augustinians, bear- 
 ing the banner of Rita da Cascia; the Confraternity 
 of the Sacrament, with the banner of La Salle; 
 numerous monsignori, and nearly four hundred 
 archbishops and patriarchs, including Coptic and 
 other Oriental prelates of the Roman Church. 
 Then came thirty-two cardinals of the Sacred 
 College, and, following. Prince Marcantonio Co- 
 lonna, carrying a candle to be given to the Pope. 
 Later I observed that the Pope did not carry his 
 candle in his hand, but that it stood in a socket 
 on the chair-arm, close to his hand. 
 
 The "March of the Silverai" was sounded on 
 the silver trumpets, and the Pope appeared, seated 
 on his gestatorial chair. The chair was sur- 
 
 i68 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 mounted by a rich baldaquin, and was borne by 
 twelve liveried lackeys. The Pope was received 
 with waving of hats and handkerchiefs, but with 
 no applause other than the hoarse murmuring 
 which rose from sixty thousand throats. We had 
 seen him on a previous occasion, when he received 
 a pilgrimage, and then there had been loud and 
 long applause, with shouts of" Long live the Pope- 
 King ! " But that was merely a " reception " — this 
 was a religious ceremony, hence the absence of 
 applause. 
 
 Leo the Thirteenth in appearance is most re- 
 markable. He is so old, so shriveled, so desic- 
 cated, that he looks as if a breath might blow him 
 away. He is so colorless that his skin appears 
 translucent. He is feeble, as was shown by his 
 movements, but his small black eyes shot keen 
 glances from under his white eyebrows in every 
 direction. If his body is feeble his brain is evi- 
 dently very much alive. 
 
 After the Pope had been seated upon his throne, 
 a long and tiresome ceremony followed. It was 
 concluded by the Pope reading the decree of 
 sanctification. A trumpet sounded, and the bells 
 of St. Peter*s began to ring. To this prearranged 
 signal there responded the bells of all the churches 
 in Rome — and there are four hundred of them. 
 
 169 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Then came the pontifical mass. Owing to the 
 Pope's weakness, Cardinal Oreglia was the cele- 
 brant. The mass was accompanied by music from 
 the choir of the Capella Romana. Eight appar- 
 ently male voices gave with fine effect "Hodie 
 Christus Natus Est," supplemented by a choir of 
 one hundred boys. I say "apparently male," be- 
 cause there has always been some little uncertainty 
 about the falsettos of the Vatican choir. 
 
 At the end of the mass the Pope was presented 
 with certain gifts, offered by the advocates of the 
 new saints ; among them were five enormous 
 wax candles, a golden loaf, a silver loaf, two min- 
 iature barrels — one of wine and one of water — 
 and a cage full of doves. This closed the cere- 
 mony, and the Pontiff withdrew to the Vatican. 
 
 During the ceremony one of the crystal chan- 
 deliers suspended from the ceiling began to creak 
 ominously, and the people beneath it hastily scat- 
 tered. In a moment the mass fell and was dashed 
 into a thousand pieces on the floor below. I had 
 been in St. Peter's a few days before, when the 
 workmen were suspending these chandeliers. 
 They were taking them out of piles of num- 
 bered boxes — for St. Peter's, like a theatre, has 
 many "properties," and is decked in a different 
 manner for its different ceremonials. Cords ran 
 
 170 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 over pulleys fastened far up aloft, and with these 
 the chandeliers were hoisted to their places. St. 
 Peter's is so enormous that the eye there is con- 
 tinually deceived. The chubby cherubs at the 
 holy-water font look to be the size of ordinary 
 babies, yet they are nearly seven feet tall, and a 
 man standing beside them looks Hke a dwarf. 
 When the workmen were hoisting these chande- 
 liers from the floor I noted with amazement that 
 the masses of crystal were over eight feet high. 
 Yet when hoisted to their places far up in the dim 
 heights they looked about the size of a man's 
 head. 
 
 The workmen in St. Peter's are called sample- 
 trini. They take their name from the basilica 
 "San Pietro" — "sampietrino," plural "sampietri- 
 ni." They have a set of lofty scaflFolds mounted 
 on rollers. These are moved from place to place 
 about the vast church. They are not unlike our 
 fire department's "water-towers." Ladder after 
 ladder runs up the scaffolding, and by its aid they 
 reach places from one hundred to one hundred 
 and fifty feet above the floor. Other ingenious 
 cobweb scaffoldings are used for work on the in- 
 side of the dome. Seen up there, the sample- 
 trlnl look like flies crawling on the ceiling. The 
 top of the dome is about four hundred feet above 
 
 171 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the floor. The models for these intricate scaffold- 
 ings were designed by Niccolo Zaboglia, who 
 founded the corps of sampietrini in 1686. 
 
 A word here about St. Peter's — not its pic- 
 tures, its mosaics, and other guide-book lore, but 
 its finances, its superintendents, and its workmen 
 — how the machinery works, in short. Concern- 
 ing all these points the guide-books are silent. 
 The church and its buildings are under the direct 
 control of the Vatican, and are technically owned 
 by the " Capitolo Vaticano." The group of build- 
 ings is officially called " Reverenda Fabbrica di San 
 Pietro," and includes not only the vast church 
 itself, but the treasury, the sacristy, the chapter- 
 house, the archives, the piazza, and the colon- 
 nades. The chapter controlling the "Fabbrica" 
 has productive lands, securities, etc., aggregating 
 in value about a million and a half of dollars. 
 With the income from this, they keep up St. 
 Peter's, for constant expenditure is required. 
 Four notable Italian architects, Signores Azurri, 
 Bonnani, Buniri, and Vespignani, are in charge of 
 the church and its buildings. Two engineers aid 
 them, and they direct a force of sixty-four trained 
 men — the sampietrini already mentioned — and a 
 reserve of thirty sopranumeri. These men wear 
 a uniform of dark blue, with violet trimmings. 
 
 172 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 They are divided into squadre, according to their 
 callings, for there are among them all kinds of 
 craftsmen, such as painters, gilders, masons, car- 
 penters, stonecutters, plumbers, and locksmiths. 
 When the illumination of St. Peter's in honor of 
 the canonization took place these hundred men 
 had each nine outsiders for assistants. 
 
 Other- workmen were engaged in hanging enor- 
 mous banners on the day in question. Two of 
 these banners were devoted to the miracles worked 
 by Rita da Cascia. On one of these she was 
 represented in the act of restoring eyesight to 
 Elisabetha Bergamini, who had been stricken with 
 blindness. On the other banner she was depicted 
 
 as instantaneously curing Coma Pellegrini of 
 
 but perhaps I had better leave Coma's maladies 
 in the language in which they figured on the ban- 
 ner. I copied the inscription, and here it is: 
 
 COMA PELLEGRINI 
 
 CONVERSANENSIS ARTIFEX 
 
 GASTRO-ENTERITI CATARRHALI CHRONICA 
 
 HAEMORRHOIDALI AFFECTIONE 
 
 ET CHRONICA ITEM GRAVIQUE ANHAEMIA 
 
 LABORANS APPARENTI SIBI IN SOMNIS 
 
 S. RITA 
 
 PRECE VOCATA PRISTINAE SANITATI ILLICO 
 
 RESTITUITUR 
 
 173 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Above this inscription was a painting of Coma 
 in bed, suffering from his complication of maladies, 
 while Rita is coming down through the ceiling in 
 a burst of glory to cure him. It irresistibly sug- 
 gested a patent-medicine advertisement. 
 
 There are minor churches in Rome where all 
 sorts of curious "ex-votos" are to be found at 
 the shrines of miracle-working saints. There you 
 will see models of the various diseased parts of 
 the human body healed by these medicinal saints. 
 Some of them are unpleasant to look at, and quite 
 unfit for publication. But that any such extraor- 
 dinary picture as that described, with its still 
 more astounding story, could be painted upon a 
 banner hung in St. Peter's, the center of Roman 
 Catholicism, to be gazed at by scores of thou- 
 sands, seems scarcely credible. 
 
 But there are many strange things in St. Pe- 
 ter's. Not the least strange is the bronze statue 
 of St. Peter, decked out as it is at this season in 
 a red silk robe with jewels. Still more strange 
 is the sight of people kissing the foot of the 
 bronze St. Peter. The toe has been fairly worn 
 away by the impress of thousands of lips. I 
 stood for some time and watched this extraordi- 
 nary and revolting spectacle — revolting mentally, 
 revolting physically. Waiving the idea of kneel- 
 
 174 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 ing to any one or anything but God, the physical 
 side of this custom is inexpressibly repulsive and 
 nauseating. Long lines of people filed by — pil- 
 grims of all ages, in all stages of dirt, decay, 
 decrepitude, and disease. Old men and women 
 pressed their puckered, shriveled lips and tooth- 
 less gums upon the sacred foot. Fathers held 
 up little -children that they might kiss it. Dull- 
 eyed peasant women, with babes hanging at their 
 dugs, took the infants' lips from the maternal teat 
 and pressed them upon the holy toe. Ladies 
 and gentlemen, well-dressed and clean, approached, 
 bowed, and kissed the nauseous foot as did their 
 predecessors. Some of them appeared to be per- 
 sons of refinement and intelligence. Yet, leaving 
 all religious theories aside, how could they do this 
 revolting thing? The human mouth and throat 
 swarm with bacteria, malignant and benign. In the 
 human mouth are found the germs of two of the 
 most deadly diseases known to doctors, carcinoma 
 and tuberculosis of the throat. Tuberculosis of 
 the lungs sometimes plays with its victim long, as 
 does a cat with a mouse ; tuberculosis of the throat 
 is always fatal, and death comes swift upon the 
 first manifestation of the disease. Hosts of 
 minor maladies find a favorable nidus for their 
 disease germs in the human mouth and throat. 
 
 175 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 The most sweeping is the influenza germ. And 
 last, but not least, there is another disease, the 
 most awful known to humanity, because it is liv- 
 ing death. This horrible disease in certain stages 
 manifests itself by highly contagious lesions in 
 the mouth and throat. 
 
 These facts are undisputed. They are certainly 
 known to the authorities of the Church of Rome. 
 Yet this criminal procedure takes place in the 
 church of St. Peter*s in the last year of the nine- 
 teenth century, or according to the Roman Church, 
 the first of the twentieth century — the "Holy 
 Year." 
 
 Looked at from a therapeutic rather than a 
 theologic standpoint, it fills one with horror. 
 
 It was whispered in Rome that the Pope 
 would give the much-coveted "Golden Rose" in 
 this Holy Year of 1900 to "an Austrian arch- 
 duchess." This must mean a certain noble widow 
 lady, daughter of a king, daughter-in-law of an 
 emperor, and relict of a prince. Like many 
 imperial and royal widows, she fell in love with 
 one lowly born — a mere count this time — and 
 married him against the wishes of the emperor, 
 the king, and all the rest of both royal families. 
 
 176 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 She sought the Pope to bring about a recon- 
 ciliation. These interviews led the Roman gos- 
 sips to say that he intends to give her the Golden 
 Rose. 
 
 The Popes have always been lenient toward 
 ladies with histories. They follow closely the 
 precept about the Magdalen. Among the people 
 honored by burial in St. Peter's there are even 
 some ladies who in their time were "talked about/* 
 as is this royal widow to-day. Perhaps the most 
 notable among these was Christina of Sweden, 
 who, history says, surpassed even Lucrezia Borgia 
 in that latter lady's line. Christina, while in 
 Rome, lived in the Palazzo Corsini and died there. 
 Probably she was a generous daughter of the 
 church, hence her mortuary honors. 
 
 Queen Christina, by the way, was fond of 
 foreign travel and sojourning in foreign lands — 
 an unusual thing among crowned heads in her 
 day. Before she went to Rome, she spent some 
 time in France. There she also occupied a palace, 
 placed at her disposal by the French government. 
 
 Here Christina held her httle court. Here the 
 French wits and courtiers hastened to pay her 
 homage. Here the French philosophers and 
 encyclopedists repaired to do honor to this royal 
 blue-stocking. Here the intrigues and amours 
 
 M 177 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 of a Swedish court were transplanted to French 
 soil. And here the pleasure-loving queen not 
 only had her court and her courtiers, but her 
 favorite, for, like Catherine of Russia, Christina 
 of Sweden had many favorites. The Russian 
 empress preferred Russian favorites; the Swedish 
 queen preferred Swedes, 
 
 So the favorite in this transplanted Swedish 
 court was Swedish and not French. Perhaps it 
 were better for him had he been French, for one 
 day the queen discovered that the faithless favorite 
 was engaged in an intrigue with one of her maids 
 of honor. The justly incensed sovereign at 
 once convened a private court of the officers of her 
 body-guard, and had him tried, condemned, and 
 beheaded. As for the maid of honor, that luck- 
 less light of love was at once packed off, bag and 
 baggage, to Sweden. 
 
 This short shrift and sharp justice on French 
 soil naturally caused the French government some 
 perturbation when it leaked out. The French 
 monarch caused the intimation to be conveyed, as 
 delicately as possible, to the Swedish queen that 
 he objected to such proceedings. Christina was 
 astounded. "Does the king know," she asked, 
 "that the man was my subject? " Yes, the king 
 knew it. " Does the king know what he did ? " 
 
 178 
 
MAKING SAINTS AT ST. PETER'S 
 
 Louis delicately admitted some knowledge of the 
 offense. "And does the king believe that I will 
 submit to such an outrage without enforcing 
 exemplary justice in my household ? " 
 
 In the face of the royal lady's unassumed anger, 
 the perplexed French ministers were forced to 
 reply that they had no objection to her killing 
 any or dl of her subjects, but that they really 
 wished that she wouldn't do it while in France. 
 And if she had to mess up tessellated marble 
 floors with offending gentlemen's heads, would n't 
 she kindly — er — er — go away ? 
 
 Which Christina did. 
 
 This delicate and extrinsic attitude of the French 
 government has always reminded me of the old 
 story of the epileptic tramp who says to the good 
 housewife at her front-door, "Say, lady, can I 
 have a fit in your front-yard ? " To which the 
 practical lady replies, kindly, "No; go around to 
 the back-yard; here you would muss up the 
 flower-beds." 
 
 So Christina of Sweden shook the dust of King 
 Louis's park-walks and flower-beds from her feet, 
 and left his dominions. She never entered them 
 again. She never forgave him. It was shortly 
 after these events that she went to live in Rome. 
 
 It is certainly queer that a lady of such ingen- 
 179 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 uous immorality should be buried in St. Peter's. 
 But the Popes have frequently been blind to 
 moral obliquities. Once a year it is a custom 
 of the Popes to confer the Golden Rose upon 
 some distinguished Roman Catholic lady. Some 
 years ago it was given to ex-Queen Isabella of 
 Spain. It will be remembered that this lady, for 
 political reasons, was married to her cousin, Don 
 Francisco d*Assissi, who did not become a father. 
 But Queen Isabella believed that the royal line 
 must be unbroken, so she presented Don Fran- 
 cisco with several children. One of these was 
 Alfonso, father of the present Spanish king. 
 Alfonso was not a wise child. However that 
 may be, it was to his mother. Queen Isabella, that 
 Pope Pius the Ninth presented the Golden Rose 
 — for chastity. 
 
 When Queen Isabella dies they ought to bury 
 her in St. Peter's beside Queen Christina of 
 Sweden. 
 
 i8o 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 DOES the Vatican contain eleven thousand 
 rooms? No. Does any one believe that 
 it does? Yes, many. The statement has been so 
 often repeated that it has become a classic lie. 
 But I shall not attempt here to gainsay any guide- 
 book statements about the Papal Palace. Out 
 of the vast volume of printed matter concerning 
 the Vatican, its statues, its pictures, its mosaics, its 
 chapels, and its halls, I have seen next to nothing 
 in print about two items — its gardens and its 
 wheels. By "wheels" I mean the machinery by 
 which it runs. For the way in which they manage 
 a microcosm like the Vatican has always interested 
 me. I did not know how the Vatican was policed 
 and lighted; how it was governed within another 
 government; how the boundaries were maintained ; 
 of where jurisdiction left off and began. For 
 example : If two drunken men had a fight in 
 the Vatican precincts, who arrested them ? Where 
 were they taken? By whom were thev tried? 
 
 i8i 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Were they turned over to the Itahan poHce? 
 Or were they taken before the Inquisition, Police 
 Court Number One ? 
 
 Some of these questions I settled on the day of 
 a great canonization ceremony at St. Peter's. The 
 square was occupied by Humbert's troops. Up 
 to the very doors one noted the municipal police 
 of Rome. Within, however, the troops and 
 peace officers were all Papal. On inquiry I learned 
 that this was the rule. The exterior of the Vati- 
 can is under the surveillance of the Italian poHce. 
 Before the Gate of Bronze come and go the 
 carabineers and the peace officers of Rome, 
 and there are even detectives in plain clothes. 
 At the consulta the officials in charge inquire care- 
 fully as to who it is that enters and who it is that 
 goes out. 
 
 On the way to the Vatican Gardens, on the 
 other side of St. Peter's, one notices even more 
 markedly, how the Papacy and the Italian gov- 
 ernment confront each other. You walk around 
 St. Peter's and reach the Zecca, the ancient pon- 
 tifical mint, which the Italian government occu- 
 pies. By a great gateway you enter the Cortile del 
 Forno, and there abruptly the two powers appear 
 face to face. On the right you see the post of 
 the Italian soldiers ; on the left you see the post 
 
 182 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 of the Swiss pontifical troops. A fountain serves 
 as a sort of boundary, which the sentries of each 
 side never cross. It is the frontier. For a back- 
 ground we have the Vatican, beyond is St. Peter's, 
 then the Zecca, and the wall before which the 
 Italian sentry walks his allotted ground, his gun 
 slung in a bandoleer. 
 
 It is by this gateway, where the Swiss mount 
 guard, that the Pope last left the Vatican on the 
 fifteenth of July, 1890. The carriage of the 
 PontiflF traversed the Cortile, and by another 
 Vatican door, which is on the third side of the 
 square, entered the closed part of the palace. This 
 event caused fierce discussion. Was the Cortile 
 del Forno pontifical territory, or was it not? It 
 was finally decided that the Vatican had extra- 
 territoriality, and that the frontier line was indi- 
 cated by the first step on the street of the Zecca ; 
 but this discussion led to some declarations on 
 the part of the Italian government, which caused 
 great excitement in the Papal camp. The Vati- 
 can learned officially "that there is no pontifical 
 territory;" that the Pope "merely enjoys the use 
 of the Vatican;" and that the pontifical extra- 
 territoriality is worth no more and no less than 
 that which diplomatic usage confers on embassa- 
 dors. The partisans of the Pope insisted that 
 
 183 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 this was equivalent to saying that Leo was a sub- 
 ject of the king. 
 
 On your way to the Vatican across the new 
 steel bridge which spans the Tiber by the Castle 
 of St. Angelo, you enter the quarter of the Tras- 
 teverini^ or trans -Tiberian people. Here you 
 seem to go from the new Rome into the old. 
 For you have left the busy, bustling Corso, with 
 its handsome buildings, its fine pavement, its vista 
 of electric lamps, and the well-dressed throngs of 
 modern Romans in conventional garb, who per- 
 haps are descended from the patricians of the time 
 of Augustus Caesar. When you cross the Tiber, 
 you are in the home of the Trasteverines, who 
 have lived for ages in the same quarter, and who 
 are said to be lineal descendants of the Roman 
 mob who burned Christians for their play. You 
 are in the Trasteverino, you are at the entrance to 
 the Leonine City, and you look for the Vatican. 
 It is a shapeless mass of buildings. There are 
 rooms, galleries, libraries, and interminable cor- 
 ridors. There is a strange interior city, which 
 stretches out its wonders without end, cut up with 
 courtyards and passageways, through which you 
 walk with wearied limbs. But from the Piazza 
 San Pietro, or the square in front of the great 
 church of St. Peter's, nothing of this appears. 
 
 184 
 
^\B RA fry* 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
*'/« the quaint gardens of the Vatican.' 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 The only details visible from there are the win- 
 dows, behind which for so many years has lived 
 the Roman Pontiff in his voluntary imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 But from the dome of St. Peter's there is a 
 more comprehensive view. There the extent of 
 the Vatican may be seen, with its piles of build- 
 ings, its fortress-like walls, its formidable bastions, 
 and its quaint gardens. It is from the dome that 
 most tourists obtain a view of the Pope taking 
 his daily drive. 
 
 Every day during certain hours he makes a 
 tour of the gardens. They extend from the Bel- 
 vedere, which includes the beautiful Giardino 
 della Pigna, to the walls flanked with the ancient 
 towers of the Leonine City. The view of the 
 Vatican gardens from the cupola of St. Peter's is 
 very beautiful. Around you extends the marvel- 
 ous panorama of the environs of Rome, with the 
 Valley of the Tiber, and the vast brownish plain 
 of the Campagna extending toward the sea. 
 Under the walls of the Leonine City are newly 
 built quarters, where numbers of apartment- 
 houses of the most modern type lift up their 
 heads. It is the remnant of a "building boom" 
 in one of the oldest cities in the world. These 
 buildings are most of them unfinished, and the 
 
 185 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 rain beats in upon their roofless walls. The entire 
 quarter will soon be nothing but a heap of modern 
 ruins, mute witness of the transitory nature of real- 
 estate "booms." 
 
 The Pope goes out from his apartments in a 
 portantine^ or sedan-chair. He is preceded by two 
 Swiss halberdiers and two of the Noble Guard ; 
 an exempt officer of the Noble Guard, a chamber- 
 lain of the Secret Chamber, and a participante 
 accompany him. Two Swiss Guards bring up the 
 rear. At the gateway of the gardens, the Pope 
 enters a carriage with the participante^ while the 
 Noble Guard escort him on horseback. The 
 garden- walls — which, it seems, people have often 
 attempted to scale — are under the special guard 
 of the gendarmes, who are posted from point to 
 point with loaded revolvers. The drive lasts for 
 an hour, and the coachman ingeniously varies the 
 route. The return is conducted with the same 
 ceremonial. The Pope again gets into his por- 
 tantine. The Swiss Guards again take the head 
 of the procession. Again they cross the galleries 
 of the Giardino della Pigna, sometimes by way of 
 the library or the Chirara Monti Museum, or it 
 may be by the Hall of the Signature, or by the 
 Hall of the Conflagration, or by the Hall of Helio- 
 dorus, or by the Hall of Constantine, or by the 
 
 i86 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 five famous rooms of Raphael, which lead to the 
 Pontiff's private apartments. The Pope must 
 at times sigh for Castel Gandolfo, which was the 
 summer resort of his predecessors. This castle is 
 on Lake Albano, one of the most beautiful places 
 on the Roman Campagna. 
 
 The Noble Guard, the Palatine Guard, the 
 gendarme's^ and the Swiss Guard compose all that 
 is left of the pontifical army. These four divis- 
 ions are much reduced. The Noble Guard is 
 recruited among the Roman aristocracy, but en- 
 listment is no longer popular among the young 
 Roman nobles. The Papal service furnishes no 
 field to ambitious youths. It leads to nothing. 
 The Noble Guard is composed of fourteen offi- 
 cers, a commander with the rank of general, the 
 hereditary standard-bearer of the Holy Roman 
 Church, a lieutenant-general, a sub -lieutenant- 
 general, and ten exempt colonels. There are 
 eight cadets with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, 
 ten court captains, twenty court lieutenants, and 
 ten supernumerary guards. Every day, one ex- 
 empt and six guards are on service in the ante- 
 chambers of the Vatican. The Palatine Guard, 
 which goes back only to the days of Pius the 
 Ninth, is formed of middle-class citizens of Rome, 
 to the number of four hundred. The legion is 
 
 187 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 commanded by a colonel, two lieutenant-colonels, 
 a major, and two captains. The Palatine Guard 
 appears only on days of great ceremony at St. 
 Peter's or at the Sistine Chapel. This guard lines 
 the way on either side when the Pope passes. On 
 days of audiences, the Palatines act as guards in 
 the antechamber. The gendarmes are charged 
 with the exterior poHce of the palace. They 
 watch over the court of St. Damaso, the galleries, 
 the corridors, and the gardens. There are one 
 hundred and twenty men, under the command of 
 a major. They are fine-looking men, in hand- 
 some uniforms, wearing bear-skin shakos, like 
 grenadiers. Some Spanish pilgrims were so struck 
 by the magnificence of these bear-skinned police- 
 men that they broke out into enthusiastic plau- 
 dits, and declared that they were much more 
 impressed by the Pope's poHcemen than they 
 were by the Pope's cardinals. 
 
 The gendarmes, the Palatines, and the Noble 
 Guard are only show soldiers. The true troops 
 of the Vatican are the Swiss Guards. Many 
 find them grotesque in their curious costume, 
 which Thomas Bailey Aldrich likens to that of 
 the Jack of Clubs. They are strapping fellows, 
 and carry themselves well in their yellow, red, 
 and black garb as they stand under the enormous 
 
 i88 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 white and yellow pontifical flag which floats at 
 the interior of the Portone. The Swiss troops 
 include one hundred and twenty men, and are 
 commanded by a colonel, a lieutenant-colonel, 
 and a major. The authority they exercise is 
 remarkable — even over the cardinals at times. 
 They watch the interior approaches to the palace 
 and the entrances to the apartments. At several 
 of the great religious ceremonials of the Holy 
 Year they appeared in their steel corselets, and, 
 with their enormous two-handed swords, carried 
 with the hilt resting on the shoulder and the 
 blade pointing up in the air, they surrounded the 
 gestatorial chair of the Pope. 
 
 Around the Pontiff is an assemblage of per- 
 sons so numerous, and whose duties are so com- 
 plicated and so multifarious, that it is difficult even 
 to understand them, their offices, and their eti- 
 quette. Here is a list of the important domestic 
 servants of the Pope : The decani^ or elders ; the 
 sediari, or chair-bearers ; the hussolanti; the clerks, 
 or cintanti di camera; the mace-bearers, the war- 
 dens with silver wands, etc. Every variety of 
 functionary has its own costume. Many are lay- 
 men, although some of them wear the priest's 
 soutane, like the hussolanti. This is the domestic 
 personnel of the antechambers, to which is also 
 
 189 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 attached, although of course on a much higher 
 social scale, the cameriere di cap a e di spada, or 
 gentlemen of the court. There are five hundred 
 of them. There are one hundred and ten Cham- 
 berlains of Honor of the Cloak and Sword, two 
 hundred and thirty Chamberlains of the Cloak 
 and Sword di numero, and finally four Secret 
 Chamberlains of the Cloak and Sword, who are 
 of the most ancient nobility of Rome. The cos- 
 tume of ceremony is black velvet doublet, black 
 plumed hat, white ruff, black silk hose, and black 
 velvet mantle ; around the neck they wear a gold- 
 en chain and carry a sword swung in a baldric 
 at the side. When at minor ceremonials, they 
 simply wear the heavy gold chain over an even- 
 ing-coat. It is the Secret Chamberlains of the 
 Cloak and Sword who receive embassadors and 
 cardinals in the Papal antechambers. All of 
 them belong to the Roman nobility. 
 
 The services of the antechambers are regulated 
 by the most minute rules. When, for example, 
 a cardinal pays a visit to the Pontiff, he is first 
 received in the Hall of Constantine, which is 
 occupied by the Swiss Guards, who present arms. 
 A sediario^ one of the persons who carry the Pope 
 in his chair, garbed in plum-colored velvet, ap- 
 proaches, bows, and, taking the little red sack 
 
 190 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 from the hands of the cardinal's gentleman, pre- 
 cedes him as far as the third antechamber, that of 
 the gendarmes^ who, in their turn, present arms. 
 At the door of the third antechamber, a husso- 
 lante, in a violet soutane, approaches, bows, and 
 precedes the cardinal as far as the Hall of the 
 Throne. In the Hall of the Throne, he is 
 received by the Secret Chamberlains of the Cloak 
 and Sword, who accompany him as far as the 
 Secret Antechamber. In the Secret Antechamber, 
 the master of the chamber and his participante 
 accompany the cardinal up to the moment he is 
 received by the Pope. It is only in the last ante- 
 chamber that the cardinal takes off his hat. Up 
 to that time he wears it by special privilege allowed 
 to a prelate of his rank. 
 
 The Vatican once exercised government over 
 things as well as souls. It therefore was obliged 
 to have a diplomatic service, an army, a financial 
 administration, courts, and everything which con- 
 stitutes a civil organization. This social order 
 vanished in 1870, when the Vatican government 
 became a purely theoretical thing. Nevertheless, 
 certain vestiges remain of the governmental attri- 
 butes of former times. The Vatican used to have 
 forges, foundries, and various other manufactories. 
 It had within the precincts of the Vatican an arsenal, 
 
 191 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 a mint, an establishment where mosaics and tapes- 
 tries were made, an industrial and artistic city, 
 where a people lived by their manufactures alone. 
 The arsenal and the mint are to-day in the hands 
 of the Italian government. There remain to 
 the Vatican its tapestry factory, at present idle 
 from lack of money, and its manufactory for 
 mosaics, which still maintains a number of work- 
 men. 
 
 But leaving the machinery of the Papal gov- 
 ernment, let us take a look at the gardens of the 
 Vatican. From the dome of St. Peter's we had 
 inspected the gardens through glasses, and had 
 seen the Pope making his rounds. For a long 
 time the gardens had been closed to the public. 
 The guide-books were silent about them, the 
 photographers had no views of them on sale. So 
 when we learned that the gardens were to be tem- 
 porarily thrown open to the pilgrims, we hastened 
 thither, for we were pilgrims, too. We found to 
 our delight that the other pilgrims apparently 
 had not yet heard of it, for the gardens were 
 practically deserted. 
 
 For an hour we wandered through them and 
 met no man — or woman either, as Hamlet says 
 
 192 
 
71ie stiff'est style oj landscape gardening.''' 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 — save two or three aged gardeners. For all 
 things in the Vatican gardens, even the gardeners, 
 seem to be old. The gardens are not many acres 
 in extent, but they seem larger than they really 
 are. The walks and drives are laid out with much 
 skill, and are shut off by lofty boxwood hedges. 
 It is possible, therefore, to wander for a long dis- 
 tance without retracing one's steps. The gardens 
 are a quaint and pleasing mixture of primness and 
 wildness. Immediately at the entrance you find 
 some acres of flower-beds, laid out in the stifFest 
 style of landscape gardening. But leaving this in a 
 winding walk which climbs a hill, you are speedily 
 lost in a forest of trees, which shuts off the view 
 completely. Here you might believe yourself far 
 from a city, were it not that you distinctly hear 
 the muffled roar of Rome. Under the dense 
 shade of these ancient trees are old fountains, old 
 statues, old arches, old columns — everything is 
 moss-grown and old. Ferns grow luxuriantly in 
 this dense and humid shade — delicate maiden's- 
 hair as well as the more hardy brakes. 
 
 The hillside climbed, we came out of the shade 
 and into the sun. On the sunny side of the hill 
 we found a small vineyard, a small orchard, a 
 small poultry-yard, a small deer-park, and a small 
 ostrich-pen. Here there are several pavilions, 
 
 N 193 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 or summer-houses, which the Pope at times 
 occupies, and from which magnificent views may 
 be had of Rome and the Campagna. 
 
 At this point one of the venerable gardeners 
 approached us, and with much impressiveness led 
 us to a summer-house and showed us a peep- 
 hole, through which we could see the very chair 
 in which the Holy Father had sat. Price, twenty 
 cents. But the gardener was an amusing old soul, 
 and seeing a chance of another tip, he escorted us 
 around the "ranch" — for the mixture of orchard, 
 vineyard, and poultry-yard inevitably suggested 
 that term. Here we encountered two tourist 
 priests, who, seeing, that the gardener was acting 
 as cicerone i immediately followed and listened 
 to his prattle. For half an hour they stuck to 
 us, disappearing only when the time came to 
 settle, when they swiftly vanished. They were 
 dark - browed, dark - complexioned fellows, and 
 uttered no sound as they stalked behind us, with 
 their black skirts flapping around their sturdy 
 legs. I wondered whether they could be Italians. 
 The dialogue between the gardener and myself 
 was of a nature to make Ariosto weep and Tasso 
 grieve. I am not strong in Italian; I can make 
 myself understood in it, but I speak English 
 much better. If those priests were Italian, I 
 
 194 
 
BRA 
 
 XJNIVERSir 
 
" The great dome of St. Peter's from the Vatican hill. 
 
THE WHEELS OF THE VATICAN 
 
 shudder when I think of that dialogue. But if 
 they were Italian, and could listen to it with 
 gravity, I greatly admire their self-control. 
 
 The old gardener parted from us with regret, 
 after having sold us some cuttings from plants. 
 His regret was over not asking for more. He 
 was a nice old man, but a trifle mercenary. Most 
 of the Vatican servants are. 
 
 When we left the old gardener we started to 
 return by what we thought to be the same route, 
 but it led us into an entirely different part of the 
 grounds. Here we climbed a hill which was the 
 highest in the gardens. I think that we must 
 have been on the top of Mons Vaticanus. At 
 our feet lay the vast pile of buildings which 
 together are called the Vatican. Apparently on 
 a level with us was the great dome of St. Peter's. 
 Around the railing at the top we could see the 
 minute figures of tourists looking from the dome 
 at the Vatican gardens. From there we descended 
 the hill and made our way back toward the gate- 
 way. We passed the building called "Casino del 
 Papa," where the Popes used to dwell during the 
 torrid days of summer. It is a handsome build- 
 ing, covered with the self-laudatory inscriptions 
 of the various Popes who have adorned it. Not 
 only in the Vatican gardens but all over Rome 
 
 195 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 you see magniloquent inscriptions setting forth 
 the astounding virtues of the various Popes who 
 repaired bridges, or restored facades — " Most 
 munificent Prince, Pius" — "Most virtuous 
 Prince, Clement" — " Most learned Prince, Six- 
 tus." If the Popes have had a besetting sin, it 
 is not modesty. 
 
 As we were making our way toward the exit 
 we met another tourist priest — an old Italian — 
 who had apparently lost his way. He asked us 
 about it, and we set him right. He was unmis- 
 takably a tourist, for he had a guide-book, and 
 pointing to a tower told us it was the Borgia 
 Tower. He meant well, but the gardener had 
 already told us it was the Leonine Tower. He 
 was completely lost. 
 
 Fancy two pilgrims from Western America tell- 
 ing an Italian priest how to find his way about the 
 gardens of the Vatican ! 
 
 196 
 
The gardener told us it was the Leonine Tower.'" 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 THE Roman aldermen head all their official 
 notices with the legend "S. P. Q. R." These 
 letters were once carried on the eagles of the 
 Roman legions from what is now London to 
 what is now Constantinople, from the Pillars of 
 Hercules to the Baltic Sea. These letters still con- 
 front one on the gigantic ruins which the ancient 
 Romans left to modern Rome. The "Senate 
 and People of Rome" builded for all time. 
 
 But there is a certain lack of humor in the 
 modern Italian mind. To use these imposing 
 letters nowadays for lesser things seems slightly- 
 ludicrous. Yet you continually see them so used 
 by the Roman aldermen: 
 
 "S. P. Q. R. — Notice of a street assessment on the 
 Corso." 
 
 "S. P. Q. R. — New sidewalk to be laid on the Ap- 
 pian Way.'* 
 
 "S. P. Q. R. — Bicycles not allowed after midday on 
 the Pincian Hill." 
 
 197 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 "S. P. Q. R. — Lowering the grade of Bonella Street 
 beside the Roman Forum." 
 
 "S. P. Q. R. — Specifications for constructing a new 
 sewer from the Fountain of Trevi." 
 
 It has long been believed that the most sudden 
 fall from the sublime to the ridiculous is the cry 
 of the Oriental hawker: "In the name of the 
 Prophet — Figs!" But it has been surpassed. 
 The Roman aldermen have posted up this notice 
 in the Senate House on the Capitoline Hill: 
 
 S. P. Q. R. 
 NoN Sputate sul Pavimento ! 
 
 It seenis scarcely credible, but it is true. In 
 Rome, in 1906, this notice stares at you from 
 historic walls: 
 
 In the Name of 
 
 The Senate and People of Rome: 
 
 Don't Spit on the Floor! 
 
 When I first visited Rome, some years ago, I 
 was struck by its air of modernness. First im- 
 pressions are always the most sharply defined. 
 On a second visit I was not surprised at the 
 excellence of its pavements, the order of its 
 
 198 
 
\ 3 rt^ 
 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 Streets by day, and the brilliant lighting of its 
 streets by night. But the electric tramways — 
 new since a former visit — came upon me with 
 a slight shock of surprise. Fancy going clear 
 across Rome by a "trolley-car" from the Quiri- 
 nal Hill and over the Forum to the Vatican ! 
 
 Let no hasty person accuse me of anglomania 
 for using the word " tram.'' It is an old word in 
 both America and England, and was used in 
 mines before there were any street-cars. Further- 
 more, the word is so short and expressive that it 
 has made its way into other languages. Instead 
 of strada f err at a, the Italians say tramvia or tram. 
 Instead of camino de hierro^ the Spaniards say 
 tranvia or tran. Why, then, should practical 
 Americans cling to such clumsy neologisms as 
 " street-railway lines," " street-car line," " cable- 
 car line," " cable street-car line," and " electric 
 street-car line"? They are meaningless as well 
 as clumsy, for the lines frequently run out of 
 towns and into suburbs, ceasing to be " street " 
 lines. A feeble attempt is being made to change 
 the name of the electric tram to " trolley," but 
 this will speedily be meaningless, also, as the 
 overhead trolley is doomed to disappear. In 
 most European cities it is not allowed within 
 municipal limits, but only in the suburbs. 
 
 199 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Of the many modern things in Rome that 
 struck me, one was the tram question and another 
 the board of aldermen. They call it the " com- 
 munal council " there, and the mayor is styled 
 the "syndic." The Roman aldermen and the 
 Roman people in 1 900 were greatly agitated over 
 tramway franchises and city squares. American 
 cities are always in a fever over street-railway 
 franchises, and generally quarreling over city 
 squares. The municipal resemblances between 
 these ancient and modern cities must strike the 
 most casual observer. 
 
 Rome's question was complex. Briefly, the 
 Piazza Colonna is in the heart of the city. It 
 is small. From it runs the Via del Tritone, which 
 is narrow. You see there the equipages of princes, 
 the carriages of cardinals, and the brilliant liveries 
 of the queen's coachmen, cheek by jowl with 
 donkeys, hand-barrows, and wine-carts from the 
 Campagna. The Street of the Triton is the out- 
 let from the Piazza Colonna. 
 
 In the Piazza Colonna affair a number of the 
 Roman aldermen were in favor of erecting a pub- 
 lic building upon the piazza. Others opposed 
 this. Hence acrimonious discussion. Some of 
 the Roman newspapers said there was a "job'* 
 in it. Very likely there was. The Osservatore 
 
 200 
 
The Piazza Colonna, with the beautiful column 
 of Marcus Aure/ius." 
 
U»B« 
 
 ^^iVERsirr 
 
S. p. Q, R. 
 
 Romano, the Vatican organ, uttered fierce howls 
 daily, declaring that the beautiful Rome of the 
 Popes was being defiled by vandal hands unfit to 
 control it. 
 
 The tramway scheme was to run a line along 
 the narrow and crowded Via Tritone. How they 
 could run one there I do not see. It is barely 
 possible for* two carriages to pass, and the side- 
 walk is about two feet wide. 
 
 Modern Rome is now extending her electric 
 tramways and her electric-lighting system ; she is 
 about to pierce the Quirinal Hill with a tunnel to 
 facilitate traffic ; she is erecting a new palace of 
 justice ; she is completing new quays and begin- 
 ning new bridges over the ^ Tiber ; she is about 
 to erect a new monument to Victor Emanuel on 
 the capitol ; and she is discussing the enlargement 
 of both the Piazza Colonna and the Piazza Ve- 
 nezia. 
 
 Concerning this latter, it is interesting to note 
 how the public controls private property in Italy. 
 The Palazzo Torlonia is on the Piazza Venezia. 
 Princess Anna Maria Torlonia is the owner. This 
 year, after much negotiation between her and the 
 city, it was agreed : i . That the Torlonia Palace 
 should be torn down. 2. That the Torlonia 
 family should erect a new and smaller one. 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 3. That the space thus gained should form part 
 henceforth of the Piazza Venezia. 4. That the 
 new palace should cost not less than so many 
 millions. 5. That its plans must be approved 
 by the government before work began. 6. That 
 the palace must be completed at such a date. 7. 
 That the government would indemnify the Tor- 
 Ionia family for the land, in installments running 
 over a long term of years. 
 
 These were the questions which were agitating 
 modern Rome in 1900. 
 
 One of the odd features of the Roman news- 
 papers is the small number of advertisements. 
 They publish very few, and these are nearly all 
 advertisements of patent medicines. From the 
 number and variety of these remedies one would 
 imagine that half the population of Italy have 
 weak lungs and the other half weak stomachs. 
 It is said that the Italians are extremely prone 
 to dosing themselves. The scant display of 
 advertisements in the newspapers accounts for 
 the extraordinary display of posters upon the dead- 
 walls. In foreign cities I am in the habit of read- 
 ing newspaper advertisements. They shed much 
 light on the manners, customs, and often on the 
 
 202 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 morals of the natives. In Rome this source of 
 information was denied me. I was forced from 
 the newspapers to study the hoardings. It is 
 not so convenient as looking at newspaper adver- 
 tisements, but it is certainly instructive. 
 
 Upon the walls of Rome one finds many of 
 the kind of announcements found in American 
 newspapers; and many not found there. There 
 are, of course, the staple posters found in every 
 city — theatre-bills, variety-shows, and amusements 
 generally. These present no interesting features. 
 The school of "artistic posters'' founded by 
 Cheret in Paris has found no disciples in Rome. 
 The theatre-bills are utterly without interest — 
 as for that matter are the theatres. For exam- 
 ple, the favorite operatic prima donna of Rome 
 is Gemma Bellincioni, a painstaking but mediocre 
 artist, who would rank fourth-rate in Paris, Lon- 
 don, or New York. 
 
 Next to the theatre-posters are the official 
 notices of the municipality. These municipal 
 notices, as well as government proclamations, are 
 printed on white paper, which, in Italy as in 
 France, is reserved to the state. Many of the 
 government proclamations are notices of conscrip- 
 tion. The young men subject to duty in the 
 various military districts are thus called to arms: 
 
 203 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 ** Every Italian in the first military district of 
 Rome who was twenty-one years of age on 
 March i, 1900, who has not served in the army, 
 and whose name begins with any letter between 
 A and M, will report at ." 
 
 There are many posters announcing auction 
 and other sales of furniture, tapestries, libraries, 
 paintings, antiquities, "objects of art," and bric- 
 a-brac generally. At home we always found such 
 sales advertised in the newspapers. It is a little 
 annoying not to find them in the Roman jour- 
 nals. You remember to have seen, for example, 
 a poster announcing that "the library of the late 
 
 Marquis Angelelli is for sale at ." When 
 
 you reach this point your cab turns a corner and 
 the poster vanishes. You make a mental note 
 of the sale, and determine to find out where and 
 when the late Angelelli's bibliographical treasures 
 are to be sold. Vain thought ! Fruitless quest ! 
 Arrived at home, you search the morning papers, 
 the evening papers, all the papers. No result. 
 The papers know not Angelelli. For them An- 
 gelelli fuit. And for you, too, apparently. 
 
 But you are persevering. You think you can 
 find the Angelelli poster. You connect it vaguely 
 with a red-headed beggar. A red-headed Italian 
 beggar seems odd to you, but there are such. 
 
 204 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 You charter a cab. You tell the cabman that 
 you think you saw a red-headed beggar pretend- 
 ing to sell pencils on the Via Quattro Fontane, 
 around the corner from the Via Venti Settembre, 
 where it runs down a hill. This position is chosen 
 so that the red-headed beggar can easily pursue 
 carriages with his pencils. You tell him that 
 somewhere , along the beggar's beat there is a 
 poster you wish to find. The cabman looks at 
 you as if you were mad. But as the Roman 
 populace believe that the Americans and English 
 are all crazy anyway, he shrugs his shoulders and 
 drives off. You find the Street of the Four Foun- 
 tains; you find the hill; you find the red-headed 
 beggar; you find the poster. But, alas! it only 
 goes as far as "the library of the late Marquis 
 
 Angelelli is for sale at ." The where and 
 
 the when vanished again. A Roman bill-sticker 
 has covered the Angelelli bill with a lovely 
 chromo-lithograph, headed "Rome and the Sea,'* 
 representing a very pink lady, very lightly clad, 
 about to take a dip, followed by an urgent appeal 
 to Romans to buy shares of stock in a new rail- 
 way and sea-bathing corporation at Civita Vecchia. 
 Fancy floating a stock -company in America by 
 gaudy posters on the walls ! After much travail 
 and some days' disappointment, you accidentally 
 
 205 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 discover another Angelelli poster, and find that 
 the Angelelli sale has been going on daily for a 
 week, that it contained gems priceless to a book- 
 lover, and that it was finished the day before yes- 
 terday. 
 
 The late Angelelli really was a marquis, but 
 I had grave doubts as to the nobility of all the 
 noble advertisers on the Roman walls. There 
 seemed to be no sales by commoners. For ex- 
 ample, there was a sale of "the furniture and 
 objects of art of a noble Sicilian family." Yet 
 even in the gaudy rhetoric of the auctioneer the 
 noble Sicilian family's goods and chattels sounded 
 to me very much like those of a fairly well-to-do 
 American family. All the sales advertised upon 
 the walls were of "noble Neapolitan families,*' 
 " noble Piedmontese families," and " distinguished 
 foreign families." I noticed no distinguished 
 Roman families among them. In selling dead 
 men's gear, the posters spoke out frankly, as in 
 the case of Angelelli. Sometimes they left out 
 the name. One poster read : " Sale of the library 
 of a distinguished prelate of the court of His 
 Holiness." 
 
 The amateur amusements seemed to be more 
 attractively advertised than the theatrical enter- 
 tainments. A poster giving particulars concerning 
 
 206 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 an "equestrian mediaeval tournament" was long, 
 and couched in the stilted and high-flown language 
 of the middle ages. It was quite cleverly written, 
 and set forth that there would be a tournament 
 on such a day ; that it would take place outside the 
 Porto del Popolo ; that the director of the tour- 
 nament would be Prince Felice Borghese ; that 
 most of the cavaliers would be Roman knights ; 
 that the field of the tournament would be gay 
 with the banners of the various knights ; that the 
 knights would wear armor of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury ; that the combats would be with sword and 
 lance ; that each knight would make the round 
 of the amphitheatre, saluting the lady whom he 
 wished to hail as queen of love and beauty ; that 
 any lady so saluted might give to the knight a 
 token, such as a glove or flower, to wear as a 
 favor in his casque ; that the lady before whose 
 champion all other knights go down would be 
 crowned queen of the tournament. Then fol- 
 lowed a list of the knights already entered for 
 the tournament, among whom we recognized 
 such familiar names as Rolando of Roncesvalles, 
 Edoardo the Black Prince, and Ricardo of the 
 Lion Heart. 
 
 In most Latin countries you see little card- 
 board sheets of note-paper size, affixed to walls and 
 
 207 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 lamp-posts, announcing deaths. In our country 
 you still find them in New Orleans. In Rome 
 they are replaced by posters. A large and staring 
 placard, about three feet by four, says : " After a 
 long and painful illness Edoardo Giovanilli has 
 ceased to live. His exquisite gifts of heart and 
 mind (squisiti doti dei mente e di cuore) made it a 
 high privilege to possess his acquaintance. His 
 loss is irreparable. His funeral will take place 
 from the Street of the Sow, No. 96." In the 
 way of funeral posters, there was in Rome a 
 placard from the municipality prescribing the 
 maximum charges for funerals of the first, sec- 
 ond, third, and fourth grades. 
 
 The " summer resorts *' and watering - places 
 also advertise on dead-walls. Merely to show 
 their prices, I note the poster of Uliveto, a well- 
 known Italian resort, which thus advertised its 
 opening. It has famous mineral springs, hotel 
 with electric lights, elevators, postal and telegraphic 
 bureaus. It advertises a long list of physicians, 
 and it winds up with its prices, which, given in 
 American money, are : " Rooms, from 40 to 60 
 cents a day ; breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, in- 
 cluding wine twice daily, 90 cents a day ; 20 per 
 cent, reduction to military officers, physicians, and 
 their wives and families." 
 
 208 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 These are a few among the many odd advertise- 
 ments which appear upon the dead-walls of Rome. 
 Not perhaps odd intrinsically, but because they 
 are of the kind usually found in newspapers. For 
 example, you see staring posters announcing 
 " handsome rewards " for the return of lost dogs, 
 lost opera-glasses, lost fans, jewelry, and all sorts 
 of trinkets. .The somnambulist, Anna d'Amico, 
 advertises her magnetic cabinet, in which she gives 
 answers to " persons who are unhappy in love, 
 persons who are troubled in business, and per- 
 sons about undertaking journeys," at the mod- 
 erate fee of five lire. Peeping into the future at 
 a dollar a peep seems cheap. Then there is a 
 noble family who are willing to let a portion 
 of their noble apartment in the noble Via Mon- 
 tegiordano for two hundred and fifty lire a month. 
 " An advocate, twenty-five years of age, earning 
 four hundred lire a month, wishes to marry an 
 honest and good girl with a dowry." This 
 ingenuous attorney signs himself " Simplex," and 
 gives his address. The maiden with a dowry 
 who could be wooed through a large poster on a 
 dead-wall would be almost as simple as Simplex 
 himself An advertisement of a similar nature is 
 that of a "gentleman thirty- nine years of age, 
 noble, unmarried, sympathetic, rich, affectionate, 
 
 o 209 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 desires a companion, affectionate, serious, and rich. 
 Useless to write without these requisites. The 
 utmost secrecy and reserve. Write to Arturo 
 Fiorelli, general delivery, Rome." Fiorelli means 
 " little flower." Arturo is aptly named. Arturo 
 is a daisy. 
 
 A fruitless search for a certain photographer in 
 the Roman directory was my first introduction to 
 that remarkable publication. In Rome it is called 
 the "Indicatori." If it indicates anything it is 
 hard to tell what, for even the natives seem un- 
 able to cope with the intricacies of the " Indica- 
 tor i." After failing to find the desired place 
 myself, I tried several of them, and they all were 
 forced to give it up. As a directory is supposed 
 to direct, this all-round failure so excited my curi- 
 osity that I gave the volume a cursory inspection. 
 
 It is not arranged like the plain, plebeian city 
 directories of our untitled republic. It begins 
 with the Roman "conscritti" — the modern ana- 
 logues of the ancient conscript fathers — the 
 princely families of modern Rome, the Colon- 
 nas, the Dorias, the Borgheses. But they fill 
 only a short half-page. Next come the " Roman 
 patricians," which means apparently titled persons 
 
 2IO 
 
 I 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 not princes, for most of this batch are dukes, 
 counts, and barons. This fills two and a half 
 pages. It is followed by "noble families residing 
 in Rome," which does not mean foreign noble- 
 men, but the Sicilian, Sardinian, Piedmontese, and 
 Venetian nobility. Apparently the old Roman 
 contempt for non- Roman Italians still exists. 
 This category- fills two and a half pages. After 
 this come "leading families residing in Rome." 
 Most of the gentlemen in this Hst bear the 
 honorary title either of "Cavaliere" or of "Com- 
 mendatore." This fills three pages. Next come 
 "professionals," in which are included lawyers, 
 physicians, architects, etc., filling forty pages. 
 And last of all comes the division headed "in- 
 dustry and commerce," in which figure the half- 
 million who make up the population of Rome — 
 the ordinary persons of whom we in the United 
 States are entirely made up. There are seventy- 
 five millions of us, and we have no princes, patri- 
 cians, or noble families, and yet we are doing 
 pretty well, thank you ! 
 
 The Roman newspapers are numerous. There 
 are eighteen daily journals of various shades of 
 poHtics. Among them are Liberal Republican, 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Republican, Socialistic, Military, and Conservative 
 or Royalist organs. There are also religious dailies 
 as well as distinctively Papal journals. Of these 
 last the Osservatore Romano and the Voce della 
 Verita are organs of the Vatican ; both are edited 
 by commissions of priests. There are one hun- 
 dred and eighty-five weekly, semi-weekly, and 
 monthly publications. This large number is 
 explained by the existence of many official news- 
 papers issued weekly by the government bureaus. 
 Among these, for example, is the Corriere del 
 LottOy which is the organ of the bureau devoted 
 to the government lotteries. There are also many 
 military journals, daily as well as weekly, easily 
 accounted for when one remembers that there are 
 a quarter of a million men in Italy under arms. 
 
 The papers are not of a high grade. They 
 are poorly printed on flimsy paper, and are feeble 
 imitations of the Paris papers, which themselves 
 are not worth imitating. About the best of them 
 is La Tr/^««^, which claims a daily circulation of 
 two hundred and twenty thousand. It has an 
 illustrated Sunday edition, but not at all resem- 
 bling our Sunday papers. It is modeled on the 
 Sunday edition of the Paris Petit Journal, which 
 is a kind of illustrated Sunday magazine. One 
 Sunday Tribuna contained the first number of a 
 
 212 
 
 1 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 new "grande romanzo di Miss M. E. Braddon," 
 entitled "Aurora Floyd," as also a "drammatico 
 racconto di Edgardo Poe," entitled "The Pit 
 and the Pendulum." These titles seemed faintly- 
 familiar. 
 
 Apropos of Miss Braddon, another of her 
 novels, "Lady Audley's Secret," was running 
 serially in the Carrier e della Sera of Milan. " Be- 
 hind Closed Doors," by Anna Katharine Green, 
 was running in the Corriere Italiano of Florence, 
 and "A Strange Marriage," by H. Flemming, 
 was running serially in the Fieramosca of Florence. 
 
 The daily papers of Rome all sell for five 
 centesimi — a cent apiece — with the exception of 
 Ultaliey which is printed in French and sells for 
 two cents. Poor as the Italian papers are in 
 Rome, this French daily is poorer still. That 
 there is a decidedly provincial tone about the 
 Roman dailies is shown by the fact that II Mes- 
 sagero one day editorially puffed a candy-seller, 
 and congratulated him on being named confec- 
 tioner to the Pontifical Court. 
 
 Elsewhere I have spoken of the Tribuna as 
 being the leading newspaper in Italy. While we 
 were in Rome its editor-in-chief, Attilio Luz- 
 
 213 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 zatto, suddenly died. Thug general and unaffected 
 grief which his death caused so impressed me that 
 I made some little study of his career. I never 
 had heard his name until he died. And yet he 
 was the director of the most influential journal in 
 all Italy — a country of some thirty millions of 
 people. How narrow is newspaper fame! 
 
 Luzzatto was born in 1850 in Udine, a town 
 in the province of Venezia near the Austro- 
 Hungarian frontier. He studied law in Milan, 
 but journalism irresistibly attracted him. He left 
 the law and attached himself to a radical demo- 
 cratic journal, the Ragione, His vigorous writing 
 soon attracted attention and he was urged to go 
 to Rome. There he became chief editorial writer 
 of La Stampay another radical democratic organ. 
 Luzzatto waged a vigorous war for liberty of 
 speech, liberty of public meetings, liberty of the 
 press, and extension of the electoral franchise. 
 This endeared him to the masses. In 1883 a 
 group of liberal democratic leaders decided to 
 found an organ in Rome, which they called La 
 Tribuna. They made Luzzatto its editor-in-chief, 
 and at that post he remained until his death. 
 
 One of the curious facts developed by Luz- 
 zatto* s death was that Prince Sciarra is a large 
 owner in La Tribuna, I knew that the Roman 
 
 214 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 princes did not hesitate to become silent partners 
 in business ventures at which their ancestors 
 would have sneered. Many of them were ruined 
 by the bursting of Rome's real-estate boom some 
 years ago. But for a prince, the head of an an- 
 cient family, to be part proprietor of a newspaper 
 devoted to spreading the principles of radical de- 
 mocracy, strikes me as distinctly amusing. 
 
 The death of Luzzatto was unexpected. 
 Toward the end of winter he had a severe attack 
 of the "grippe," or influenza. He partially re- 
 covered, but against the advice of his physicians 
 resumed his work. Not long after he died of 
 heart paralysis. His sudden death, while appar- 
 ently in the full tide of his labors, startled the 
 community. 
 
 From all over Italy there came telegrams of 
 sympathy — from cabinet ministers, senators, depu- 
 ties, mayors of cities, journalists, and public men 
 generally. The funeral was a large and imposing 
 one. Still all these evidences of grief did not 
 strike me as being other than the evidence of an 
 ephemeral feeling. The Italian has a dramatico- 
 sympathetic nature and is easily moved. Death 
 startles him. A sudden death shocks him. He 
 is not unwilling that the world should see that he 
 is moved, startled, and shocked. 
 
 215 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 On the day of the funeral we had occasion to 
 travel northward for a brief trip out of Rome. 
 When we reached the station, we found in the 
 train an imposing funeral car. It contained the 
 remains of Luzzatto. They were to be carried 
 northward for burial in his birthplace, Udine. 
 We made some remark about the love of funeral 
 pomp characteristic of the Latin mind, and dis- 
 missed the subject. 
 
 But it was soon brought to our attention. The 
 train traveled for miles over the lonely Roman 
 Campagna — a vast rolling plain, where there are 
 no towns or villages, and only an occasional fever- 
 haunted farm-house, tenanted by gaunt peasants, 
 yellow with malaria. When we had left this zone 
 of desolation the train began stopping at stations. 
 Wherever we made a halt the sight was remark- 
 able. The people for many miles around had 
 collected to do honor to the dead journalist. 
 Artisans' guilds, workingmen's leagues, wine- 
 growers* associations, social and political clubs 
 were there, bearing banners draped with crape. 
 Bands of music were in waiting, playing solemn 
 dirges. In the villages there were great crowds 
 of peasants, and in the towns dense masses of 
 workingmen. In places like Monte Varchi and 
 Arezzo there were crowds of several thousand 
 
 216 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 people. The station inclosures were packed with 
 humanity. At towns like Laterina and San Gio- 
 vanni Valdarno the crowds were extraordinary, 
 considering the size of these places. Even at the 
 smaller stations, where the train did not stop, 
 hundreds of peasants were drawn up at the station- 
 barriers gazing eagerly at the passing of Luzzatto. 
 At San Giovanni Valdarno there must have been 
 from four to five thousand people waiting at the 
 station. I could not imagine where they all came 
 from in a place of that size, and cross-questioned 
 the guard. He replied that the banners they bore 
 showed that they came from different communes. 
 These included San Giovanni, Terranuova, Castel 
 Franco, Piandisco, Cavriglia, Loro, Perpignano, 
 Monastero, Castel Nuovo, Montegonsi, and Cam- 
 pogialli — villages scattered over a territory miles 
 in extent. 
 
 As the day declined and darkness came on, the 
 scene grew picturesque. First the white, green, 
 and red signal-lights of the outlying station limits 
 would flash by. Ahead of us in the darkness 
 would be visible a great flare. As the train drew 
 up to the platform we would see that the light 
 proceeded from hundreds of torches held aloft by 
 men in the processions of clubs and guilds. The 
 yellow glare of the torches dimly outlined the tall 
 
 217 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 banners with their long streamers of crape. Out 
 of the darkness would come the sound of a dirge 
 with muffled drums and muted horns. For a 
 minute or two the train would pause while the 
 waiting people placed mourning wreaths in the 
 funeral car, and again it would dash on into 
 the darkness. For a hundred and fifty miles 
 through the most populous portion of central 
 Italy this curious scene was repeated. 
 
 Such a genuine outburst of popular mourning 
 made me think that Luzzatto had a deeper hold 
 upon the public heart than I had supposed. It 
 was not a purely local lamentation, confined to 
 the city of Rome, where he had labored so long. 
 The feeling was apparently shared by the Italians 
 at large. It made me wonder whether the death 
 of any journalist in the United States could cause 
 such genuine grief. What editor have we for 
 whose funeral train the people would wait for 
 hours in darkness and in rain? — for the heavens 
 wept ceaselessly as the funeral train rolled on. 
 
 Another thought came into my mind — that 
 wide as was Luzzatto's fame in his own land, it 
 was apparently limited to that land. I saw 
 but two foreign dispatches concerning his death. 
 Probably I speak within bounds when I say that 
 — excluding Italians — few well-informed men in 
 
 218 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 the United States had ever heard of him. There 
 walked in his funeral procession two other Italian 
 writers, Gabriele d'Annunzio and Edmondo de 
 Amicis. Both are younger men than Luzzatto, 
 who was just fifty. Yet the world knows them 
 as writers, while Luzzatto is unknown. Why ? 
 They wrote in books. He wrote in newspapers. 
 He will be forgotten within a year. 
 
 In the Protestant Cemetery at Rome is the 
 tomb of Keats, the young English poet, who is 
 said to have died of a broken heart. Upon the 
 nameless headstone are chiseled the well-known 
 words which the dying poet begged should be 
 placed upon his tomb — 
 
 Here Lies One 
 
 Whose Name 
 Was Writ in Water. 
 
 I could not help but think that after his brief 
 and busy life Attilio Luzzatto's name was writ in 
 
 These thumb-nail notes discuss trivial things 
 perhaps, but preferably unusual things. From 
 the well-trodden paths paved with red-bound 
 guide-books I have turned aside. I have always 
 
 219 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 secretly admired the courage of people who in 
 this day and generation can write and talk about 
 Roman ruins. But I have no desire to emulate 
 them. So I have written about trifles — odd 
 trifles. One might write many pages about 
 oddities — about the many interesting things in 
 the most interesting city in the world. 
 
 One might write of the men sluicing dirt in 
 the Forum, just as they do in the placer-mines 
 of California. But the California miners are in 
 search of gold, while the Forum miners are in 
 quest of antiquities, gems, bronzes, buckles, seals, 
 intaglios, weapons, bits of armor, and other bric- 
 a-brac of the ancient Romans. 
 
 One might write of the little ten-year-old boys 
 in swallow-tail coats, tall hats, and white chokers 
 whom you meet walking in files of two, led by 
 priests. 
 
 One might write of the fish-wheels revolving 
 in the Tiber. I have told of the salmon-wheels 
 in the Columbia to Eastern Americans, and have 
 had my "fish story" received with incredulous 
 laughter. Yet at Ponte Molle I saw the Oregon 
 fish-wheel revolving in the muddy Tiber, which 
 flows by one of the most ancient cities in the 
 world. 
 
 One might write of the remarkable incongru- 
 220 
 
The ruined Palaces of the Ccssars.^' 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 ities in Rome. For example, the Circus Maximus 
 of Ancient Rome has been utilized as a site for 
 the gas-works of Modern Rome. A "fornix" 
 in the ruined Palace of the Caesars has been used 
 as a little drinking-shop, and over the arch you 
 see the sign "Birra Gazzosa, Due Soldi." Says 
 the poet : " Imperial Caesar, dead, and turned to 
 clay, might stop a hole to keep the wind away." 
 In this case, for further indignity, his ruined 
 palace serves as a signboard for "Steam Beer, 
 Two Cents." 
 
 One might write of the extraordinary medioc- 
 rity of the pictures in oils, pastels, and water- 
 colors that one sees in the Roman shops, done 
 by modern Roman artists. Did I say artists ? 
 There are none. Whistler once became offended 
 at the Society of British Artists to which he be- 
 longed. At a meeting of the society he arose 
 and made a caustic speech, offering his resigna- 
 tion, which was accepted. He then suggested 
 that from the name " Society of the British Art- 
 ists" the society should strike the word "artists," 
 thus changing its name to "Society of the British," 
 as there had been only one artist in it, to-wit. 
 Whistler, and now he was gone. There is a so- 
 ciety here called the "Society of Roman Artists." 
 I think they should change their name on the 
 
 221 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 lines of Whistler's suggestion. All the Roman 
 artists are dead. 
 
 One might write of the artists* models that 
 loiter from dawn to dark on the Spanish Steps. 
 Dickens when first in Rome said that he was puz- 
 zled because their faces looked familiar. It is 
 easily explained — they were familiar to him in 
 pictures. If you approach the Spanish Steps with 
 a camera, groups of children dressed in picturesque 
 multi-colored rags start up and begin falling into 
 rapid poses like the crumbs of glass in a kalei- 
 doscope. 
 
 One might write of the functions of th& royal 
 carabineers in Rome, and wonder what they are. 
 An irate commander during our Civil War, who 
 did not believe in cavalry, once declared that he 
 would offer a reward of a thousand dollars for a 
 dead soldier in cavalry-boots. If the Roman 
 royal carabineers ever do anything but look pretty, 
 I can not conceive what it is. One evening on 
 the Pincian Hill, at six o'clock, when the park 
 was crowded with people listening to the music, 
 a melancholy young woman standing near a royal 
 carabineer flung herself over the parapet, and was 
 dashed to death on the stone pavement below. 
 The royal carabineer never moved — did not even 
 look over. He called a civil guard, and bade 
 
 222 
 
3 
 
 8 
 
 55 
 
S. p. Q. R. 
 
 him go down and gather the girl up. The royal 
 carabineers of Rome are magnificent. But it is 
 difficult to tell what they are for. 
 
 One might write of the countless fountains 
 which spout and splash in Rome. From dawn 
 till dusk and from dusk till dawn — from the 
 great Pauline fountain, with its torrents of water, 
 to the little trickle of the little Turtle fountain in 
 its little square — night and day these living 
 waters plash and play. When a Roman rain- 
 storm is coming down in sheets, the fountains 
 playing in the torrential rain seem to a Californian 
 like a wicked waste of water. He always wants 
 to run and turn it off. 
 
 But one might write endlessly of Roman foun- 
 tains, and one might write forever of Rome. So 
 let us stop with the Fountain of Trevi, most 
 beautiful fountain in a city of beautiful fountains. 
 Around it are ever grouped loungers, porters, 
 tourists, beggars. To it clings the old supersti- 
 tion that one who would return to Rome must, 
 on the eve of his departure, cast a coin into the 
 fountain's basin and offer up a wish for his return. 
 So on the brink of the basin we stood, thinking 
 regretfully of our departure from the ancient city 
 where we had spent so many delightful days. 
 Each of us brought a copper coin bearing the 
 
 223 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 impress of our Uncle Samuel rather than the 
 features of King Humbert. Casting the coin 
 from our own dear country into the magic waters 
 — whose charm is said to lure travelers back to 
 this other country which men from all lands seem 
 to love — we made our invocation, sighed our re- 
 grets, and bade farewell to Rome. 
 
 
 224 
 

FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 THE first thing that we saw in the city of Sa- 
 vonarola and Buonarotti was an automobile 
 parade. The automobile pursues one around 
 Europe. It is the Time Ghost of to-day. It ap- 
 pears suddenly in ancient nooks and corners, and 
 reminds you that this is the end of the nineteenth 
 century. And then, after scaring you, the Time 
 Ghost rattles away, leaving behind it a smell 
 which suggests ghosts, demons, and sulphur. 
 But it is only the smell of benzine. 
 
 This Florentine parade followed the inaugura- 
 tion of the first automobile club in Tuscany. It 
 took place in the Barbetti Rotunda near the Cas- 
 cine. Around the circle twenty-one automobiles 
 were ranged. They were examined by the Count 
 of Turin, who represents the royal family in 
 Florence. The Florentines must have something 
 for their tax-money, so they get a royal prince. 
 The count was good enough to express his 
 princely admiration for the machines, of which 
 
 p 225 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 there was quite a showing. The fastest was 
 a six-horse-power Stanley, belonging to Prince 
 Strozzi. 
 
 We were neighbors of the prince, by the way. 
 He lived across the street from us. Carping peo- 
 ple might say that we lived across the street from 
 him, for there is a Strozzi Palace, a Strozzi Street, 
 and a Strozzi Square, while our hotel is on the 
 corner of Strozzi Square and Strozzi Street. But 
 none the less we have a right to say that he lived 
 across the street from us. His habitation is finer 
 than ours, for the Strozzi Palace is one of the sights 
 of Florence. But it is unfinished. The prince's 
 family have lived there for generations. Two or 
 three hundred years ago the family decided to put 
 an ornamental cornice on the palace, and got 
 halfway around, when they became "broke" and 
 stopped. The cornice has remained unfinished 
 ever since. If Prince Strozzi had a due regard 
 for his ancestors, he would finish his uncompleted 
 palace. But apparently he prefers to live in an 
 unfinished house and spend his money on auto- 
 mobiles. He had four machines at this opening 
 of the Florence Automobile Club. 
 
 After the exposition proper, the members 
 "conducted" their machines from the Rotunda 
 out to Florence's beautiful park, the Cascine. 
 
 226 
 
^^ Florence' s park^ the Casciiie. 
 

FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 Numbers of handsomely gowned women were 
 seated on the automobiles, and one of them was 
 driven by a lady. I inquired her name, and was 
 told that she was " the Signorina Smith." The 
 other ladies were all marchesas, duchessas, and 
 contessas, but only Signorina Smith was daring 
 enough to conduct a machine. The name sounds 
 un-Italian. I think the Signorina Smith must be 
 American. The club wound up by a "grand five- 
 o'clock tea at four o'clock," at the Cascine. The 
 Italians seem to think that ^^five o'clock" is a 
 kind of beverage, instead of a time of day. You 
 see signs on the Italian-English tea-roonis, "five- 
 o'clock tea served at all hours." And the French 
 even make a verb of it — fiveocloquer, "On five- 
 ocloquera a quatre heures." 
 
 The scene was an animated one. We were 
 seated at one of the tables under the trees on the 
 terrace of the Cascine Cafe. A fine military band 
 was playing near at hand. Many of the auto- 
 mobile club were still speeding their machines 
 around the circles and driveways, giving exhibi- 
 tions of their skill in turning corners and running 
 into trees. On the other side of the round-point 
 on which stands the cafe^ the afternoon carriage 
 parade of Florence was going on. Handsomely 
 appointed victorias, broughams, breaks, dog-carts, 
 
 227 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 and phaetons rolled past, drawn by well-groomed 
 horses, with coachmen, footmen, and grooms in 
 immaculate liveries. Not a few horsemen were 
 to be seen, among them numbers of uniformed 
 army officers. On the other side of this drive- 
 way were four lawn-tennis courts, with matches in 
 progress on all of them, followed by groups of 
 interested spectators. Beyond these courts again, 
 the Italian game of "Pallone" was being played 
 with great vigor. The elliptical course of a 
 race-track lay alongside the park barrier, where 
 running races were in progress on this same 
 day. Just outside the Cascine are the grounds 
 of the beautiful Villa Demidoif, on which there 
 is a golf-links. And all these sports were going 
 on at the same time on a beautiful spring day. 
 Of a truth, the Florentines do not lack for 
 amusements. 
 
 Parenthetically, let me say that the Florence 
 Golf Club was extremely hospitable to us wan- 
 derers from a far-off Western land, and sent us 
 visitors* cards for their links and club-house. We 
 were not slow to avail ourselves of the privilege. 
 The links are laid out adjacent to a speed-track 
 at the Villa Demidoff. There are racing-stables 
 there, and men in trotting-sulkies were contin- 
 ually exercising horses. Your vagrant golf-ball 
 
 228 
 

*^The little Italian golf-caddies'' 
 
FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 would take you near a group of jockeys, horse- 
 trainers, and hostlers, gathered round a couple 
 of trotting-sulkies and talking to the drivers. 
 Unconsciously you would expect to hear them 
 calling one another Jim or Pete, and talking Eng- 
 lish race-track slang. But no. They are Sandros 
 and Titos, and their race-track lingo is lingua 
 Toscana, 
 
 So, too, with the caddies. To play golf over 
 a links where the caddies speak no English is in 
 itself an odd sensation. But to have a golf-caddy 
 talking to you in Italian is even more odd. 
 Otherwise, the little Italian caddies seem very 
 much hke other caddies otherwhere. They are 
 just as featherheaded, just as prone to give you 
 the wrong club, just as apt to forget the flag, just 
 as apt to say they are "tired" when you want to 
 go around again. It will interest golf-players 
 to know that for " once round " they receive four 
 cents. Late in the afternoons little girls would 
 straggle across the golf-links, stopping to stare at 
 the queer giuoco Inglese, or English game. They 
 were freckled little girls, carrying little lunch- 
 baskets and bundles of school-books in straps — 
 they are just like little school-girls in other lands 
 and chmes until you speak to them. Then their 
 speech bewrayeth them. 
 
 229 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 By the way, it would do a money-grubber good 
 to come in contact with golf-caddies. They are 
 rarities in this commercial age, for they know 
 when they have enough. A barefooted boy with 
 ragged galligaskins upheld by one suspender, his 
 hair sticking through a hole in his hat, worth as 
 he stands perhaps a dollar and a half, will refuse 
 a tenth of his estimated value for an additional 
 hour's work. He has fifteen cents in his pocket, 
 he is tired or hungry, and he "won't go round 
 no more." I respect the independent golf-caddy. 
 I respect and admire him. And I always hire 
 the other kind. 
 
 After the "inauguration" of the automobile 
 club, the automobiles dashed through the streets 
 of Florence at a high rate of speed, and there were 
 many accidents. In fact, there were accidents 
 every day. It is rather remarkable that on the 
 Continent the authorities allow such freedom to 
 automobilists. In Europe nearly everything is 
 forbidden. It is forbidden to walk on the grass. 
 It is forbidden to cross the railway lines. It is 
 forbidden, almost, to cross the street. Therefore, 
 that the automobilists should not be forbidden to 
 drive their machines at such breakneck speed is 
 remarkable. Horse-vehicles are prohibited from 
 exceeding a certain speed. Horned cattle are not 
 
 230 
 
" The Palazzo Vecchio, on the Square oj the Signoria.' 
 
FLORENTINE DILET 
 
 
 allowed on the streets of most large cities, owing 
 to solicitude for the foot-passengers. I have 
 seen loads of live steers transported across Vienna 
 in vans drawn by horses. But the scorching 
 automobilists are more dangerous than horned 
 cattle. 
 
 On the day that the automobile club was inau- 
 gurated in Florence a circular space in the Piazza 
 della Signoria was covered with mounds of flow- 
 ers. At first we thought it was a flower-market, 
 but on inquiry we found it was in memory of Sa- 
 vonarola, who was burned to death on this spot 
 over four hundred years ago. A Florentine fam- 
 ily has for centuries kept up the custom of thus 
 honoring his memory. And around the great 
 square of the Signoria, where he was burned, 
 circa 1500, sweeps the automobile of 1900. 
 
 Florence is the favorite haunt of the faddist. 
 And the art faddist is the most freakish of them 
 all. There are art amateurs there — the genuine 
 and the sham. And many of those who talk 
 most glibly about the Cinquecento and that sort 
 of thing strike me as being sham. 
 
 As for the Cinquecento, no one can deny the 
 leadership of the Florentines in the Renaissance 
 
 231 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 movement. Among the Florentine artists of that 
 epoch are some of the greatest names in Italy. 
 But they do not leaven the whole lump. There 
 were inferior men among them, and many medi- 
 ocrities. But the faddists will not admit that. 
 They insist that the whole Cinquecento is flawless ; 
 that every stone-cutter was a Michael Angelo and 
 every dauber a Raphael. This fifteenth-century 
 faddishness strikes me as being nineteenth-century 
 nonsense. 
 
 My sense of humor is often aroused by hearing 
 long disquisitions on art from ingenuous maidens 
 who have spent a fortnight in Florence. After 
 much |;alk about the Pitti and UfEzi galleries, 
 they invariably get around to Botticelli. In Flor- 
 ence it is a curious study to stand before some 
 famous Botticelli and note the crowd of adoring 
 Uffizi-gallery, greenery-yallery maidens clustered 
 at the master's shrine. They are limp and they 
 cling. They sigh ecstatically. They exchange 
 humid glances from tear-wet eyes for a moment, 
 and hastily look back at the magic canvas. If 
 one can secure an iconoclastic artist with whom to 
 shock such a circle, it is a keen delight to pitch 
 into Botticelli. And how amusing to note the 
 expressions on the fac^s around ! First of con- 
 tempt, as implying: "These men are Yahoos." 
 
 232 
 
VlN'I 
 
 
Fra Lippo LippVs Virgin and Childy 
 
FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 Then of disgust, as meaning: "They are only- 
 barbarians." Then of pain, as concluding : "They 
 are heretics." And finally of horror and of 
 fear, as who should say : " They talk the talky- 
 talky of the inner circle ! They have been of the 
 soul - soulful ! They were once Botticellians ! 
 They must be backsliders!" And they turn 
 and flee. 
 
 The art patter, the studio slang, the faddist's 
 jargon are easily picked up. An adroit use of it 
 will impress the listener with the belief that the 
 speaker knows what he is talking about. But 
 what matters it whether he does or not ? The 
 faddists have a right to their opinion. I have a 
 right to mine. I dislike the work of Botticelli, 
 Fra Angelico, Fra Lippo Lippi, and their imita- 
 tors. The Florentine faddists like it. Why, I 
 do not know. But I know quite well why I 
 do not like it. It strikes me as being false, flat, 
 untrue to nature, and ridiculous. There is a 
 famous picture by Fra Lippo Lippi representing 
 the Virgin and Child. It is an interior, in which 
 there are a number of other figures. The per- 
 spective is so crude that a woman in the back- 
 ground looks as if she were stepping on the Virgin's 
 shoulder. The figures in the foreground, middle 
 distance, and background have so absurd a per- 
 
 233 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 spective that they look Hke paper dolls of differ- 
 ent sizes, cut out with scissors and gummed upon 
 a background. The drawing is so extraordinary 
 that it suggests a Chinese screen. As for the 
 chief figures, the Madonna is grotesque and the 
 infant Jesus preposterous. He has the face of a 
 fat and flabby middle-aged man ; the right hand 
 is near the nose, with the fingers crooked in the 
 gesture of benediction ; he inevitably suggests 
 an elderly person taking snuff. The picture, as 
 a whole, always reminds me of Hogarth*s cartoon 
 of false perspective. 
 
 Another side-splitting picture which the Botti- 
 celhans love is "Calumny." This also is an 
 interior. The two leading figures, a lady and 
 gentleman with nothing on, are before a seated 
 Rhadamanthus. Into the judge's ears busy 
 tongues pour calumnies. Between the erect figure 
 of the naked lady and the recumbent figure of 
 the naked gentleman — who occupies a most 
 ungraceful semi-seated posture on the floor, hair- 
 hauled to the judge's feet — there stands a figure 
 like the Witch of Endor. The naked lady is 
 shaped like the letter S. It is difficult to gaze 
 upon this extraordinary composition without roar- 
 ing with laughter. Its perspective, like Fra Lippo 
 Lippi's, is childish, is Chinese, is aboriginal. 
 
 234 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
I 3 « 
 
 
FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 I am aware that the retort of the Botticelli 
 faddist would be something like this: That in 
 Botticelli's day painting followed the rules of 
 basso-relievo; that, therefore, perspective did not 
 count; that he was a great colorist; and that I 
 don't know what I am talking about. 
 
 To which I would reply that a painter who 
 could not paint perspective ought, instead of 
 painting pictures, to have painted signs; that as 
 for basso-relievo, Lorenzo Ghiberti wrought with 
 a chisel in bronze, and in that stubborn metal 
 accomplished distance-effects, depth, and almost 
 an atmospheric perspective which would put 
 Botticelli to shame. The painter's apologists 
 plead for his flatness the rules of another art. 
 But a master of that art accomplished with his 
 chisel what Botticelli failed to accomplish with 
 his brush. 
 
 It may be said that the Botticelli faddists have 
 as much right to their belief as I to mine. Granted. 
 I do not quarrel with them because they think 
 him great, but they quarrel with me because I 
 think him funny. 
 
 In the Louvre there is a famous nameless Bot- 
 ticelli. It is a picture of a long, lank lady in a 
 reclining posture. She might be called " the tele- 
 scopic lady," because she looks as if her lower 
 
 235 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 limbs had been elongated by the cherub at her 
 feet. 
 
 I respect honest convictions, but I very much 
 doubt at times the sincerity of the Botticellians. 
 Many of them are young women with half-formed 
 ideas, and most of their ideas seem to me to be 
 second-hand. Their ideas are other people's 
 ideas. They think other people's thoughts. 
 They admire to order. They read Ruskin and 
 rave Ruskinese. From my attempts to read 
 Ruskin I always believed that his mind was 
 affected. My belief was verified when, some 
 years ago, he went crazy and remained so till his 
 death. 
 
 The crude realism of artists of this school 
 seems to me almost like Indian picture-writing. 
 In the monastery of San Marco in Florence there 
 are a number of wall-pictures by Fra Angelico. 
 In one cell there is a picture of the scene in the 
 stable in Bethlehem. The Virgin and two saints 
 are kneeling in an adoring attitude, gazing at the 
 infant Jesus lying on the ground. The figures 
 are all ridiculous, and that of the infant Jesus is 
 the most ridiculous of all. But as if to give the 
 finishing touch to this study of the religio- 
 ludicrous, the heads of an intelligent ox and of 
 an intelligent ass are protruded from a box-stall 
 
 236 
 
a 
 i 
 
 
FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 at the back of the stable. Fra AngeHco was 
 doubtless a pious and ladylike monk, but he was 
 no Bonheur. His study of animals' heads must 
 make animal-painters mourn. 
 
 How gross and earthy is this monkish mediae- 
 val art! It is so crude that it is within the scope 
 of the most humble wielders of the brush. I 
 once saw on the ceiling of a California Mission 
 chapel a picture of the scene from Revelation, 
 where God upon his great white throne is sur- 
 rounded by four-and-twenty elders crying "Holy, 
 Holy, Holy," night and day. Some unskilled 
 monk with his crude pigments had painted the 
 picture for the simple Indian neophytes of Span- 
 ish California. So naive was its realism that, in 
 addition to depicting the Creator as an elderly 
 man with a long white beard, the artist had 
 painted scrolls issuing from the mouths of the 
 four-and-twenty elders on which was the legend 
 "Santo, Santo, Santo." The effect of the mediae- 
 val realism of Beato Angelico and his school upon 
 our Florentine faddists of to-day is very much 
 like the effect produced by the monkish Mission 
 artist on the minds of the simple aborigines dwell- 
 ing on California's hills. 
 
 If any Florentine faddist should fall foul of 
 me for these remarks and accuse me of ignorance 
 
 237 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 of the ** canons of art criticism," I will admit it. 
 I will go further, and will admit that I am igno- 
 rant that there are any " canons of art criticism." 
 There may be canons of art — there are no "can- 
 ons of art criticism." This fact is proved every 
 day. That Ruskin for a third of a century poured 
 forth a stream of art-gabble ; that he was believed 
 by the faddists to be an art prophet ; that he was 
 regarded as one inspired; and that, finally, it was 
 discovered that the man was moon-blind and mad, 
 and probably had been mad for many decades of 
 moons — is not this a biting commentary on the 
 value of "art criticism"? 
 
 What is " art criticism"? What are its canons ? 
 It changes with the advent of a new sovereign, 
 and it varies with the passing of a Pope. A 
 Borghese Pope would drive out the art-followers 
 of a Medicean Pope as Christ drove out the 
 money-changers from the temple. "Art criti- 
 cism" changes like the fashions of skirts and 
 bonnets, coats and trousers. A century ago Ber- 
 nini was considered great. Now he is called 
 rococo. Even Michael Angelo's fame seems in 
 this our day to be dimmed, for sculptors claim 
 that the head of his famous Moses is entirely out 
 of proportion to torso and limbs. They also say 
 that in his still more famous "Pieta," the dead 
 
 238 
 

 "• G/iiberiVs britize doors, in the Baptistry, Florence.'" 
 

FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 Christ is a pigmy and the mother is a giantess. 
 Furthermore, they prove these charges by rule 
 and Hne. 
 
 So absurd are the so-called " canons of art crit- 
 icism" that scarcely a year passes without a change 
 in the labels on the pictures in the European art 
 galleries. One year a picture will be labeled 
 "painted by Raphael." Newspaper art critics 
 attack its pedigree. The gallery art critics defend 
 it. But they yield, and the label is changed to 
 "school of Raphael." After another year it be- 
 comes "manner of Raphael." In the fourth or 
 fifth years Raphael's name disappears, and that 
 of some obscure contemporary artist is substituted. 
 
 If gross blunders are perpetrated by profes- 
 sional art critics and curators of galleries, what 
 shall the layman do ? If he will take my advice, 
 he will do what he pleases and admire that which 
 pleases him. There is no "canon of art criti- 
 cism " which will make me admire things to order 
 or affect to admire that which in reality leaves me 
 unmoved. I have a great contempt for sham, 
 and for the sham art amateur most of all. The 
 kind of creature who professes to admire im- 
 mensely a picture by Raphael ; who modifies his 
 or her judgment when told that it is by one of 
 Raphael's pupils ; who turns in indifference from 
 
 239 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the picture when told later that it is a "forgery " — 
 what kind of a thinking creature is that ? If the 
 picture was a beautiful one before the discovery, 
 why is it not a beautiful one after the discovery ? 
 
 Some years ago a Swiss-Italian art critic, one 
 Morelli, wrote a series of letters in German 
 reviews over the signature "Ivan Lerminoff," 
 attacking the "authenticity'' of famous pictures 
 in the Italian galleries. The letters caused a sen- 
 sation. Morelli's identity was at last revealed, 
 and he was bitterly assailed. But his attacks 
 resulted in a great changing of labels. For ex- 
 ample, there is in the Doria gallery in Rome a 
 beautiful portrait of Queen Joan of Aragon. It 
 was believed to be a copy of Raphael's portrait 
 made by Leonardo da Vinci. But the attacks on 
 its pedigree showed that it was not by Da Vinci, 
 but by an obscure Dutch artist. A few years ago 
 you would find crowds ever around the portrait 
 of Queen Joan. Now there is none so poor to 
 do it reverence. Why? Is it any the less a fine 
 picture than it was before Morelli wrote? 
 
 These candid remarks are not to be under- 
 stood as meaning that I do not admire "old 
 masters," for I do — some of them, that is. But 
 I refuse to aflfect to admire old masters or any 
 other masters unless I genuinely feel an admira- 
 
 240 
 
'* A portrait of Queen Joan. 
 
FLORENTINE DILETTANTES 
 
 tion for their work. I am not particularly fond 
 of holy families. But I can not gaze upon 
 Raphael's or Murillo's Madonnas without being 
 impressed by their womanly dignity, their purity, 
 their super-humanism; and I am always moved 
 by the gigantic genius of Michael Angelo. 
 
 241 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 FROM Florence to Bologna the railway runs 
 over magnificent mountains. The Apennine 
 range is inferior to the Alps in grandeur, but its 
 mountain passes are bold and beautiful. To show 
 how abrupt the climb, there are forty-seven tun- 
 nels on the railway within the space of a hundred 
 miles. After climbing zigzag grades and wind- 
 ing through curved tunnels, the train suddenly 
 emerges upon the crest of a ridge, and you see 
 far below you a luxuriant valley and in its centre 
 a large and handsome town. You think you 
 have reached the summit. But no. You are 
 looking back upon the valley from which you 
 have climbed, and the city you see is Prato, 
 through which you passed many miles behind. 
 You have yet much climbing to do before you 
 cross the lofty mountains between the valley of 
 the Arno and the valley of the Po. 
 
 From Bologna to Milan the railway runs 
 through the heart of Italy. The rich Lombardy 
 
 242 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 district is traversed, and the trains pass through 
 many large and thriving towns. In all of them 
 there was much excitement over the election, and 
 the walls were covered with election placards. The 
 newspapers contained nothing but "campaign 
 news," and our fellow-passengers talked excitedly 
 over the chances of the various candidates. In 
 Milan the campaign was at white heat. A great 
 mass-meeting was held at the Arena. It was 
 interesting to see how much political meetings 
 and political methods in Italy resemble those of 
 our own country. The immense building was 
 crowded, while outside there was a large gather- 
 ing, addressed by speakers in the open air — 
 exactly like our own "overflow meetings." The 
 first speaker was Signore Di Christoforis, a Mi- 
 lanese deputy, who was up for reelection. The 
 Hon. Di Christoforis, when he arose, was received 
 with tumultuous applause. His speech was a fiery 
 one, and this — translated from // Secolo — was his 
 peroration : 
 
 "The people of Milan have reaffirmed in this magnif- 
 icent explosion of enthusiasm their sincere love of liberty. 
 This is not a political meeting. It is the personification 
 of the popular party. The candidates of the popular 
 party speak to-day, not to this meeting alone, but to all 
 Italy. Friends and fellow-citizens, this moment is grave. 
 
 243 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 It is solemn. The question at issue is liberty or slavery. 
 The people must show by their votes that the govern- 
 ment must be forced to respect the liberty conquered 
 upon the battle-field. Oh, my fellow-countrymen, 
 choose between liberty and slavery ! " 
 
 This sounds very much like the Democratic 
 campaign speeches delivered from the American 
 stump during the attempted passage of the so- 
 called Force Bill a few years ago. 
 
 At the little village of Rogoredo there was a 
 flaming poster, evidently from the anti-radicals, 
 running in this wise : 
 
 " Citizens of Rogoredo ! Let us stop and think. 
 Are we not brothers ? Why should we hurl epithets 
 at each other's heads ? Why should we foster these 
 internecine quarrels? Are we not sons of the same 
 mother, Rogoredo? 
 
 " Let the priest remain undisturbed in his parish. Let 
 the bishop remain unassailed in his diocese. Let the 
 cabinet minister remain unassaulted at his desk. 
 
 "Let us maintain things as they are, and above all let 
 us stand together for the upbuilding of our grand and 
 beautiful city, Rogoredo." 
 
 Rogoredo, which is a suburb of Milan, has 
 about a thousand inhabitants. 
 
 Milan is the most prosperous city in Italy. 
 The difference between northern and southern 
 
 244 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 Italy is marked. There is much Helvetian, 
 Slavic, and Teutonic blood in Lombardy. Were 
 not the Longobardi, who invaded this valley from 
 the north, a Teutonic tribe ? The Milanese are 
 a more serious and thrifty people than the pleasure- 
 loving Romans or the volatile Neapolitans. Their 
 shops are far superior to those of other Itahan 
 cities. Mila-n is a great manufacturing centre, 
 and largely supplies the rest of Italy with goods 
 of various kinds. Even Rome, a city of nearly 
 half a million people, rehes upon Milan for such 
 things as haberdashery, which seems absurd. If 
 you order shirts in Rome, and press the trades- 
 man hard, he will admit that he must have them 
 made in Milan. The magnificent galleria^ which 
 runs from the Cathedral Square to the square of 
 La Scala, is lined with fine shops filled with choice 
 goods, such as gems and jewels, silks, silverware, 
 bronzes, statuary in bisque, terra cotta, and marble, 
 fine leather goods, gloves, fans, and articles of lux- 
 ury of every description. In the southern Italian 
 cities the shops in the gallerias are frequently 
 small and contain inferior goods. Not so in 
 Milan. These gallerias add very largely to the 
 retail business of European cities, where at times 
 it rains pitilessly for weeks. The people can not 
 walk in comfort upon the streets. So they walk 
 
 245 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 under the arcades and in the gallerias^ which are 
 filled with inviting cafes and beautiful shops. 
 People who have to go out into the rain to buy- 
 something will stay at home unless the article is 
 an absolute necessity. But when strolling through 
 a magnificent galleria^ lofty, architecturally impos- 
 ing, decorated with frescoes and statuary, lighted 
 by day by a vast glass dome and at night by 
 myriads of electric lamps, they are apt to buy 
 things they do not need because the display 
 attracts the eye. 
 
 The great galleria in Milan is probably the 
 finest in Europe. It cost eight millions of lire. 
 From one of its entrances it looks on the famous 
 La Scala opera-house. This and the San Carlo 
 in Naples are enormous — two of the largest 
 theatres in the world. La Scala is so big that it is 
 an elephant on the hands of any manager, and 
 therefore it is closed nearly all of the time. 
 
 When La Scala has been used as an opera- 
 house in recent years the performances have been 
 mediocre. I heard Melba sing Gilda in " Rigo- 
 letto" there some years ago. With the exception 
 of the prima donna^s role^ it was the worst per- 
 formance of "Rigoletto" I had ever heard. The 
 same year I heard her in New York and London, 
 and in both cities she was the centre of a fine 
 
 246 
 
^ 
 
 "^ 
 
 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 Operatic troupe. But in Milan, in music-loving 
 Italy, in La Scala, one of the historic opera-houses 
 of the world, the performance was beneath con- 
 tempt. In all the theatres of Italy to-day I have 
 not seen a single lyric or dramatic artist whose 
 name has ever been heard of outside of Italy. 
 The three who have more than local fame — 
 Duse, Salvini, and Novello — are all playing in 
 other countries. 
 
 Milan does not abound in art galleries, but 
 there is a fine collection in the Brera Palace. 
 This gallery was much admired by George Eliot, 
 and frequent references to it are made in her let- 
 ters and journal. She visited Milan more than 
 once. Before the death of George Henry Lewes 
 her journal contains numerous references to what 
 " George " thinks of Luini's pictures in the Brera 
 Gallery. After " George '' died, she said she did 
 not care to live. But not many months after the 
 death of Lewes she took to herself a young hus- 
 band, one John W. Cross. On their honeymoon 
 trip they stopped at Milan for a time, and in her 
 letters are references to what "John " thinks of the 
 Luini pictures in the Brera Gallery. This is an 
 interesting psychological study. As the French 
 say, " One nail drives out another." 
 
 I call Lewes her husband because she called 
 247 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 him so. As a matter of fact, George Henry- 
 Lewes and Mary Ann Evans were never mar- 
 ried. 
 
 It is a pleasure to visit a city like Milan, even 
 if it does not possess such art treasures as Rome 
 and Florence. Its broad streets, its fine squares, 
 its magnificent parks and public gardens are a 
 relief to the eye of an American after dwelling for 
 weeks upon the narrow streets and pinched-up 
 squares of Rome. And its great cathedral is in- 
 expressibly fair to look upon. Many may prefer 
 the purer and colder Gothic of the north. But 
 to me this is one of the most beautiful buildings 
 in Europe. The gigantic semi - Byzantine St. 
 Peter's seems tawdry compared with this creation 
 of the Gothic Renaissance. 
 
 Some writer once likened architecture to "frozen 
 music." The metaphor comes to my mind when 
 I gaze upon the myriad marble buttresses, pinna- 
 cles, and statues of the Milan Cathedral. They 
 suggest chants, invocations, canticles, prayers, 
 soaring up toward the heavens and suddenly 
 arrested and held in mid-air. 
 
 As you travel toward Turin through the rich 
 valley of Lombardy, on your right to the north 
 
 248 
 

 I 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 lie the snowy peaks of the Swiss Alps, while ahead 
 of you to the westward are the Maritime Alps, 
 dividing Italy and France. From these great 
 mountain ranges many streams pour down upon 
 the plain, which, divided and subdivided by irri- 
 gating canals and ditches, transform into one great 
 garden this valley of the Po. It would be difficult 
 to find anywhere in the world a spot better com- 
 bining the requisites of fertile soil, thrifty tillers, 
 non-wasteful irrigation, intelligent husbandry, and 
 economic utilization of the land. There is in this 
 valley scarcely a square rod of the earth*s surface 
 that is not cultivated. There is no waste. On 
 every hand you see fields of nodding grain, which 
 in early summer stands over four feet high. The 
 grain is sown in rows, and between the rows are 
 long lines of mulberry and fruit trees ; rows of 
 grapevines are planted parallel with the fruit-trees, 
 and the vines are trained in long loops from trunk 
 to trunk of the trees. Thus not only is the soil- 
 space utilized, but even the air-space. Running 
 at right angles to these rows of trees and vines 
 are other rows of olive-trees, with raspberry and 
 blackberry bushes in rows parallel to them. Upon 
 every inch of space in this criss-cross of trees and 
 vines and bushes the tall grain is growing. 
 
 If our wasteful Western farmers should plead 
 249 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 that such husbandry will "exhaust the soil," the 
 reply is that it has been tilled in Lombardy for 
 three thousand years and is not exhausted yet. 
 True, the soil is intelligently enriched. It is not 
 only not exhausted, but it is the most productive 
 district in the world. Several crops a year are 
 garnered from the rich Lombardy plains. Even 
 rice is raised there. I have seen rice-fields under 
 tropical suns, tilled by stolid Asiatics, and could 
 scarcely believe that white labor could compete 
 with them. In our Southern States the raising 
 of rice is profitable only with negro labor. But 
 in Lombardy the rice-fields are tilled by white 
 men and women, and they not only make it pay, 
 but pay well. Choice Italian rice brings the high- 
 est prices. 
 
 I believe the United States to be the greatest 
 country in the world, California the most favored 
 State of the United States, and the Santa Clara Val- 
 ley the richest valley in California. That valley is, 
 indeed, an agricultural gem. In its orchards you 
 see apple, pear, peach, plum, prune, cherry, apri- 
 cot, nectarine, almond, fig, orange, and olive 
 trees; around the rim of the valley, where the 
 foothills rise, you see fine vineyards of wine, raisin, 
 and table grapes; vast tracts are devoted to the 
 raising of blackberries, raspberries, and straw- 
 
 250 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 berries; thousands of acres are utilized for the 
 raising of vegetables in large quantities, such as 
 asparagus, onions, and tomatoes; great vegetable 
 seed-farms are also to be found there, and where 
 other products are not raised to advantage you see 
 thousands of acres sown to hay and grain. The 
 soil is fertile, the climate is good, the people are 
 prosperous ahd thrifty. The farms and orchards 
 are well-kept and trim. In the Santa Clara Val- 
 ley you frequently see orchards of fruit-trees 
 bordered with lines of ornamental palms, and the 
 roadways along which these palm-lined orchards 
 lie are marvels in America. In Santa Clara 
 County there are nearly four hundred miles of 
 county roads, which are not only well-kept, but 
 which in summer are sprinkled daily. There may 
 be other rural districts in the United States where 
 all the county roads are sprinkled daily, but I 
 never saw or heard of any. 
 
 In short, the Santa Clara Valley is agriculturally 
 and horti culturally a marvel. It is fair to look 
 upon, and its handsome roads are a delight to 
 drive or ride upon. As we traveled through the 
 Lombardy plain the California valley rose contin- 
 ually before my mind's eye. But I was forced to 
 admit that the Italian valley has no peer, even in 
 our own incomparable State. 
 
 251 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 To this it may be said that Lombardy is much 
 older. Granted. But is it necessary for a new 
 community, before learning anything, to live as 
 long as an older one? Must California wait un- 
 til the year 4900 to be as wise as three-thousand- 
 year-old Lombardy ? Are we not the heirs of all 
 the ages? Should we not profit by their stores 
 of wisdom? Does California profit by it? I do 
 not think so. 
 
 Anglo-Saxon California is half a century old. 
 Yet she has done little in that long period to 
 utilize all of her mountain waters. The great 
 productiveness of these fertile Lombardy plains 
 is made possible by the intelligent use of water. 
 Irrigating canals and ditches run in every direc- 
 tion. They run under railways. They run under 
 buildings. I even saw one running, brick-arched, 
 under a dwelling-house. For ages the lands in 
 Lombardy have been burdened with riparian 
 easements — the right of a man to run water over 
 his neighbor's land to get it to his own. In Cali- 
 fornia we have not yet reached the stage of a just 
 and intelligent water law. In fact, our law is 
 largely the common-law of England — a law de- 
 vised centuries ago for a land of continual rains 
 with no need of irrigation. Yet this is the law 
 which our supreme court applied to a land where 
 
 252 
 
 I 
 

 THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 there is urgent need of irrigation and few and 
 scanty rains. If a Lombardy peasant farmer were 
 told of this, he would think California a vast 
 insane asylum and the CaHfornia supreme court 
 the Incurable Ward. 
 
 Lest those unfamiliar with the subject should 
 believe the foregoing to be unwarranted language, 
 I will say briefly that the California supreme court, 
 following the English common-law, decided that 
 the owner of land bordering a watercourse was 
 entitled only to the usufruct of the water ; that 
 if he used it he must return it to its original 
 course unimpaired in quality and undiminished 
 in volume. Yet what it is principally needed for 
 in California is agriculture and mining, which must 
 diminish and impair it. Therefore our streams 
 flow uselessly to the sea. And this is the law of 
 California ! 
 
 I am aware that attempts have been made to 
 remedy this grotesque state of affairs. The Wright 
 irrigation law is one. But it has accomplished 
 nothing except to increase water litigation. After 
 half a century of occupancy of California, an 
 intelligent Anglo-Saxon community in its unin- 
 telligent use of the mountain waters which God 
 gives it is three thousand years behind the peas- 
 ants of Lombardy. 
 
 253 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 The province of Piedmont has 3,200,000 in- 
 habitants and contains 1 1,400 square miles. This 
 is about the area of Los Angeles and Riverside 
 Counties. The province of Lombardy has 3,700,- 
 000 inhabitants and contains 9,000 square miles. 
 This is about the size of San Diego County. 
 The two provinces together contain about 20,000 
 square miles — about one-eighth the area of the 
 State of California, which has a million and a half 
 of inhabitants, yet this rich valley supports seven 
 millions of people. 
 
 As we traveled over this great garden we passed 
 through many towns with famous names — towns 
 that recall battles, some of them the world's de- 
 cisive battles — battles of Bonaparte's first Italian 
 campaign, when the young general swept resist- 
 lessly through Alta Italia — names like Lodi, and 
 Rivoli, and Marengo. Other names suggested 
 the theatrical campaign of " the nephew of his 
 ' uncle," or Napoleon the Little, as Victor Hugo 
 called the nephew of Napoleon the Great — towns 
 like Solferino and Magenta — some of which gave 
 a name to a new color in the millinery age of Em- 
 press Eugenie, or to a new duke like Macmahon 
 in the mushroom peerage of Emperor Napoleon, 
 
 254 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 No wonder there have been for ages many battles 
 over this rich valley of Lombardy. It is a country 
 worth fighting for. 
 
 At last we began to cHmb the hills of Piedmont, 
 and reached the city of Turin, cradle of the House 
 of Savoy. 
 
 I had never visited Turin before. Probably most 
 American travelers pass from France into Italy by 
 way of Nice and Monte Carlo. I did not know 
 that it was so modern and so handsome a city. 
 Unlike most Italian cities, its blocks are rectangular 
 and its streets are broad. It had been destroyed so 
 many times that its inhabitants finally decided to 
 build it straight instead of crooked. Narrow, 
 dark, and winding streets like those of Naples or 
 Genoa may be picturesque, but they certainly are 
 not handsome. Turin, on the other hand, im- 
 presses one, not by its picturesqueness, but by 
 its broad streets, its spacious squares, its shaded 
 avenues, and its magnificent boulevards. In fact, 
 most of the streets seem to be boulevards. They 
 have double rows of lofty trees in the centre 
 of the roadway, through which runs a parked 
 footway. On either side of this there is a drive- 
 way, and next to the houses on both sides other 
 footways, also lined with rows of splendid trees. 
 Miles of arcaded buildings line these handsome 
 
 255 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 boulevards. I have heard Frenchmen boast of the 
 Paris boulevards, and of the arcades of the Rue 
 de Rivoli, which they call the " finest street in the 
 world." Nevertheless, I have always believed that 
 Vienna has some boulevards far finer than any in 
 Paris. The " grand boulevards " of Paris are, 
 indeed, fine avenues. But what leagues of mo- 
 notonous thoroughfares they dignify by that 
 name — such as those blank and dreary streets 
 the " boulevards exterieurs " and " boulevards 
 d'enceinte." And the mangy plane-trees which 
 line the Paris boulevards are not beautiful. Those 
 sickly vegetables struggle valiantly for life in their 
 evil habitat, but fail; a daily sight in Paris is the 
 removal of dying trees from the boulevards. 
 The trees of Turin are magnificent poplars, chest- 
 nuts, and elms, and while Paris is big and Turin 
 little, the Piedmont city is all boulevards. A 
 visit there might moderate the boastfulness of a 
 Parisian — if anything could. 
 
 By the way, it is curious that Turin should 
 surpass Paris in arcades, when one recalls that the 
 Rue de Rivoli, Paris's boasted arcade, was built 
 with the proceeds of plunder " conveyed " from 
 the Piedmont capital. 
 
 Turin is on the great highway of travel be- 
 tween France and Italy by way of the Mont 
 
 256 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 Cenis tunnel. But the Mont Cenis tunnel does 
 not pierce Mont Cenis. The mountain through 
 which it is bored is called the " Col de Frejus." 
 The old Mont Cenis pass is seventeen miles to 
 the eastward. The tunnel is eight miles in length, 
 and is nearly a mile below the top of the moun- 
 tain it pierces, whose top is about nine thousand 
 feet above the sea. The tunnel was begun in 
 1 857. The French engineer, Sommelier, directed 
 this great work, as one learns from the monu- 
 ments erected to him. Over two thousand men 
 were employed night and day for thirteen years. 
 It was finished in 1870. The tunnel cost 75,- 
 000,000 francs, 50,000,000 of which were paid 
 by France and 25,000,000 by Italy. The tun- 
 nel is twenty-six feet wide, nineteen feet high, and 
 contains a double track. 
 
 The St. Gothard tunnel was the next after the 
 Mont Cenis to pierce the Alps. Note the differ- 
 ence in cost and time. It took ten years to bore 
 the St. Gothard — from 1872 to 1882 — and the 
 tunnel cost about 57,000,000 francs, as compared 
 with thirteen years and 75,000,000 for the Mont 
 Cenis. The St. Gothard railway and tunnel 
 together cost 238,000,000 francs. In crossing 
 the Alps by the St. Gothard railway there are 
 seventy-nine tunnels in all, with a total length of 
 R 257 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 twenty-nine miles. There are over one hundred 
 bridges and fourteen viaducts. This great enter- 
 prise was directed by Louis Favre, the famous 
 engineer, who died in the tunnel in 1879, smitten 
 by apoplexy. 
 
 A third Alpine tunnel is now in course of con- 
 struction at the Simplon Pass ; it is superior to 
 either of the others in every respect ; it has four 
 tracks instead of two, is better ventilated, and is 
 brilliantly lighted with electric lights. It will 
 be interesting to see how much less will be the 
 number of millions and how much fewer the 
 number of years required for this third boring 
 of the Alpine range. 
 
 Some years ago there started in Italy a spectac- 
 ular pantomime called "Excelsior." It was so 
 successful that it was reproduced in Paris at the 
 Eden Theatre. From there it was taken to the 
 United States, where its success was repeated. 
 In New York, Chicago, and San Francisco it had 
 long runs. It was an allegorical representation 
 of "the triumph of civilization." One act was 
 devoted to engineering. There were scenes rep- 
 resenting miners laboring like troglodytes in the 
 bowels of the earth, boring mountain tunnels. 
 Suddenly the rock-demons appear and attack the 
 miners. For a moment the result is in doubt. 
 
 258 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOMBARDY 
 
 The engineer-in-chief is himself, for stage pur- 
 poses, laboring with a pickaxe at the head of his 
 squad ; he makes agitated gestures signifying that 
 all is lost. The miners turn to flee. But a crash 
 of music is heard. A number of fairies appear, 
 clad principally in pink tights with electric lights 
 in their hair. The fairies extend their wands, the 
 fiddles in the orchestra perform an agitated pizzi- 
 cato, the trombones gurgle lugubriously, and the 
 demons flee. Thereupon Signorina Foljambe, the 
 boss fairy, executes ^ pas seul. She is soon joined 
 by the engineer-in-chief, and it becomes a pas de 
 deux. The miners lay aside their picks, join the 
 fairies, and it becomes a grand ballet electrique. 
 The curtain falls upon this pleasing apotheosis 
 of the triumph of electricity and civilization over 
 darkness and rock-demons. 
 
 At the time it was a little difficult to under- 
 stand the genesis of this queer ballet. But it is 
 evident that it was due to the effect produced 
 upon the ardent Italian imagination by the great 
 tunnels piercing the Alps. The long years the 
 work was in progress, the thousands of men en- 
 gaged in it, the new processes developed in boring 
 the tunnels, the evolution of the electric light 
 and the compressed-air drill, the vast sums of 
 money required, the hundreds of lives lost in 
 
 259 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 accidents, and, finally, the dramatic death of sev- 
 eral of the engineers while at their posts — -all 
 these things powerfully impressed the Latin mind. 
 Hence it is that in Turin, the nearest large city 
 to the first Alpine tunnel, you see monuments 
 commemorating these great engineering works 
 and their builders, the great engineers. One 
 monument in particular is a daring piece of sculp- 
 ture. It is an enormous heap of granite blocks, 
 down which are hurled the forms of the writhing 
 rock-demons, while the apex is crowned by a 
 beautiful female figure, the Genius of Civilization. 
 There are monuments to Engineers Sommelier 
 and Favre in several cities, French, Swiss, and 
 Italian. On the French side of the frontier there 
 is a particularly handsome one to Sommelier, in 
 the little city of Annecy. Our American en- 
 gineers have accomplished marvels in spanning 
 mighty rivers, boring great tunnels, and crossing 
 lofty mountain ranges. These are their mon- 
 uments. But are there in America any other 
 monuments to American engineers? 
 
 260 
 

^^Harvest-time in Savoy. 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 IN traveling, one's itinerary is often changed by- 
 trifles. We. were at Turin ; we were going to 
 Paris ; we thought we would break the journey. 
 But where ? We looked at the map. 
 
 " Let us stop at Chambery.'' 
 
 " But where is Chambery ? " 
 
 " In French Savoy." 
 
 " But what is Chambery ? " 
 
 " A place where they make gaze" 
 
 " And what is gaze ? " 
 
 " Don't you remember Bret Harte's poem ? — 
 
 " 'But yet, just this moment, while sitting 
 
 In the glare of the grand chandelier. 
 In the bustle and glitter befitting 
 
 The finest soiree of the year, 
 In the mists of a gaze de Chambery 
 
 And the hum of the smallest of talk, 
 Somehow, Joe, I thought of the ferry. 
 
 And the dance that we had on the Fork.* " 
 
 Now I never had known exactly what " gaze de 
 Chambery " meant. The line in Bret Harte had 
 
 261 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 always sounded to me like " in the midst of a 
 ' gaze de Chambery/ " Even to the meanest 
 intelligence it evidently had something to do with 
 a ball. I took it to be some sort of a dance — 
 perhaps not the ordinary round or square dance, 
 but a cotillion — one of those curious forms of 
 modern amusement in which prosperous young 
 merchants, promising young lawyers, and rising 
 young bankers gravely carry pink and blue ban- 
 ners and jump through red and yellow hoops. 
 French Cotillon means English " petticoat " — 
 that is, the allegorical or personified petticoat — 
 "petticoat" in the sense of petticoat government, 
 for example. See " Les Cotillons Celebres," by 
 Arsene Houssaye, which discusses Celebrated 
 Petticoats like Mesdames du Barry, de Main- 
 tenon, and de Montespan. 
 
 Therefore, cotillon, a dance ; cotillon, a petti- 
 coat; petticoat, a garment; often a silk garment; 
 often a garment o^ gaze de Chamhery, This seems 
 circuitous, but it may be called a whimsical 
 syllogism. 
 
 We stopped over in Savoy, and we went to 
 Chambery. 
 
 Once before our itinerary had been unexpect- 
 edly changed. We were in Munich, and about 
 leaving for Lucerne. We went to Cook's office 
 
 262 
 
 I 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 to buy our tickets — a good place to go, as you 
 will see. I asked for tickets from Munich to 
 Lucerne by rail. The clerk got down the tickets, 
 but before stamping them, said: 
 
 "Why don't you go across the lake?" 
 
 "What lake?" 
 
 " The Boden See. The fare is just the same 
 as by the all-rail journey, and it is much more 
 agreeable. The lake is beautiful, the boats are 
 comfortable, and the table is good. If you go 
 around the lake by rail you will have to pass 
 through three custom-houses." 
 
 He was right, for the shores of the lake bristle 
 with Bavarian, Swiss, Wurtemburger, and Austrian 
 custom-houses. We had not thought of this, so 
 we went across instead of around the lake, as he 
 advised. We would never have received such a 
 useful tip from one of those surly Germans whose 
 red noses glow behind the wired windows in the 
 railway offices. They do not deal in courtesies or 
 smooth words. They deal in tickets. 
 
 As a result of this unexpected change, our 
 route took us to the little town of Lindau-im- 
 Bayern. To our shame, be it said, we had never 
 heard of Lindau. It is a pretty little South- 
 German town, with a little garrison, a little fortress, 
 a little mole running out into the lake, crowned 
 
 263 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 at the end with a little light-house. It is the 
 queerest, quaintest little city that one could find 
 in a day's ride. It smacks of Nuremberg, one of 
 the show cities of South Germany, yet, unlike 
 Nuremberg, it is not tourist-ridden. We were so 
 charmed with Lindau that we spent some days 
 there, then crossed the lake to Romanshorn, in 
 Switzerland, and thence wended our way to Lu- 
 cerne. One of the delights of travel is to draw 
 up itineraries and then not follow them. Another 
 is to determine firmly to go Somewhere and then 
 go Somewhere Else. 
 
 I have smiled since when I think how much 
 trouble we had trying to go around the Boden 
 See, and how much we enjoyed it when we failed. 
 It reminds one of the venerable anecdote of the 
 Yankee traveler in the old days before Germany 
 was united — when the country was made up of 
 grand -duchies and ruled over by serene high- 
 nesses, each with its own mint, its own postage- 
 stamps, its own custom-house, its own army, its 
 own field-marshal, and its own Madame de Pom- 
 padour. To one of these minute empires there 
 came a Yankee, much bedeviled by many custom- 
 houses. When stopped on a new frontier for the 
 fortieth time, his patience gave out. 
 
 " What country is this ? " 
 264 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 " It is the Grand -Duchy of Gerolstein." 
 
 "How big is it?" 
 
 "The area is fifty square kilometres, the 
 
 pop 
 
 " Never mind the population," said the dis- 
 gusted Yankee. " You 're not a country ; you *re 
 only a spot, I '11 go around you." And he did. 
 
 So with the Boden See. We had looked upon 
 it as only an aqueous spot, and had intended to 
 go around it. But a trifle changed our minds, 
 and we shall always carry with us pleasant recol- 
 lections of Lindau in Bavaria and of the Boden 
 See. 
 
 So, going from Turin to Paris, we thought we 
 would break the journey at Dijon. But when 
 we saw " Chambery" on the map, Bret Harte's 
 poem decided us. It was resolved that we must 
 purchase some gaze de Chamhery, So we 
 stopped at Chambery. In the words of the 
 railway folder: 
 
 "Chambery is a city of 21,700 inhabitants, formerly 
 capital of the Duchy of Savoy, at present chief city of the 
 Department of Savoy, situated on the line from the Rhone 
 to Mt. Cenis. It is traversed by two rivers, the Leysse 
 and Albanne, which empty into Lake Bourget. It is nine 
 hours from Paris, three hours from Lyons, three hours 
 from Geneva, and is 270 metres above the sea." 
 
 265 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 To which I may add that I never saw any one 
 who had been there; and after going there our- 
 selves and wandering through its sleepy streets, I 
 came to the conclusion that no one ever does go 
 there. There is but one "grand" hotel there — 
 the " Furnished Hotel of Italy," kept by Made- 
 moiselle Vachiez, on the Rue Denfert-Rochereau. 
 There are many mesdemoiselles in Chambery 
 keeping shops, and there are also many widows 
 in business there. The shrieking sisterhood who 
 clamor for woman's rights would scarcely be un- 
 derstood in that town. 
 
 Apropos of the street Denfert-Rochereau, it 
 reminded me of an experience of the Paris mu- 
 nicipality. For some centuries there had been 
 a Paris street called "Rue d'Enfer " — " Hell 
 Street." Board after board of burgesses had 
 tried to change it, but always failed. Names 
 of French heroes were tried — no go; French 
 victories — they would not stick. The Parisian 
 populace blandly ignored the new names, and 
 continued to call it " Hell Street." Finally there 
 came an official with a sense of humor. He no 
 longer appealed to the mind of Paris, but to its 
 funny-bone. So he called it after a notable 
 Frenchman, Denfert-Rochereau. It was simple, 
 you see — Rue d'Enfer, Rue Denfert-Rochereau 
 
 266 
 
TRAJT 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
5 
 
 G 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 — only adding a tail. The pun pleased the 
 Parisian populace, and "Hell Street" at once lost 
 its evil name and its bad odor. 
 
 But if Chambery was deserted of tourists, we 
 found the little French city not uninteresting. 
 Its so-called sights were soon exhausted. There 
 were the castles of the Dukes of Savoy, dating 
 from the thirteenth century; the beautiful Gothic 
 Sainte-Chapelle, dating from the fourteenth cen- 
 tury ; the monument to " two children of Savoy, 
 the brothers Joseph and Xavier de Maistre," 
 dating from the day before yesterday (it was 
 finished in 1899); and the venerable Tower of the 
 Archives, dating from nobody knows when. Then 
 there were some hideous modern monuments, 
 among them a statue of General de Boigne crown- 
 ing a granite column supported by four elephants ; 
 he was a Franco-Indian soldier who had returned 
 to his birthplace, become pious in his old age, and 
 given largely of his Indian stealings to Chambery 
 charities. There was the garrison of Cham- 
 bery, with its regiments of infantry, and cavalry, 
 and " chasseurs Alpins." For be it known that 
 on the Franco-Italian frontier there are special 
 foot-soldiers known as Alpine regiments. They 
 are all mountaineers, for the men recruited from 
 the lowlands are not fit for duty in these high 
 
 267 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 altitudes. The dwellers in flat lands not only 
 have flat feet but flattened lungs, and not the 
 highly developed bellows requisite for military 
 duty in the high Alps. At all hours of the day 
 one saw red-legged soldiers hauling forage, carry- 
 ing fuel, acting as hostlers, chambermaids, and 
 performing other unheroic duties. A group of 
 private soldiers were seated near us at a cafe^ and 
 I listened with some curiosity to note what they 
 talked about. It was not of politics, but the 
 trivial gossip of the barracks. What dull, aimless 
 lives they lead ! Fancy taking the best three 
 years of a young man's life and condemning him 
 to garrison duty in a sleepy country town ! They 
 are conscripts, and enter the service perforce, un- 
 like our American volunteers, who enlist from 
 love of adventure. They are nearly all little men, 
 and not at all like the brawny giants in our 
 American regiments. But little men as fighters 
 must not be despised — videlicet Japan. 
 
 There are swell cafes in the little town, where 
 the officers go, and into which the privates do not 
 venture. There also may be found the great 
 men of Chambery. At one of these we saw 
 Mister the Mayor, a short, fat gentleman, with 
 much dignity and a double chin. He was pointed 
 out to us by our cafe waiter. We were much 
 
 268 
 

 
 '* The venerable Tower of the Archives. 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 impressed, and said, "How then! Is that truly 
 Mister the Mayor?" Our admiration greatly 
 gratified the cafe waiter. We spoke of the cos- 
 mopolitanism of Chambery, how much it resem- 
 bled Paris, and of the brilliant circle of remarkable 
 men gathered at the Cafe Jean Bouvier. The 
 ^^/ waiter interposed with much gravity to remark 
 that all strangers regarded Chambery as the most 
 cosmopolitan city of Savoy. As who should say 
 that Salt Lake is the most fashionable city of 
 Utah. And that reminds me. I once was seated 
 in front of the Walker House, Salt Lake City, 
 in a tip-tilted arm-chair, while an affable bell-boy 
 conversed with me about the many merits of his 
 native place. As he talked, there floated by a 
 scrawny young woman with a dish-shaped face. 
 In the centre of this concave countenance, in an 
 aureola of freckles, was imbedded an apologetic 
 pug nose. Her face reminded me of an Ethiop's 
 ear — as William Shakespeare says somewhere. I 
 gave a start of well-counterfeited admiration, and 
 remarked for the benefit of both bell-boy and 
 beauty : "You have some very pretty women in 
 Salt Lake." To which the gratified bell-boy re- 
 plied : " Pretty women ? I should say so ! There 
 are more pretty women in Salt Lake than in any 
 city in the U-nited States. Yes siree." 
 
 269 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 But I diverge. I wander from Chambery. Let 
 us return. We were gazing with respectful ad- 
 miration at Mister the Mayor and the municipal 
 councilors playing at dominoes in the cafe\ Not 
 in the plebeian cafef on the ground floor, whither 
 any man might go who possessed a silver coin, but 
 in the cercle au premier^ or " club/' on the first 
 floor, with its balcony looking upon the Street of 
 the Porticoes. 
 
 We were again gratified with a sight of Mister 
 the Mayor, but this time in his royal robes, as it 
 were, wearing a swallow-tail coat, a plug hat, and 
 begirt with his tri-colored scarf of office. It was 
 on the occasion of the fraternal visit of the firemen 
 of Annecy to the firemen of Chambery. Annecy 
 is a sister metropolis some miles away. The fire- 
 men of Chambery, accompanied by the Municipal 
 Brass Band, or Fanfare Municipale, paraded in 
 full force, headed by the mayor. At the railway 
 station they received the firemen of Annecy, 
 headed by the mayor of Annecy and accompanied 
 by the Annecy Silver Cornet Band. The meet- 
 ing of the two mayors baffles my poor pen. I 
 have seen Yosemite when its trails were covered 
 with ten feet of snow. I have seen Niagara in 
 the dead of winter when spanned by a mammoth 
 ice-bridge. I have seen Mont Blanc. But for 
 
 270 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 icy dignity, for freezing grandeur, I have never 
 seen anything to compare with the meeting of the 
 mayors of Annecy and Chambery. 
 
 After a joint parade through the city, the two 
 fire departments sat down to a grand open-air 
 banquet in the main square. This was regarded 
 with much curiosity by the small boys of Cham- 
 bery, some peasants from the outskirts, and two 
 much edified tourists from the United States. 
 
 But Chambery saw another sight when the 
 drums beat at dead of night, and pyrotechnics 
 cast the light of rockets o'er her revelry. This 
 was when the grand display of fire-works took 
 place, closing this imposing festival. The local 
 paper the next day remarked that it was probably 
 the finest fete ever given outside of Paris. 
 
 Very likely it was. 
 
 But I preferred the Chambery fair to the fire- 
 man's fete, I seem dimly to remember having 
 seen firemen's parades in my own country not dis- 
 similar to this Savoy one. But the fair at Cham- 
 bery was unlike any of our country fairs. There 
 were booths without number where " barkers" in 
 fluent French invited the passing crowd to enter. 
 Fat ladies in short skirts coyly emerged for a few 
 seconds, quivered, undulated, and disappeared, in 
 the hope that their billowy charms might attract 
 
 271 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the passing rustics. "Lutteurs" (strong men, 
 wrestlers) came to the doors of their booths, curled 
 their biceps, patted their pectoral muscles, and 
 boastfully challenged the local Samsons to enter 
 their booths and wrestle for a prize. Fairies 
 more or less youthful — in pink tights showing 
 many "ladders" and much darning — waved 
 wands at the doors of little theatres, and favored 
 the passing throng with dazzling dental smiles. 
 Sharp-eyed "spielers" inveigled dull yokels into 
 wagering their coppers on tombolas. Others urged 
 the more robust rustics to blow, to strike, to pull, 
 or to lift their machines for trumpery prizes. In 
 the centre of the square was the greased pole, 
 or " Mast of Cockayne," up which perspiring 
 peasants climbed, clutching at beribboned bacon 
 flitches. Merry-go-rounds, or carrousels^ whirled 
 about with young men and young women mounted 
 upon cock-horses and wooden bicycles, the young 
 men, with earnest, foolish faces, trying to lance 
 the rings, the young women gravely solicitous 
 about their display of ankles, and primly clutch- 
 ing at their ballooning skirts. Painted clowns 
 strutted up and down in front of gaudy booths, 
 whence acrobats emerged at times, did a flip-flap 
 or two, and disappeared. On every hand were 
 stalls for the sale of queer sausages and other 
 
 272 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 mysterious comestibles. And there was food for 
 the soul as well as for the stomach. A piano- 
 organ run by a small gas-engine pulsated on the 
 shuddering air. The governor was out of order, 
 and at times there were eccentric stop-cock cres- 
 cendoes, followed by weird contrapuntal effects 
 coming from a cracked exhaust-pipe. 
 
 Ah, Music ! Heavenly maid ! What would 
 life be without music ? Ah, what indeed ! 
 
 But again I wander. What of the gaze de 
 Chamhery ? We had great difficulty in finding it. 
 Shop after shop we entered. No one had it. 
 They had plenty of silk of Lyons, silk of Rome, 
 and silk of Milan, but no silk of Chambery. 
 Apparently they had never heard of it. Could 
 it be like the snakes in the history of Ireland? — 
 "Chapter X. — Snakes in Ireland, — There are 
 no snakes in Ireland." It began to look as if 
 our search for gaze in Chambery would result in 
 the discovery that there was no Chambery gaze. 
 But a glove merchant at last betrayed the secret 
 which the silk merchants had tried so carefully to 
 conceal. Gaze was to be found only at Michard's 
 silk factory. Thither we at once repaired, and 
 found the gaze in all shades and colors and pat- 
 terns. . 
 
 When in a mercer's shop, and, above all, in a 
 
 s 273 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 silk mercer's shop, a mere man had best be 
 silent. Words, no matter how few, only betray 
 his ignorance. If he speaks, pitying feminine 
 eyes regard him, not unkindly, as who should 
 say: "The man really does not look to be such 
 an idiot." But as we were leaving the silk factory 
 my curiosity overcame my prudence, and I said 
 to the smart young woman who had been selling 
 us silks : 
 
 "Pardon me, mademoiselle, but can you tell 
 me why in the shops of Chambery one can not 
 purchase the silk of Chambery ? " 
 
 To which she replied, like lightning: "Cer- 
 tainly, monsieur; it is very simple. We do not 
 let the shops have it to sell because we prefer to 
 sell it ourselves." 
 
 I went away, pondering on the density of some 
 people's brains. 
 
 The country round about Chambery is pic- 
 turesque and beautiful. It resembles Switzerland, 
 but its valleys are larger, its mountains not so 
 stern. It would be difficult to find in Europe a 
 more charming country than this pleasant land 
 of Savoy. And what adds to its charm is that the 
 pleasant land of Savoy is inhabited by pleasant 
 
 274 
 
'*A little gorge which, though microscopic, is very pretty. 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 people. It is my experience that the further north 
 you go in Europe the less agreeable you find the 
 people. In southern Europe they are always 
 courteous ; in northern Europe they are not 
 always so. In southern Germany they are 
 gemuthlich; in northern Germany they are sour. 
 In Vienna the police-officers are more than civil ; 
 in Berlin they sometimes are silent and sometimes 
 are surly. In Yorkshire and in other parts of 
 Great Britain this northern trait is carried to an 
 extreme. Lest this be disbelieved by patriotic 
 Englishmen, let me quote the remarks of a York- 
 shire woman about Yorkshire. Mrs. Gaskell 
 wrote in her life of Charlotte Bronte: " A stranger 
 in Yorkshire can hardly ask a question without 
 receiving some crusty reply, if indeed he receive 
 any at all. Sometimes the rudeness amounts to 
 positive insult." Mrs. Gaskell hastens to add, 
 however, that the Yorkshire folk have " latent 
 kindliness." It is sincerely to be hoped so. I 
 think it was in Cornwall that Punch found one 
 of its famous jests : 
 
 First native (pointing at stranger) — " Who 's 
 him ? " 
 
 Second native — " Dunno. Looks like a stran- 
 ger. 
 
 First native — " 'Eave *arf a brick at *im." 
 275 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 There is a difference, also, between the man- 
 ners of Savoy and those of northern France. 
 Much of the so-called Parisian politeness is 
 spurious. A Frenchman will enter a railway- 
 compartment, lift his hat politely when he enters, 
 and then for hours will rudely stare a lady out 
 of countenance. Even the waiters have a veiled 
 and polished insolence, although they address you 
 most respectfully in the third person. 
 
 When southern Europeans come to America, 
 the manners at first must seem to them a little curt. 
 Once I heard a stranger ask a New York police- 
 man at a dock-gate whether his carriage might be 
 driven on the dock. The officer was eating an 
 apple, and paused for a moment with a large 
 spheroidal isosceles triangle in his mouth. Chil- 
 dren use two kinds of grunts — the negative grunt 
 and the affirmative grunt — impossible to repro- 
 duce on paper. The policeman gave the affirma- 
 tive grunt, and the isosceles triangle of apple 
 disappeared down his oesophagus. On another 
 occasion I heard an Englishman politely accost 
 an official in blue and brass at a North River pier. 
 " Would you be kind enough," said he, " to tell 
 me if the Sandy Hook boats start from here ? " 
 The official repHed, laconically, "Sure." 
 
 But this curtness does not savor of incivility. 
 276 
 

The medicsval abbey of Hautecombe ^ 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 On the contrary, wherever I have been in the 
 United States strangers are treated with the 
 utmost kindness, and people frequently go out 
 of their way to direct them. 
 
 In Savoy the people seem to me more genu- 
 inely kindly than in northern France. There is 
 much civility in Switzerland, but it is often merely 
 mercenary. We found few or no beggars in Sa- 
 voy. In fact, we found it difficult sometimes to 
 get the children to accept coppers for being ko- 
 daked. In some other parts of Europe the sight 
 of a camera brings them around you in clouds, 
 like mosquitoes. 
 
 We took pictures of many children and many 
 harvest scenes in the pleasant lands of fair Savoy. 
 For miles around Chambery there are drives and 
 rides without number; excursions to the many 
 peaks of the French Alps; drives through the 
 smiling fields of the valley of the Rhone; boating 
 trips upon the little lake Bourget, with its pic- 
 turesque villages and its mediaeval abbey of 
 Hautecombe ; voyages by canal from Lake Bour- 
 get to the Rhone; visits to the "Roman an- 
 tiquities," on which local antiquarians descant 
 with great gravity; trips to the little gorges, 
 like that of Sierroz, which, though microscopic, 
 is very pretty; taking pictures of the old mill, 
 
 277 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 below the cascade of Gresy, where an unfortunate 
 lady-in-waiting was drowned, and where stands a 
 monument erected to her by Queen Hortense; 
 visits to Charmettes, where Jean Jacques Rousseau 
 lived when he was exiled from France, in which 
 village, when Savoy was annexed to France, the 
 luckless philosopher found that he had returned 
 from exile without moving a step; so anomalous 
 was his position that the government finally de- 
 cided to let him alone. There are all sorts of 
 excursions. If there are "little trips" to be made 
 in Savoy, by mock mountain-climbers and pretty 
 Parisiennes in high-heeled slippers leaning on 
 highly varnished alpenstocks, there are also ascents 
 for what the French call " serious alpinists." 
 Many people think Mont Blanc is in Switzer- 
 land, but they are in error. It is in France — in 
 the Department of Savoy. And he or she who 
 climbs Mont Blanc is no mock mountain-climber, 
 but indeed an " alpiniste serieux." 
 
 When we stopped over for the gaze de Cham- 
 hery the harvest was being gathered in Savoy. In 
 Savoy everybody works. In the hay-fields were 
 to be seen old men, old women, and little chil- 
 dren — lusty youth as well as sturdy middle age. 
 Over the smooth roadways creaked and groaned 
 the heavy wains laden with fragrant hay. Even 
 
 278 
 
Even the cows work in Savoy. 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 the cows work in Savoy, for we met many and 
 many a hay-cart drawn by mild-eyed kine, their 
 udders heavy with milk. We paused at one such 
 team, a pair of handsome cows, drawing a load of 
 hay, with a sturdy, brown-faced woman driving 
 them, and a shy child perched on top of the hay. 
 We stopped to take a picture of them. The 
 handsome -cows — which looked like Alderneys, 
 by the way — were called Lorraine and Alsace. 
 When we asked if, in Savoy, cows were worked 
 thus always, their conductor replied : " No, 
 madame; no, monsieur — only for the harvest. 
 In Savoy everybody works at harvest-time." So 
 we gave the large-eyed child some coppers, and 
 bade them farewell. Lorraine and Alsace took 
 up their burden, the hay-wain creaked and groaned 
 as it started, and we resumed our road to Cham- 
 bery. Dusk was falling over the valley as the 
 stream of peasants and people left the fields for 
 their homes. But the intense heat of the mid- 
 summer sun still lingered in cut stalk and bruised 
 blade, and the air was heavy with the fragrance 
 of the new-mown hay. 
 
 It was on one of our trips from Chambery to 
 the curious tooth-like Alp known as the " Dent 
 du Chat " that we met a pair of Savoyard lovers. 
 Around a bend in the mountain road there came 
 
 279 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 a light farm-wagon drawn by two handsome 
 mules hitched tandem-wise with jingling bells. 
 In the wagon were seated a young man, a young 
 woman, and a little boy — the latter evidently 
 playing chaperon. The afternoon sun was stream- 
 ing over the group, and behind them as the road 
 curved over the mountain flank was the vast 
 shadow cast by the lofty Peak of the Cat's Tooth. 
 It was a scene that would have inspired even a 
 professional photographer. We hastened to ask 
 permission to take a picture. I was already finger- 
 ing some small silver in my pocket. There are 
 peasants who would sell their mothers* tomb- 
 stones for trinkgeld, but these did not strike me 
 so. I paused, reflected, and released my hold 
 upon the silver. I alighted, took ofi^ my hat, and 
 asked Monsieur whether Mademoiselle would be 
 willing to form part of a photographic group. 
 Monsieur looked somewhat confused, but politely 
 doffed his cap and referred the matter to Made- 
 moiselle. Mademoiselle reflected, and thought 
 that, on the whole, she would rather like it. So 
 the photographs were taken with Mademoiselle, 
 Monsieur, and the youth, who was evidently 
 Little Brother. Mademoiselle, with a semi- 
 proprietary air, gave directions to Monsieur as 
 to how he should stand. Although not mar- 
 
 280 
 
IN FRENCH SAVOY 
 
 ried, they were evidently soon to be. And he 
 regarded Mademoiselle with a fond and sheep- 
 ish pride which showed plainly that she belonged 
 to him. 
 
 When the pictures had been taken, I dismissed 
 all thought of the silver in my pocket, and asked 
 Mademoiselle for her address, that I might send 
 her some prints of the photographs. She gave it 
 to me with minute care : 
 
 Mademoiselle Reverdy^ 
 
 Care of M. Reverdy^ Franfols^ 
 Vigneron.^ 
 
 Commune of la Charvaz^ 
 
 Department of Haute Savoie^ 
 
 France. 
 
 And with mutual good-will and kindly salutes on 
 both sides, we parted. As we wound down the 
 mountain-side toward Chambery, they drove up 
 toward the Cat's Tooth Peak, and the jingling 
 bells of the mule tandem died away in the dusk 
 and the dim forest. 
 
 Buxom Mademoiselle Reverdy! Over leagues 
 of land and miles of water I salute you. May 
 the pictures reach their destination safely. May 
 your lover always be as lover-like as when we 
 "snapped" you on the Dent du Chat. And may 
 
 281 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 you always be as happy when you are Madame 
 as you looked that summer evening in Savoy 
 when you were Mademoiselle. 
 
 282 
 
^ 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 THE most frequent question heard by an Amer- 
 ican returning from the Paris Exposition is : 
 "How did it compare with Chicago ?" To which 
 the only answer is that the expositions of Paris 
 and Chicago were as dissimilar as are the cities 
 of Chicago and Paris. 
 
 It is the fashion in many parts of the United 
 States to sneer at Chicago. This is notably the 
 case in San Francisco. Most San Franciscans 
 say they dislike Chicago. It is true that there 
 is much that is unlovely there. To the im- 
 patient traveler hastening from New York to 
 San Francisco the enforced stop at Chicago is 
 distasteful. For Chicago has contrived things with 
 such skill that it is difficult to cross the continent 
 without stopping within her gates. Everybody 
 must pay toll. The pilgrim must pause, even 
 though he do not unpack his wallet. He must 
 stop at least for a bath and a bite. You find it 
 difficult to go around Chicago. Chicago will not 
 let you pass her without stopping. 
 
 283 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 But sneer at Chicago as one may, the fact 
 remains that she has always had the courage of 
 her convictions and a strong individuahty. This 
 is notable in her residences. Years ago, before 
 the dwellers in Eastern cities dared to depart 
 from the conventional brick cube, Chicago carried 
 out some original ideas of her own. I used to 
 think then that such residence streets in Chicago 
 as Michigan, Calumet, and Indiana Avenues were 
 certainly more original and possibly more beauti- 
 ful than any similar streets in any Eastern city. 
 I never admired the veneered brick houses of 
 New York, called "brown-stone mansions." The 
 miles and miles of red brick dwellings in Boston, 
 Baltimore, and Philadelphia, diversified by white 
 marble trimmings in the latter city, always seemed 
 to me staring advertisements of the lack of origi- 
 nality on the part of their owners. A new-rich 
 man did not dare to build a new style of house. 
 He was forced to build like the old-rich. But 
 Chicago's new-rich men built as they pleased. The 
 result was often grotesque, sometimes pleasing, 
 but always original. And it is my belief that the 
 change which has come over the residence quar- 
 ter in Eastern cities in the last fifteen years has 
 been largely due to the influence of Chicago. 
 
 Even in New York, on Fifth, Madison, and 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 Lexington Avenues, one may now see houses of 
 varying styles of architecture and built of various 
 kinds of stone. So, too, in Washington, the cap- 
 ital, which is now a city of beautiful homes. 
 Boston, Baltimore, and Philadelphia are more 
 conservative, but even they are yielding. In 
 originality and individuality in residence archi- 
 tecture Chicago among American cities was the 
 pioneer. So was she the pioneer in the mod- 
 ern architectural abominations known as "sky- 
 scrapers." 
 
 The architecture of Chicago's exposition of 
 1893 left a marked impress upon the American 
 nation. It was sober, dignified, and beautiful. 
 The general scheme was evolved by the Chapter 
 of American Architects. They designed a num- 
 ber of imposing buildings which were to form a 
 homogeneous whole. It goes without saying that 
 these buildings were largely modeled upon classic 
 lines. Few who saw the buildings of the Chicago 
 Exposition will forget them; no one who saw the 
 beautiful Court of Honor at night, with its white 
 lines starting out of the darkness, with its white 
 beauty bathed in the white electric light, with its 
 beautiful statues and fountains, its quadriga and 
 the portal looking out upon the lake — no one 
 can ever forget that architectural dream of beauty. 
 
 285 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 And a very great pity it is that it was only a 
 dream. 
 
 The architecture of the Paris Exposition was 
 everything that the architecture of the Chicago 
 Exposition was not. Where Chicago was sober, 
 Paris was gaudy. Where Chicago was dignified, 
 Paris was giddy. Where Chicago was white, Paris 
 was prismatic. Where Chicago was beautiful, 
 Paris was frivolous. 
 
 The Paris Exposition was an architectural orgy 
 of tinsel and color. Its key-note was indicated 
 in the main entrance, the " Porte Monumentale." 
 This was so gaudy, so bespangled, so besprinkled 
 with color, so barbaric, so pseudo-oriental, that it 
 suggested the entrance to a gigantic cafe chantant. 
 And it exactly expressed the Paris Exposition of 
 1900. 
 
 The " Porte Monumentale " was fitly crowned 
 with a colossal statue of a woman in the fripperies 
 and fal-lals of 1900. She looked like an up-to- 
 date cocote, and probably that is what she was 
 intended to represent. For the life of modern 
 Paris seems to be the apotheosis of the cocote. 
 
 There is another difference between the great 
 fairs of Paris and Chicago. When the Chicago 
 Exposition was projected, all sorts of building 
 schemes and hotel syndicates shot up like mush- 
 
 286 
 
Si- 
 
 I 
 I. 
 

PARIS AND CHICA 
 
 rooms. Shrewd Chicago business men provided 
 plenty of money for the erection of hotels to 
 house the millions of expected visitors. This did 
 not seem unwise, for after the fair they would 
 have their substantial buildings, to be put to other 
 uses. But the panic of '^^ came, and the visitors 
 did not. Many of the hotels remained empty. 
 In Paris, on the other hand, few new hotels 
 were erected. But the Parisian speculators put 
 their money into cafes, theatres, and side-shows, 
 with equally disastrous results. These concerns 
 failed to the tune of several hundred millions of 
 francs. At the Chicago Fair, on the other hand, 
 I can recall but one collapsed institution of the 
 side-show kind. That was an enormous building 
 near Buffalo Bill's Wild West show. It was 
 erected by a syndicate. This building in plain- 
 tive rooflessness stood all through the fair as a 
 dreadful warning to trusting capitalists. 
 
 How much alike is human nature all over the 
 world ! The tendency to over-build is not con- 
 fined to expositions. All around Rome one may 
 see blocks upon blocks of six-story buildings, 
 tenantless save for tramps, often roofless, and 
 always windowless, to save the tax on glass. These 
 were built by the luckless Roman nobility in the 
 real-estate boom of the 'eighties. Most of them 
 
 287 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 were mortgaged, and they fell in to the banks. It 
 reminds me of the numerous empty hotels in 
 southern California in 1890. Every few miles 
 along the San Fernando and San Gabriel Valleys 
 you would see handsome boom-built hotels, with 
 "running water, elevators, and electric lights" — 
 everything but guests. 
 
 Yes, human nature is much the same, in all 
 countries, in all times. Every world's fair is 
 going to be the greatest that was ever held. Cred- 
 ulous capitalists rush in and overdo the building. 
 Credulous speculators rush in and overdo the 
 side-show business. Result — collapse. The 
 credulous public rushes in and always vows 
 that this is the last word : " No other fair can 
 ever equal this." You will find expressions like 
 that in the letters and memoirs of the last fifty 
 years. You will find it said of the exposition at 
 the Crystal Palace in 1851 ; of the Vienna World's 
 Fair in 1873 ; of the Centennial Exposition in 
 1876 ; of the Paris Exposition of 1878 and 1889 ; 
 of the Chicago Fair of 1893 ; ^^^ ^^ ^^^ Paris 
 Fair of 1900. Apropos of the Crystal Palace 
 exhibit, if you read its record now, it seems 
 almost ludicrous in its meagreness. Probably 
 our St. Louis, New Orleans, Omaha, and San 
 Francisco fairs were magnificent compared to it. 
 
 288 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 Yet it was believed to be the highest pitch of 
 human achievement in arts and manufactures. 
 It was held during the reign of Albert the Good, 
 Prince Consort of Queen Victoria. He grew so 
 enthusiastic over the Crystal Palace Fair that he 
 believed it had brought about a reign of universal 
 peace, of international amity, of world-wide friend- 
 ship — that war should be no more. He dubbed 
 it "The Triumph of Peace." Yet immediately 
 after its close the Crimean War broke out, and 
 three European nations fell to cutting each other's 
 throats. Fifty years have elapsed since the peace- 
 dream of Albert the Good, and civilized nations 
 have continued to cut one another's throats with 
 the greatest ferocity. And during the year of 
 grace 1900 — end of the century, and year of the 
 Paris Exposition — international throat-cutting was 
 more general than for many years. 
 
 There are various ways of seeing a modern 
 exposition. One is to do it "thoroughly" — 
 as if there were anything thorough in this world, 
 unless it be the mental equipment of a very 
 young woman who has " finished her education." 
 
 The second way is to see it cautiously — which 
 means to view the outsides of buildings, to take 
 T 289 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 bird's-eye views, to shun crowded places and 
 crowded days, and to avoid being fatigued, hustled, 
 or bored. 
 
 The third way is to see it through the eyes of 
 others — by photographs, biographs, illustrated 
 periodicals, and letters from trained correspond- 
 ents. 
 
 The fourth way is not to see it at all. 
 
 Of these four methods, the wise man will waver 
 between the third and fourth. Perhaps the third 
 is the best. 
 
 Even with the best of intentions and the most 
 youthful of enthusiasms no one can see any expo- 
 sition " thoroughly." As Professor Jowett once 
 said to his students, " Gentlemen, no one is omni- 
 scient, not even the youngest of us." And it 
 would require omniscience to do an exposition 
 thoroughly. The average man who goes to an ex- 
 position sees so many things of which he knows 
 absolutely nothing that he does not even try to 
 know more. Like the Levite, he walks by on the 
 other side. What human brain could retain any 
 coherent idea of such a string of things as these? — 
 
 Lazarettos, Cork jackets. Undressed furs. 
 
 Mineral waters. Wood wool. Pisciculture, 
 
 Naval torpedoes. Mineral wool. Edible mushrooms. 
 
 Pontoon bridges. Birds* eggs. Artesian wells, 
 290 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 Puddling, 
 
 Mottled tin. 
 
 Door-knockers, 
 
 Frozen meat. 
 
 Papier-mache, 
 
 Sky-lights, 
 
 Finials, 
 
 Vanes, 
 
 High-warp looms, 
 
 Moquette carpets. 
 
 Linoleum, 
 
 Billiard-tables, 
 
 Oil-burning lamps. 
 
 Repousse work. 
 
 Sidereal clocks. 
 
 Imitation pearls. 
 
 Aviaries, 
 
 Goloshes, 
 
 Floss-silk, 
 
 Cosmetics, 
 
 Barrel-organs, 
 
 Micrometers, 
 
 Periodicals, 
 
 Bacteriology, 
 
 Mother-of-pearl, 
 
 Cooperative stores, 
 
 Post-offices, 
 
 Cook-stoves, 
 
 Ventilators, 
 
 Thermometers, 
 
 Automatic-cocks, 
 
 Fire-dogs, 
 
 Sewage-farms, 
 
 Massage, 
 
 Powder-mills, 
 
 Hot-air engines. 
 
 Play-houses, 
 
 Typography, 
 
 Blow-pipes, 
 
 Wood alcohols. 
 
 Pottery. 
 
 I am not purposely pitchforking things together 
 to make a chance-medley. I am simply taking 
 the exhibits as they happened to fall, walking 
 around the Paris Exposition from the Trocadero 
 to the other side of the Seine. 
 
 What human brain could give forth even in- 
 coherent ideas regarding them if they could be 
 assimilated ? And what human brain could digest 
 such an agglomeration of non-agglomerable mat- 
 ters as one finds at an exposition ? No one can 
 see an exposition thoroughly. No one has the 
 time. Physical limitations are such that no one 
 has sufficient strength of mind and body to see 
 thoroughly in the allotted period what an ex- 
 position contains. 
 
 291 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 I do not believe that an exposition possesses 
 that "educational value" which many attribute to 
 it. Viewing an exposition reminds me of what 
 are called " popular lectures." Let us say that the 
 subject of the lecture is ichthyology. I select 
 that for an illustration as I know nothing about 
 it, having heard many popular lectures upon the 
 topic. The lecturer will attempt to compress 
 into an hour and a half the most notable facts 
 in the science of ichthyology. His method is 
 unscientific. He does not confine himself to an 
 hour and a half because the science of ichthyology 
 can be discussed in that time, but because ninety 
 minutes is about the length of time during which 
 an average audience will listen to a lecture and not 
 be bored. He does not select the most important 
 facts in the science of ichthyology, but the most 
 striking ones. This also is unscientific. He 
 chooses these facts because they will amuse and 
 interest the audience. In this end he generally 
 succeeds, but at a cost which must make the judi- 
 cious grieve. The more earnest members of the 
 audience will remember — if they remember any- 
 thing — that the lecturer said that ichthyology was 
 derived from the Greek ichthyoSy fish; that the 
 whale is the most interesting fish — which it is not ; 
 that the whale is a warm-blooded mammal — 
 
 292 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 which is not always true : there are cold-blooded 
 whales ; that there are other mammals in the 
 ocean besides whales ; that they belong to the 
 shark family ; that there are sharks which leave 
 their eggs to be hatched, sharks which hatch their 
 eggs themselves, and sharks which bring forth 
 their young alive ; that there are oviparous, vivi- 
 parous, and-ovo-viviparous fishes; that if all the 
 eggs of all the cods were to be hatched, all the 
 ocean would be speedily filled with codfish ; and 
 that if they continued to breed with no "struggle 
 for existence," the earth would in 1,957,342 years 
 become a vast globe of codfish, which would fill 
 up the solar system, crowd out the intramercurial 
 planets, and shove the asteroids into kingdom 
 come. 
 
 From such a lecture as this the average hearer 
 goes away with a vague belief that it is a good thing 
 the big fishes eat the little fishes, that ichthyology 
 is a great science, and that Professor Zoescope's 
 lectures are real nice. 
 
 It has always seemed to me that the average 
 man's attempt to " see an exposition thoroughly" 
 is very similar to the eflFort of an audience to 
 absorb science at popular lectures. 
 
 293 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 There are many interiors that can be seen to 
 better advantage in photographs than in reality. 
 Take the frescoes on the ceiHngs of the Vatican, 
 for example. About the only way to see the 
 ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is to lie on your back 
 on the floor, and scrutinize the frescoes through 
 an opera-glass. This method is unusual, how- 
 ever, and attracts attention. Most people examine 
 them in the regular way, which is by assiduous 
 neck-twisting and vertebral distortion. The slang 
 phrase, " rubber-necking," expresses it exactly. 
 Even at the Paris Exposition, while there were 
 no Michael Angelo ceilings or Raphael walls, 
 there was much art-work in high places — ceil- 
 ings, panels, and spandrels — that could only be 
 seen by " rubber - necking." And very weary 
 work it was, too. How much easier to sit down 
 at your leisure and examine these frescoes and 
 alto-relievos by means of photographs ! You see 
 them very much better, and, to speak plainly, if 
 you don't see them that way, you may not see 
 them at all. For many people get so leg-weary 
 and neck-weary that they hang their heavy heads, 
 and look only at that which is below the level 
 of the eye. 
 
 Paradoxical as it may seem, some outdoor 
 scenes look better in photographs than in reality. 
 
 294 
 
"BTNIVERSITT 
 
I 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 Take, for example, the parks and gardens of Ver- 
 sailles. Of late years they are very much run 
 down. In summer the trees are unkempt and 
 dust-covered, the grass of the once rich green 
 lawns is withered and burned, the driveways are 
 unsprinkled and dusty, the fountain-basins and 
 ornamental sheets of water are covered with frog- 
 spawn and green slime. Yet in the photographs 
 none of these defects can be discovered. The 
 lawns look luxuriant, and the foliage of the trees 
 is reflected in the lakelets as if they were great 
 mirrors of quicksilver. 
 
 At the Paris Exposition you saw on every hand 
 people showing signs of complete physical ex- 
 haustion. The transportation methods were crude 
 and insufficient. As the jest ran, the moving side- 
 walk took you everywhere you did not want to go. 
 The electric railway was also badly planned. There 
 was no other method of transportation within the 
 grounds except the rolling chairs and Shanks's 
 Mare. The latter beast is faithful but easily tired. 
 
 In addition to the lack of means of transporta- 
 tion in the exposition grounds, people did n*t 
 know where to go. They not only did n't know 
 how to go to a place, but they did n't know 
 
 295 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 where the place was, and they wouldn't have 
 known what to do when they got there if they 
 could find it, and they could n't find it. The 
 Columbian Guards at Chicago were Admirable 
 Crichtons compared to the attendants at the Paris 
 Exposition. None of them seemed to know 
 anything at all about anything whatever. One of 
 the main entrances near the Pont des Invalides 
 was suddenly closed one night at 8 p. m., and for 
 hours immense crowds were turned back — both 
 ways — to make their entrance and their exit at 
 some other gate. Nobody stopped these crowds 
 from going toward the closed gate. No notice 
 was posted. The gate was closed. That was all. 
 Nobody knew why. 
 
 The fatigue of sight-seeing, " rubber-necking," 
 and being jostled by the crowds affected the 
 visitors' temper. Americans abroad often forget 
 that their language is understood by many. It is 
 very common in Europe to hear conversations 
 of the most startling nature in English. At the 
 exposition these frequently took the shape of what 
 I may call building-bickering. For example, this 
 is a conversation I heard just inside the entrance 
 of a building : 
 
 She — "What did you want to come in here 
 for?" 
 
 396 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 He — " I did n*t want to come in here." 
 
 She — " Why, you brought me in." 
 
 Ue — " No, I did n*t — you said you wanted to 
 come." 
 
 She — " I said nothing of the kind." 
 
 He [looking at map] — " You certainly said you 
 wanted to come into the Pavilion de Paree." 
 
 She — " Well, I did n't know that this was the 
 Pavilion de Paree." 
 
 He — "Well, you know it now." 
 
 She — "What is there to see in here, anyway?" 
 
 He [sulkily] — "I don't know; you brought 
 me here." 
 
 She [with spirit] — " I didn't any such a thing ! " 
 
 H^_"Youdid, too!" 
 
 She— ''I didn't." 
 
 ^^_" You did!" 
 
 She — ''I ^idn or ^ 
 
 [They go out glaring at one another, and 
 probably do not speak for an hour.] 
 
 Other and more cautious couples watch one 
 another carefully at the thresholds of buildings. 
 The one who first crosses the threshold becomes 
 at once responsible for that building. Fatal 
 step ! If the man has the bump of caution he 
 lets the woman go first, and then twits her with 
 the shortcomings of the building ; he pooh-poohs 
 
 297 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 everything ; he says, " Well, is this your Petty 
 Pallay dee TArt ? I don't think much of it." 
 
 If it is the lady who is cautious she makes the 
 man wish that he were dead. One such cautious 
 creature I heard goading a man who had incau- 
 tiously put his foot first into a building : 
 
 "And this is your Pallay dee Costoom, is 
 it? [«^^{^] And these are your beauties, are 
 they ? [Sniff.'] Well, if ever I saw such a homely 
 lot ! \Sniff.~\ There are at least a dozen girls 
 in Smithtown who are better-looking. [Srnff.'] 
 And did you make me walk miles all the way up 
 that hot and dusty row to see such a collection 
 of frights ? " [Sniff, sniff,] 
 
 1 wondered if they were married. 
 
 If a native of the Paris quarters known as the 
 Batignolles or Montmartre were to drop from a 
 balloon into the Yosemite Valley, he would, as 
 soon as he got his wind, proceed to arrange a cafe 
 chant ant. It would have a canvas background 
 on which would be painted mighty ten-foot 
 mountains ; it would have an imitation waterfall, 
 at whose base would boil great foaming waves of 
 cotton wool ; it would have giant trees cut out of 
 zinc, propped up behind with sticks ; and it 
 
 298 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 would have tables on the terrace in front, where 
 you would see the Paris Figaro and the Paris 
 GauloiSy and where peddlers would try to sell you 
 the latest obscene Parisian postal cards. So with 
 the Paris Exposition. It seemed to be an attempt 
 to reproduce Paris in Paris. There was an entire 
 building devoted to " La Ville de Paris," filled 
 with portraits of Paris prefects and Paris depu- 
 ties, relics of Paris revolutions, and photographs 
 of Paris's former streets and squares. There was 
 an entire quarter called " Old Paris," in which 
 you saw the institutions of modern Paris as they 
 looked in ancient Paris. The " Midway " part of 
 the exposition was largely made up of reproduc- 
 tions of theatres and cafes of Paris — attractions of 
 the Montmartre quarter, of the Latin quarter, 
 and of the boulevards. The remaining shows 
 were biographic and cinematoscopic representa- 
 tions of the streets of Paris, the squares of Paris, 
 and the actors and actresses of Paris. 
 
 The exposition "theatres" which reproduced 
 Montmartre's attractions came to grief early. 
 Like Macduff, they were untimely plucked. The 
 exposition visitors did not fancy the things which 
 appealed to the lovers of Montmartre. That is 
 not remarkable. It requires a peculiar frame of 
 mind — vinous or alcoholic — to appreciate the 
 
 299 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 humors of Montmartre. I have never quite 
 understood the taste of those Americans who go 
 to hideous deadfalls like the Cabaret of the 
 Black Cat, the Cabaret of the Galley Slave, or 
 the Cabaret of the Grave Digger, to drink steam 
 beer off coffin-lid tables, served by half-tipsy 
 ruffians, attired as galley slaves or professional 
 mourners. The paretic poets and alcoholic 
 "humorists" of Montmartre who started the 
 small theatres in the exposition all had to close 
 their doors. 
 
 In theatricals, that which was most interest- 
 ing at the exhibition was the museum of theatrical 
 properties and souvenirs. Among other things 
 it contained scene-plots of famous operas and 
 plays. Some of them came, I think, from the 
 museum of the Grand Opera. Some years ago 
 the director of the Grand Opera library showed 
 me through the museum. There were scene- 
 plots in miniature of most of the operas produced 
 there, such as "The Prophet," "The Hugue- 
 nots," "Wilham Tell," etc. The little prosce- 
 niums were elaborately set with the various scenes 
 painted in miniature by the scene-painters, and the 
 little stages were covered with puppets in hand- 
 some costumes fashioned by the costumers of the 
 opera. They are called maquettes. The models 
 
 300 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 at the exposition were similar to those in the 
 opera museum, but more comprehensive. There 
 were also relics of famous actors — for example, 
 Talma as the Cid ; Mademoiselle Mars, in her 
 dressing-room filled with First Empire furniture 
 given her by Bonaparte; the "make-up" toilet 
 utensils of Mademoiselle Rachel ; Frederick Le- 
 maitre's snuff-box ; and a bust of Sardou modeled 
 by Sarah Bernhardt. 
 
 The most successful of the exposition theatres 
 were those devoted to the dance. The " Palace 
 of the Dance " purported to reproduce national 
 dances, but they were national dances denation- 
 alized and conventionalized by a French ballet- 
 master. At the " Palace of Woman " historical 
 dances were given, such as minuets, danced by 
 court ladies before Marie Antoinette and Louis 
 the Sixteenth to the music of ancient spinets and 
 harpsichords. This was one of the best of the 
 exposition side-shows, and one of the few worth 
 visiting. Among the other theatres devoted to 
 dancing there were the usual Oriental dancers. It 
 is scarcely worth while enumerating the long list of 
 the exposition side-shows. Many were very poor, 
 and some were bald frauds. One of the most 
 pretentious was the Palace of Optics. This show 
 was almost puerile. A large proportion of the 
 
 30L 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 side-shows were ordinary panoramas, variously- 
 called " mareorama," " stereorama/* " cineorama," 
 and " diorama." They were sometimes called 
 " animated voyages," and one gave a panorama 
 of a trip from Moscow to Pekin by rail. In this 
 you were seated in a railway car, and a panorama 
 rapidly rolled by you ; a strip of canvas, with 
 sand and gravel glued on, whirled past the side 
 of the car. In the "mareorama" you crossed the 
 Mediterranean to Algiers, passing a French naval 
 squadron. You were apparently on the deck of a 
 pitching and tossing ship ; the wind whistled in 
 the rigging, and there was a strong smell of tar. 
 There were panoramas representing China, Japan, 
 and other out-of-the-way corners of the world, 
 all mediocre, and some of them very badly 
 painted. 
 
 In the exposition grounds on every hand you 
 saw wearied sight-seers resting on the few benches 
 that a thrifty administration had placed at their 
 command, and others watching and waiting. 
 Hundreds of green - painted iron chairs stood 
 invitingly empty, but the economical sight-seers 
 refrained from taking them. It cost ten centimes 
 to sit in a chair without arms, and fifteen centimes 
 
 302 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 to sit in one with arms. Hence, most of the 
 sight-seers waited for empty benches. A pleasing 
 spectacle was the rage of the restaurateurs who 
 gazed on the feeding crowds in front of their 
 gorgeous establishments. The populace would 
 seat themselves, open their paper bags and boxes, 
 and proceed to eat their frugal luncheons of bread 
 and cheese, charcuterie and sausages, washed down 
 with red wine and eke with beer. The restaura- 
 teurs tore their hair as they sorrowfully regarded 
 their empty tables. They did very little busi- 
 ness, and many of them were forced to close their 
 doors. This was gratifying to every person who 
 entered their portals, for they were more accom- 
 plished robbers than the restaurant men of Paris 
 proper, and that is saying a great deal. 
 
 Many visitors were surprised at the utter lack 
 o{ interest in the Paris Exposition on the part of 
 its high officials. The close attention paid by the 
 directors of the Chicago Fair was absent at Paris. 
 The continual succession of festivals, special 
 days — " Chicago Day," " New York Day" — so 
 notable at Chicago, had no parallel at Paris. It 
 seemed remarkable that the French officials did 
 not stimulate interest by such methods. They 
 did not attempt to do so until near the closing 
 days of the exposition. The explanation is that 
 
 303 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the Paris fair was paid for before its doors were 
 opened. 
 
 This indifference led to a lack of interest on 
 the part of the public. Large crowds of people 
 must be specially amused — it is not sufficient 
 to turn them into a great show and tell them to 
 amuse themselves. Crowds do not know how 
 to amuse themselves. Many individuals lack that 
 knowledge. As a result, the attendance was poor. 
 Some sixty-five millions of tickets were issued, 
 and at the end of four months over fifty millions 
 were unused. More than 300,000 visitors a day 
 were expected, yet during the first few months 
 the average was about 100,000 admissions a day, 
 40,000 of which were free — exhibitors, em- 
 ployees, etc. When the exposition was drawing 
 toward its close, in November, there were millions 
 of unsold tickets. Then the exposition officials 
 began giving a series of festivals, in a desperate 
 attempt to work off the tickets. The tickets 
 were stamped " one franc," but two months after 
 the opening they were selling for half that, or 
 fifty centimes ; later they fell to fifteen centimes, 
 or three cents apiece. But the government was 
 secure, as the tickets were unloaded on banks and 
 financial syndicates, which peddled them out to 
 ticket-bureaus, which peddled them out to ticket- 
 
 304 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 peddlers, who peddled them out to the public. 
 The scheme, like that of 1889, carried with it an 
 issuance of government bonds, the numbers on 
 which were good for lottery prizes. A sheet of 
 twenty tickets was called a "bond," and many 
 families bought them for the lottery attachments, 
 thus securing their admissions in advance. The 
 financial institutions handling this enormous 
 scheme were the Credit Lyonnais, the Credit 
 Foncier, the Bank of France, the Comptoir 
 National, the Credit Industriel, and the Societe 
 Generale. 
 
 The bonds and tickets were eagerly snapped 
 up, and the exposition was practically paid for 
 before it had begun. There was, of course, a 
 heavy loss, but it did not fall upon the state. It 
 was so divided up among millions of people that 
 the loss to each was small. 
 
 One of the results of the cheapness of the 
 exposition tickets was the cheapness of the ex- 
 position crowds. The difference between the 
 visitors at Chicago and Paris was remarkable. 
 It was the difference between fifty cents and 
 five cents. Paris is an enormous city; in its 
 population there are hundreds of thousands 
 shading off from the poor to the very poor, 
 the pauper, the beggar, the vagrant, and the 
 u 305 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 criminal classes. A ticket at five cents was 
 within the reach of many of these. On Sun- 
 days, on fete days, and even on week days, 
 the number of shabby and even ragged visitors 
 was very large. This was particularly notice- 
 able on the French national holiday, when the 
 admission was only one ticket. There were 
 very few visitors at the Chicago Fair who were 
 not at least respectably dressed, and most of the 
 visitors were well dressed. In my mind's eye 
 I seem to see now about 100,000 young women 
 at the Chicago Fair all in sailor hats, light shirt- 
 waists, four-in-hand ties, Eton jackets, blue-serge 
 skirts, and new tan shoes, accompanied by 100,- 
 000 young men in buzz-saw straw hats, blue-serge 
 sack suits, four-in-hand ties, neat shirts, natty 
 belts, and new tan shoes. They looked very 
 much alike, it is true. Young Woman No. i 
 looked exactly like Young Woman No. 99,999. 
 But they certainly looked well, and they were 
 a pleasant sight to gaze upon. Not so the slink- 
 ing, shabby wretches, the frowsy ruffians, the 
 blear-eyed drabs and vicious trollops that one saw 
 by the scores of thousands at the Paris fair. 
 They came from parts of Paris that tourists rarely 
 visit. I used to wish that they had stayed there. 
 They were not nice to look at nor to rub against. 
 
 306 
 
PARIS AND CHICAGO 
 
 The vast crowds of semi-beggars at the fair 
 plied their trade there unmolested ; in the streets 
 of Paris they would have been arrested. Many 
 of them were criminals as well as beggars, and 
 combined a little pocket-picking with beggary. 
 "Beware of pickpockets," in all languages, was 
 the most frequent sign you saw at the fair. 
 
 The beggary began outside the exposition in 
 the shape of ticket-peddlers; old men, little chil- 
 dren, women with unweaned babies, hard-faced 
 young girls, and tough-looking young men — 
 such were the people engaged in ticket-hawking. 
 They clung closely to your side, if you were 
 walking, and earwigged you ; if children, they 
 hung to your garments, pestered you, and got in 
 front of you ; if you were in a carriage, the men 
 jumped on the steps, and poisoned you with 
 their villainous breath, as they importuned you 
 to buy. Some were ruffianly, and strove to intim- 
 idate foreigners into buying. The old women 
 and children whimpered and wheedled. Around 
 the entrances you were attacked by new hordes 
 of hawkers, not only ticket-peddlers, but venders 
 of maps and souvenirs. When you had run the 
 gauntlet of outside beggars, you had to meet a 
 fresh army inside. You paid to get into the 
 exposition; you paid to get into the quarter 
 
 307 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 called "Old Paris"; you paid to get into a thea- 
 tre in " Old Paris " ; you paid to get into a cafe 
 attached to the theatre in "Old Paris" ; you paid 
 for your beverage in the cafe; you paid the waiter 
 for bringing it to you ; you paid the orchestra 
 for regaling you with bad Hungarian czardas; 
 you paid at the door when you went out, for your 
 umbrella or your cane, which you were almost 
 forced to leave at the "vestiaire." If you went 
 into a swell restaurant in the exposition the head- 
 waiter would take the order — tip. A second 
 waiter would lay the cover — tip. A third waiter 
 would bring the food — tip. The sommelier would 
 take the wine order — tip. And again on going 
 out you were forced to give up a check for your 
 wrap or your umbrella — tip. 
 
 These were the authorized beggars. Once out- 
 side the cafes and theatre doors, you found the 
 irregular beggars. You could not speak to an 
 attendant or ask your way without being impor- 
 tuned for alms. The Paris Exposition was in- 
 deed a. mighty Beggars' Fair. 
 
s A '^-^'-'-'lai' 
 
 *' The Saintc-Chapelle, in Paris' 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 AMONG the many legends told of authors 
 ^ and publishers there is an ancient one con- 
 cerning punctuation. It is the story of the 
 author who grew so exasperated at the printers' 
 persistent refusal to insert his needless commas 
 and superfluous semicolons that he placed a 
 chapter at the end of his book, telling the reader 
 to pick and choose therefrom, and punctuate the 
 volume to suit himself This chapter consisted 
 entirely of commas, colons, semicolons, interro- 
 gation points, dots, and dashes. 
 
 Correspondingly, I determined to place in a 
 chapter by itself the various passages about eating 
 and drinking which seem inseparable from any 
 talk about travel. Thus he who does not care to 
 eat may skip, while he who eats may read. 
 
 Most Americans going abroad have to pass 
 through New York. Therefore its hotels are 
 well-known — too well-known to make necessary 
 any extended reference to them here. I may 
 
 309 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 say briefly that its best hotels are surpassed by 
 none of which I have any knowledge. The 
 first-class hotels, while high-priced, give you the 
 worth of your money. In the cold season they 
 are heated; in summer electric fans and pumps 
 force artificially cooled air into the buildings; the 
 windows are canopied ; the bath-rooms are good ; 
 there is hot water night and day; the plumbing 
 is modern ; there are mail chutes, telephones, and 
 telesemes; they are well ventilated; there are 
 numerous swift elevators ; the service is good ; 
 there is plenty of clean ice, made from distilled 
 water; cold things are served cold, and hot things 
 hot — ^in short, the restaurants are admirable. 
 Neither London nor Paris compares with New 
 York in hotels. As for restaurants, Paris has 
 fine ones, but I think New York's two leading 
 restaurants are as good as any in the world. The 
 less pretentious hotels and restaurants are also 
 good, and there are prices for all purses. Still, 
 New York is at best an expensive city. 
 
 While the New York hotels give you high 
 living for high prices, it is not so with all Ameri- 
 can hotels. Some of the big watering-place 
 hotels are very poor. For some reason, Ameri- 
 cans seem resigned to bad service at summer 
 hotels. But it would seem to be no better at 
 
 3IO 
 
'»'• rmm 
 
 UNIVERSITT 
 

OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 the great winter resorts. For in winter many 
 thousands of Northerners seek the great hotels 
 of the southern coast, from St. Augustine to 
 New Orleans. 
 
 Three of the Florida hotels, the Ponce de 
 Leon, the Alcazar, and the Cordova, are very- 
 beautiful buildings. They are all in the Hispano- 
 Mauresque style of architecture, with which we 
 in CaHfornia are familiar through our old Spanish 
 Mission buildings and their modern prototypes, 
 as seen at Palo Alto. But our colonial Spanish 
 architecture in California was from the crude 
 plans of the Spanish friars, wrought into shape 
 by the clumsy hands of their Indian neophytes. 
 It has an air of strength and solidity rather than 
 of grace. In the Spanish buildings of St. Augus- 
 tine the architects have succeeded in wedding the 
 grace of the Moorish with the strength of the 
 Spanish school. The Ponce de Leon is a stately 
 pile, with many minaret-like towers, domes, and 
 chimneys rising from its red-tiled roof It has 
 a large patio, or courtyard, with a noble gateway. 
 The Alcazar facade is distinguished by the two 
 square bell-towers, familiar to us in our California 
 Mission buildings. The Cordova has both round 
 and square towers, and is a marvel of elaborate 
 Mauresque ornamentation. 
 
 311 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 These hotels are built of a concrete made of 
 fossil shells found in vast quantities around 
 St. Augustine. The Spaniards used for building 
 purposes a stone called " coquina," formed of 
 these same fossil shells, which the ages had 
 molded into a kind of natural concrete. Some 
 of the old Spanish buildings in St. Augustine 
 were built of this coquina stone. The concrete 
 used in these hotels resembles it in a measure, 
 and is the most architecturally effective artificial 
 stone I have ever seen. It is a delicate bluish- 
 gray in color, and it fits into the tints of sky and 
 sea and sandy soil most admirably. The cool, 
 gray walls and rich, red-tiled roofs together pro- 
 duce an effect which is most grateful to the eye. 
 How different from the great, staring, wooden 
 caravansaries of the United States generally! 
 Their sole redeeming point is that they often 
 burn down. But the Ponce de Leon cannot 
 burn down. It is almost a monolith. Its walls 
 are solid rock. 
 
 I wish I could speak as highly of the running 
 of these Florida hotels as of their architecture. 
 But I can not. They are expensive and preten- 
 tious. The servants are ignorant negroes. The 
 service is inefficient. The food is often not good, 
 and when it is good it is badly cooked, and when 
 
 312 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 it is properly cooked it is served cold. The Ponce 
 de Leon used to advertise that its chef was "late 
 of the Brunswick and formerly of Delmonico's." 
 This was doubtless true. But were the immortal 
 Chef Joseph himself to cook at the Ponce, what 
 would it avail him if his most admirable flats were 
 served cold ? To dine at the Ponce means to sit 
 down in a gorgeous rotunda with a domed ceil- 
 ing ; to have beautiful mural decorations and 
 stained -glass windows confronting you ; to see 
 the Spanish- Mauresque plan of the architects 
 wrought out in a hundred cunning ways ; to read 
 punning Spanish proverbs in gilded Runic letters 
 upon ceiling and walls ; to see the coats of arms 
 of Ponce de Leon and other Spanish explorers 
 faithfully reproduced by skilled artificers ; to note 
 the escutcheons of ancient Spanish cities like To- 
 ledo and Valladolid interwoven with the mural 
 decorations ; to hear a fine stringed band discours- 
 ing sweet music for an hour — and to have cold 
 soup, cold fish, cold entrees, cold joint, and cold 
 vegetables brought to you upon cold plates by 
 a thick-skulled, prognathous-jawed African who 
 used to be a cotton-steamer roustabout. 
 
 I was surprised at the poor service in these fine 
 hotels. The people who go there are well-to-do 
 — necessarily so, as the prices are not low. Why 
 
 313 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 they should pay high prices for poor service by 
 clumsy negroes I can not comprehend. It does 
 not require a great intellect to be a waiter, but it 
 is too much for the African. 
 
 Why do the Northern people at these Flor- 
 ida hotels tolerate these wretched darkies ? The 
 race is unfit for any duty requiring attentiveness, 
 which is the chief requisite in a house-servant. On 
 the other hand, they are so fantastic, and so self- 
 conscious that they are continually posing and pea- 
 cocking for the benefit of the hotel guests and 
 themselves. There is always in the forefront of 
 the mob of waiters a head-waiter, who has all the 
 characteristics of a drum-major, without being 
 as useful. So vainglorious is the race that if you 
 request the head-waiter to have something done 
 he will imperatively order his assistant to do it, 
 who will order a waiter to do it, who will order a 
 waiter*s waiter to do it, who will order a scullion 
 to do it, who will probably leave it undone. 
 And all of these African freaks order one another 
 around in tones of command which would be 
 amusing to any one but a hungry man waiting 
 for his dinner. And in the midst of the crash 
 and clatter of plates, of heavily shod waiters' 
 hoofs upon the sounding floors, of crockery fall- 
 ing from waiters* bungling fingers, and of orders 
 
 314 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 yelled to the cooks from the closing kitchen-door, 
 there rises the sound of inter- African conversation. 
 As they meet they exchange scraps of gossip, 
 kitchen jests, reminiscences of the night before, 
 and the unfortunate guests must perforce eat their 
 dinners to an obligato of gabbling darkies — some- 
 times of squabbling darkies. And all this in 
 high-priced, pretentious hotels. Doctors say that 
 conversation at table aids digestion. But I greatly 
 prefer silence to Senegambian conversaziones. 
 
 The Florida hotels are dear and bad. They 
 are all on the tahle-d'hote plan, and all of the 
 large hotels have practically a minimum rate of 
 six dollars a day for room and board. This at 
 the Ponce gives you a small room without a 
 bath. For a small room with a bath they charge 
 the modest sum of ten dollars a day, and from 
 that up to fifteen and twenty dollars a day. It 
 is to the Ponce de Leon that the old jest can be 
 best applied. A visitor there ruefully remarked 
 that he had been sent to Florida for change and 
 rest, but the landlord got nearly all his change, 
 and the waiters got the rest. 
 
 At these hotels service and cookery are both 
 poor. Compare their rates with those prevailing 
 at similar resorts in some good foreign hotels. 
 Take a short-season summer hotel — the Schwei- 
 
 315 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 zerhof at Lucerne, for example. It is a handsome 
 building with lifts, electric-lighting, and all con- 
 veniences, an excellent restaurant, both table 
 d'hote and a la carte, and admirably kept. The 
 minimum rates there are about as follows: 
 
 Room 6 francs 
 
 Light 50 centimes 
 
 Bath . I franc 
 
 Attendance i franc 
 
 Breakfast 2 francs 
 
 Meat breakfast or dejeuner . 5 francs 
 
 Dinner 7 francs 
 
 Total 22 francs 50 centimes 
 
 This is about four dollars and twenty-seven 
 cents — say one-third less than the Florida hotels. 
 Take another: The leading hotel of San Remo, 
 a short-season winter resort, is the Hotel d'An- 
 gleterre. The minimum rates there are about 
 as follows: 
 
 Room 6 
 
 Bath I 
 
 Light % li 
 
 Attendance i li 
 
 Breakfast lyi 
 
 Meat breakfast or dejeuner 3/4 ^^ 
 
 Dinner 6 
 
 Total i()}4 1 
 
 316 
 
 re 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 This is about three dollars and sixty cents — a 
 little more than half the cost of the Florida 
 hotel. Or take another winter resort where the 
 season is shorter than at San Remo, or any point 
 on the Riviera. Let us select one in Egypt, 
 where living is universally admitted to be very 
 expensive. At Shepheard*s Hotel, in Cairo, the 
 minimum prices are about as follows: 
 
 Room . . . ; 40 piastres 
 
 Light 3 piastres 
 
 Bath 5 piastres 
 
 Breakfast 10 piastres 
 
 Luncheon 20 piastres 
 
 Dinner 30 piastres 
 
 Total 108 piastres 
 
 This is about five dollars and forty cents — 
 again less than the tariff of the Florida hotel. 
 Yet no one can deny that the Cairo hotels are 
 the most luxurious in the world. 
 
 I expressly refrain from comparing the rates at 
 these Florida hotels with those in large cities. 
 In small resorts like St. Augustine there is 
 merely a nominal charge for ground -rent or 
 interest on value of land. This item is a large 
 one in New York, Paris, and London. Hence 
 the comparisons are confined to similar resorts. 
 
 317 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Some years ago there appeared in Paris a very- 
 clever and amusing book by Edouard Laboulaye, 
 entitled " Paris en Amerique." Laboulaye was 
 one of the few French writers who knew his 
 America well. As a result, his book was bright 
 and witty, and free from those astounding blun- 
 ders with which the traveled Gaul usually span- 
 gles his pages. Laboulaye*s book is a whimsical 
 fantasy, and he touches upon but does not seri- 
 ously discuss France's sometime sovereignty on 
 this continent. How little trace her civilization 
 has left ! All of Canada once was French ; 
 French trappers and French missionaries ex- 
 plored around the Great Lakes what is now our 
 Middle-West; France owned the vast territory 
 which came to us from Bonaparte under the 
 name of the Louisiana Purchase. Yet of the 
 French occupancy scarcely a sign remains. A few 
 French names like Detroit, Des Moines, and 
 Terre Haute, so changed in pronunciation that 
 a Frenchman would not know them, are about 
 all that are left in the great Mississippi Valley. 
 Quebec is probably the most Gallic city on the 
 continent — you can find there cabmen who 
 speak no English — but Montreal is fast losing 
 the traces of its French ancestry. There are 
 French newspapers in Canada, it is true, but so 
 
 318 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 are there in New York; so are there in San 
 Francisco — at one time there were three ; and 
 so are there in New Orleans. 
 
 A recent visit to this latter city made patent to 
 my mind the evanescence of French civilization on 
 this continent. It is about ten years since I was 
 last in the Crescent City. Even in that time the 
 changes in the French quarter have been great. 
 Then French signs were over nearly all the shops. 
 The shop-keepers all spoke French, and some 
 few of them spoke no English. In the quarter, 
 French was spoken around you on every hand. 
 Now the French signs are in the minority, the 
 shop-keepers all speak English, and of the old 
 French quarter nothing remains but the smells. 
 
 New Orleans once was famous for its French 
 restaurants. Even these are changed. Ten years 
 ago there were several excellent ones. The two 
 leading ones were Moreau's, on Canal Street, and 
 Antoine's, in the French quarter. I still have a 
 tender recollection of certain repasts at Moreau^s 
 wherein figured Bayou Cook oysters, gumbo, 
 red-snapper, and canvasback, washed down with 
 wine, not of the country, but of the Golden Hill. 
 Alas, like the tender recollections of Miss Irene 
 McGillicuddy, these are but recollections now. 
 A colored fellow-citizen informed me, as I sought 
 
 3^9 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 for it on Canal Street, " Moreau has went out of 
 business, sah." 
 
 Moreau*s in its time was not unlike the San 
 Francisco restaurant known as Marchand's — the 
 old Marchand's, not the new. Moreau ^s was 
 very unpretentious in its service, its napery, its 
 china, glass, and silver — if it ever had any silver. 
 There were no carpets in the main dining-room ; 
 there was only sand upon the floor. But the 
 cookery was something to remember. So was it 
 with the old Marchand's. Marchand was once 
 chef at the old Union Club of San Francisco. 
 He left there to start a rotisserie — for in the olden, 
 golden days of San Francisco's French restau- 
 rants they were not mere restaurants, they were 
 r Otis series. No dark mysteries were concocted 
 in back kitchens. The recondite croquettes and 
 doubtful salmis which come up from the dank 
 cellar-kitchens of so many Paris restaurants were 
 unknown in the San Francisco rotisseries. The 
 kitchen of the rotisserie was in front, and you 
 passed through batteries of ranges, rows of 
 shining copper saucepans, and files of white- 
 capped cooks to reach your table. Upon the 
 ranges seethed and simmered delicious ragouts. 
 There was one plat in the old Marchand days 
 that took forty-eight hours to cook. It gently 
 
 320 
 
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 simmered in a stone jar at the back of the range, 
 and was served only twice a week. It was prob- 
 ably Tripes in the mode of Caen. But it may 
 have been another dish resembhng it, the sub- 
 stratum of which was calves' head melting in a 
 rich jelly — a dish peculiar to the Provencal 
 regions of France. 
 
 Speaking of that, in one of the old San Fran- 
 cisco French restaurants there used to be a chef 
 who was a genuine Marseillais, who hailed from 
 the Cannebiere, and who cooked a bouillabaisse 
 which made salt tears from the eyes of expatri- 
 ated Gascons fall into their soup-plates. 
 
 But I digress. Passing through the rows of 
 shining copper saucepans and shining copper- 
 nosed cooks, one passed also the roti^ for at the 
 rotisseries they used to roast. Before open fires 
 on spits there slowly revolved sirloins of beef, 
 saddles of mutton, browning turkeys, celery-fed 
 canvasbacks. Now the noble art of roasting is 
 gone, and baked meats indifferently furnish forth 
 our tables. 
 
 To the epicure there is a vast difference be- 
 tween the savor of meat and game which has 
 been roasted and that which has been baked. In 
 the old Union Club of San Francisco after the 
 spit had ceased to turn, the writer once made this 
 
 V 321 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 assertion, and it was questioned. A dinner was 
 wagered, and to settle the matter a dozen ducks 
 were served, six cooked on a spit and six cooked 
 in an oven. The doubters admitted at once the 
 superiority of roasting to baking. Probably it 
 was the last time that the spit revolved in the 
 Union Club kitchen. 
 
 But to return to New Orleans and its changes. 
 Ten years ago there were two leading hotels 
 there — the St. Charles and the Hotel Royal. 
 The St. Charles was then in an old public build- 
 ing, with a gigantic marble colonnade extending 
 along its front. The story ran that it was once 
 a slave market. But that is a familiar story in 
 the South. The St. Charles in those days was 
 as uncomfortable as a hotel in an old public 
 building could be. The new St. Charles is a 
 handsome seven-story brick building, with all the 
 modern hotel conveniences, with the exception 
 of food well cooked and served. The cuisine is 
 not distinctly bad, but neither is it distinctly 
 good. It is just the regulation hotel fare. No 
 trace of the old French cookery for which New 
 Orleans was once renowned is to be found at the 
 St. Charles. Perhaps it never was to be found 
 there. 
 
 Ten years ago the Hotel Royal was a rival of 
 322 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 the St. Charles. Now, apparently, it is closed — 
 or I heard nothing of it. I was once surprised 
 to find in the Hotel Royal an elaborately fres- 
 coed ceiling, said to be from the brush of 
 Canova, the Italian sculptor, executed in the 
 early part of the present century. It seems odd 
 that Canova should have been forced to decorate 
 hotel ceilings for a livelihood — the famous 
 Canova who modeled the recumbent Venus in 
 the Borghese Palace at Rome, for which nude 
 study the beautiful Pauline Bonaparte posed. 
 It is related that an acid dowager, on seeing 
 the lovely marble, prinlly remarked to the prin- 
 cess : " Your highness, how could you ever have 
 posed in that condition ? " " Why not ? " asked 
 Pauline, in surprise; "there was a fire in the 
 room." 
 
 Not far from the Hotel Royal, in the French 
 quarter, stood Antoine's. Ten years ago it was 
 an excellent French restaurant. There was no 
 style about it, it is true — the table service was 
 coarse, but clean, and the floor, like Moreau's, 
 was sanded. But the food was excellent. There 
 was a most appetizing mixture of French with 
 what I may call "Creole cookery," for lack of a 
 better phrase — various kinds of gumbos unknown 
 in the colder climes of the North, where we have 
 
 323 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 only a base mucilaginous imitation known as 
 " chicken gumbo." 
 
 Let not the term "Creole" be misunderstood. 
 Many people fancy that the word has something 
 to do with negro blood. Error. " Creole " 
 comes from the Spanish word Criolla^ "child." 
 The Creoles claim descent from the children of 
 the original French and Spanish colonists. It is 
 true that there were so-called "Creole negroes," 
 but they were slaves of the old Creole families, 
 and the epithet was used in the same sense as 
 " Creole chickens," "Creole coffee," or "Creole 
 cookery." 
 
 But the glory has departed from Antoine's. 
 It is a fairly good restaurant — things are not 
 bad — but its cookery has lost its distinctive 
 flavor. There is no longer anything Gallic 
 about it. It is just like any other restaurant. 
 
 Other French restaurants in New Orleans make 
 pretensions to being first-class, but they are base- 
 less. Cookery and service are both bad. They 
 would not rank in San Francisco with the third- 
 class gargotes found in the Latin quarter, which 
 give a dinner of six courses, wine included, for 
 twenty-five cents. At most of them, things are 
 cold, flabby, sloppy — sloppy, flabby, and cold. 
 In fact, everything is cold but the ice. 
 
 324 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 It is a curious fact that in New Orleans the 
 prices have apparently risen as the cookery has 
 deteriorated. In the Crescent City restaurants 
 prices are nearly up to the New York level, 
 while the cookery and the service are infinitely 
 inferior. 
 
 The San Francisco French restaurants have 
 also greatly changed in the course of years. At 
 one time there were half a dozen first-class res- 
 taurants or rotisseries there, where an excellent 
 meal was served with a pint of red wine for a 
 dollar and a quarter. This would include a 
 choice of several clear and thick soups ; a choice 
 of any fish in the market except pompano — and 
 even that before it became scarce ; a choice of 
 several entrees, including chicken in various 
 styles ; a choice of roasts and game, including 
 mallard, widgeon, or teal duck in the season, and 
 even canvasback before it became so high-priced; 
 a choice of two vegetables ; an entremets^ such as 
 an omelette au comfiture; dessert, fruit, cheese, 
 biscuits, etc., and black coffee — all for a dollar 
 and a quarter. Such a meal as this in New York 
 would cost five times as much — though, of 
 course, with much better service. There were 
 cheaper French restaurants where a more modest 
 meal was served for fifty cents with a pint of 
 
 325 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 wine. But how the first-class restaurants could 
 serve such a meal as they did for such a price 
 was a marvel. There was nothing like it any- 
 where. Italy is a cheap country, but even in 
 Italy a good tahle-d^hote dinner will cost you five 
 lire — about a dollar — without wine. 
 
 Occasionally excellent wines were to be found 
 in some of the old French restaurants of San 
 Francisco. There was no particular ostentation 
 about it. Sometimes the proprietors would pick 
 up a small lot of Burgundy or Bordeaux from 
 some out-of-the-way place. For example, there 
 was once a large consignment of Bordeaux in 
 cases shipped to a wine merchant in San Fran- 
 cisco. The bottles had square glass stoppers 
 instead of corks. This was the idea of some 
 smart person in the Medoc district. But his 
 scheme was a failure. Only one stopper-key 
 came with each case. If you lost the key you 
 lost the case, because you could not open the 
 bottles except with a hatchet. The result was 
 that no dealers bought the wine. It remained 
 for years unsalable on the hands of the importers. 
 Finally a prudent French restaurant man bought 
 a little of it as an experiment, and some prudent 
 customers of his having tasted it — it was nec- 
 tar—immediately went off and bought all the 
 . 326 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 rest Tradition tells us that when Banker Pioche, 
 of the famous pioneer firm of Pioche, Bayerque 
 & Co., died, he left a choice cellar. One of the 
 minor San Francisco restaurants bought up most 
 of the dead gourmet's choice wines, and did a 
 thriving business — until the wine was gone, when 
 trade fell off. 
 
 For years there has been a grand vin on sale 
 in one of the San Francisco French restaurants 
 without any flourish of trumpets. There hap- 
 pened to be a party dining there one evening. 
 The conversation turned on the dreadful rubbish 
 that is sold in this country as French grands vins. 
 For example, you can buy what purports to be a 
 bottle of Chateau-Lafite in almost any Ameri- 
 can hotel. Yet for many years there was not a 
 bottle of Lafite in trade channels. The Roths- 
 childs, who own the vineyard, used its output in 
 making presents to prince-consorts, prime min- 
 isters, and gentlemen-ushers of the back stairs. 
 It lubricated the ways for launching government 
 loans. And then the Rothschilds drank a good 
 deal of it themselves. The family is large and 
 thirsty, and apparently can afford to drink costly 
 wines. 
 
 One of the guests remarked that Chateau- 
 Margaux was also difficult to obtain with its title 
 
 327 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 clear. Another guest said that the Vicomte 
 Aguado, owner of the Margaux vineyard, had 
 been in the same regiment with him in the 
 French army, and that he would ask Aguado to 
 ship small consignments of the wine direct from 
 the vineyard to this restaurant. So said, so done. 
 Aguado complied. The wine used to be sold 
 there at five dollars the quart. Doubtless many 
 a bookmaker, drinking his noisy pint of cham- 
 pagne with all its pomp and circumstance of 
 effervescence, cracked ice, and wine-cooler, looked 
 with ill-concealed disdain on the quiet persons 
 near him drinking "red ink" out of a bottle 
 without any label. For the Margaux bottles 
 bore no ticket, and were marked only by the 
 arms of Aguado sealed upon the cork. 
 
 The leading French restaurants of San Fran- 
 cisco are now much better housed than they were 
 ten years ago. But while their equipments and 
 appointments are superior, their cuisine has not 
 improved. Like that of New Orleans, it has 
 deteriorated. At one time the French restaurants 
 of San Francisco and New Orleans were famous 
 throughout the United States for their cookery. 
 But now they have taken second place, and are 
 surpassed by some club and hotel restaurants. 
 
 328 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 To those who know Washington as it was years 
 ago, it must seem extraordinary how the old hotels 
 ever could have accommodated the crowds. Even 
 in the last ten or twelve years numerous modern 
 hotels have been erected — lofty and spacious 
 buildings like the Shoreham, the Raleigh, and 
 others. I do not suppose the population of 
 Washington has increased more than thirty per 
 cent, since 'Grover Cleveland's first term, but the 
 hotels — of all kinds — have increased about a 
 hundred per cent., and yet in the season they all 
 seem to be full. In December, when Congress 
 is in session, it is difficult to get even an inferior 
 room at any of the leading hotels, and people are 
 turned away. 1 
 
 In the old days people went to ancient hotels 
 like the Ebbitt, the Arlington,/ and others of that 
 ilk ; they ate dinner in the/middle of the day, 
 and supper in the evening ; they partook uncom- 
 plainingly of poor food badly cooked and served 
 on the American plan. The one oasis in the 
 desert of Washington's bad cookery was John 
 Chamberlin's. There you could get something 
 decent to eat, although the charges were not mod- 
 erate. I still remember an immodest bill for a 
 very modest breakfast there : 
 
 329 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Boiled salt mackerel One dollar 
 
 Cup of coffee Thirty cents 
 
 Pot of cream Ten cents 
 
 Baked potato Ten cents 
 
 I stood all the rest, but my gorge rose at the 
 price of the potato. I protested, and the negro 
 head-waiter at once reduced the charge. Cham- 
 berlin must have had a sliding scale. I never 
 saw any prices on the bill of fare there then. 
 In that respect it was like those swell cafes in 
 Paris, such as the Lion d'Or, where it is consid- 
 ered unseemly to put prices on the bill, and 
 vulgar for the guests to ask them. However, 
 Chamberlin*s was very good, even if it was high- 
 priced. The difference between it and some of 
 the modern Washington hotels is that they are 
 high-priced and not good. 
 
 The restaurants of Washington are also poor. 
 But that is inevitable where the servants are 
 negroes. The Southern tradition of the " ole 
 mammy" and the " ole uncle " dies hard. If 
 you follow up the " ole mammy cook " through 
 the South, you never find her. She is like the 
 place where the meteor fell — always in the next 
 county. 
 
 It is true that there are white cooks and wait- 
 ers in Washington — plenty of them. But the 
 
 330 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 slipshod traditions and methods of negro service 
 have affected them. The trail of the African 
 is over them all. I confess freely that I do not 
 like the "ole mammy" zone of the United States 
 from a gastronomic point of view. 
 
 In the older Washington hotels I have seen 
 strangers appearing in the dining-room at seven 
 o'clock, in conventional dinner dress, seating 
 themselves with unaffected wonder at tables cov- 
 ered with red damask, and gazing in amazement 
 at the curious viands which used to make up a 
 Washington supper — among them hot biscuits 
 and preserves. 
 
 In Paris many of the restaurants are stuffy and 
 unventilated, and all of the kitchens are in the 
 cellar. In London the restaurants are even 
 stuffier and less ventilated, and in many of them 
 the restaurant itself is in the cellar, as well as the 
 kitchen. But in London several of the most 
 popular play-houses are far below the level of the 
 street. The new grill-room of the Grand Hotel 
 is down in the cellar. It is not one of the most 
 luxurious of London eating-houses, but it is a 
 much frequented place in the heart of the West 
 End. Few of the restaurants of London, by the 
 
 331 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 way, compare with those of New York and Paris. 
 In fact, I may say none. The restaurants of the 
 Hotel Cecil and Hotel Savoy are only fair. The 
 Berkeley, which was a rather good restaurant some 
 years ago, is now fashionable and bad ; they give 
 you a great deal of silverware, brass candelabra, 
 wax candles with pink petticoats on them, and 
 very poor food. Probably the best restaurant in 
 London is the one called the "Prince's Restau- 
 rant." It is admirably appointed, and richly 
 furnished in a dark style like the old Delmonico's. 
 One side and one end look out on a pretty gar- 
 den ; there are potted plants ranged round the 
 room, and there is a gallery at one end for musi- 
 cians. It has an excellent maitre d'hotely and 
 good waiters, but the food is mediocre. That 
 seems to be the trouble with London restaurants. 
 What they lack reminds one of that old story of 
 Texas. A native was praising that State to Gen- 
 eral Sherman, who did not think much of it. 
 "But," said the Texan, "all that Texas lacks is 
 water and good society." " Yes," replied Gen- 
 eral Sherman, "that is all hell lacks." All that 
 the London restaurants lack is good food, good 
 cookery, and good service to be first-class. 
 
 Prince's restaurant, however, is one of the few 
 places in London where one can be well served. 
 
 332 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 The waiters are excellent. The mattre d' hotel 
 speaks to them in German, they reply in French, 
 and converse with one another in Italian. From 
 this I infer that they are Swiss, and probably came 
 from the Canton of Ticino. The late George 
 Augustus Sala some years ago told an anecdote 
 at a dinner given to him by the Bohemian Club 
 of San Francisco. Talking of polyglot people, 
 Sala said that he once fell into conversation with 
 a gentleman in a Russian railway carriage. The 
 stranger spoke Russian with a German accent; 
 so Sala changed to German. The stranger's 
 German had a French accent; so Sala changed 
 to French. The stranger's French, like that of 
 Chaucer's Abbess, had such a strong English 
 accent, that Sala began talking English. The 
 stranger's English was tinged with a strong Irish 
 brogue. Sala's vis-a-vis turned out to be an 
 Irishman. The story was not new when Sala 
 told it, and had been told by another writer as 
 having happened to his hero. But probably Sala 
 had told it so often that he had come to believe 
 it had happened to him. 
 
 The London hotels, unlike those in New York, 
 make no provision for hot weather. In mid- 
 summer they are like ovens. The Cecil is on 
 the Thames Embankment; it runs through to 
 
 333 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the Strand ; it has a large court-yard ; the Em- 
 bankment Gardens are at its river portal.; from 
 its windows there are magnificent views ; one sees 
 Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, 
 St. PauFs Cathedral, St. Martin's in the Fields, 
 Westminster, Waterloo, London, and the Tower 
 Bridges, the Tower, Lambeth Palace, and the 
 whole sweep of the Surrey side of the river. But 
 despite its admirable site, its arrangements for 
 comfort during the heated term are rudimentary. 
 The ends of the passages, hallways, and corridors, 
 instead of being open to the outer air, are stopped 
 up with servants' rooms, housemaids' closets, 
 and such offices, so that there is no ventilation. 
 In the interior of the .great building the air is 
 stagnant and stifling. Compare this with the 
 airy, well-ventilated condition of the great hotels 
 in New York. Yet the Cecil is one of the newest 
 hotels in London. It claims to be the most 
 luxurious there. Claridge's, however, is more 
 fashionable and higher-priced. 
 
 If the atmospheric conditions are so bad in 
 these new London hotels, what must they be in 
 the old ones ? For there are a number of ante- 
 diluvian hotels in London in such aristocratic 
 quarters as Jermyn, Dover, and Albemarle 
 Streets. They are most of them like Brown's 
 
 334 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 Hotel — old dwelling-houses remodeled. They 
 are venerable rattletraps, sometimes consisting of 
 two or three houses, with the floors on different 
 levels, and with holes cut through the walls for 
 doors. There are no lobbies, no offices, no 
 waiting-rooms, no reception-rooms, no billiard- 
 rooms — nothing except narrow passageways, 
 through which flit flabby-faced lackeys, clad in 
 shabby evening - suits. These estabhshments 
 have brought discomfort to its highest point. 
 They are frequented by country gentlemen, 
 ruddy-faced squires, who go there because their 
 grandfathers did, and know of no other hotels. 
 Some of our deluded American anglomaniacs go 
 there because they think it is swell. The act 
 carries its own punishment. 
 
 Here is a trifle showing the ways of a first- 
 class hotel in London. At the Cecil, one swel- 
 tering midsummer afternoon, I ordered a glass 
 of iced milk ; when brought I found that it was 
 sour, and told the waiter so. 
 
 " Very sorry, sir," replied the waiter, apologet- 
 ically, "but the milk is all that way. Several 
 other gentlemen 'ave complained already, sir. 
 You 'ad better take 'ot milk, sir." 
 
 "Hot milk," I cried — "hot milk on a day 
 like this?" 
 
 335 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 "The *ot milk," replied the waiter, "'ave been 
 a-settin' on the fire all day, sir, and 'ave not 'ad 
 a chance to sour, sir." 
 
 So economical was this hotel of its ice, that 
 the insufficient milk supply had to be kept on 
 the fire to prevent it from turning sour ! 
 
 The London idea of ice is peculiar. In some 
 of the tea-rooms and places of that description, 
 if you want a drink of ice-water, they charge 
 you three half-pence for the ice. Their economy 
 in ice does not extend merely to milk. Several 
 times I had meat served to me in the condition 
 which some people call "high," and which I call 
 " tainted." But I have never been able to feed 
 on the lower animals after they have begun turn- 
 ing into ptomaines. 
 
 Talking of meat, it is difficult to get good 
 beef in the London restaurants. What an 
 American calls a good steak it is impossible to 
 procure, and the roast beef is far inferior to ours. 
 Doubtless some may think me presumptuous 
 in saying there is better beef anywhere than the 
 "roast beef of Old England." Not so. The "roast 
 beef of Old England" is a myth — a fairy tale. 
 As Sir Boyle Roche might say, " They have n't 
 any there, and what they have is bad." 
 
 There is a famous eating-house in London — 
 336 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 Simpson's in the Strand — whither anglomaniac 
 Americans repair for beef. It is a not very clean 
 place, divided into boxes like horse-stalls, in 
 front of which hang dingy curtains. Upon the 
 tables are table-cloths, with maps of Europe in 
 cold gravy, and large leathern bills of fare fre-^ 
 quently smeared with butter. You seat yourself 
 in one of these horse-stalls, rap on the table, 
 and a grimy waiter asks " What will you please 
 to *ave, sir ? " The awe-stricken American re- 
 plies in hushed tones that he will have some of 
 the " roast beef of Old England." The grimy 
 waiter howls something, and a rumbling is heard. 
 Propelled through the place comes a table on 
 wheels, which stops at the entrance to your horse- 
 stall. Upon it is a large and mangled rib-roast 
 of beef in a covered chafing-dish. It may have 
 been originally roasted, but has simmered long. 
 It is not inviting. Behind it stands a person in 
 a dirty white cap and a dirtier white apron, who 
 lifts the cover, hews off two slabs, dishes you 
 some of the sediment, and rolls his beef sar- 
 cophagus away. This is the roast beef of Old 
 England as served at Simpson's in the Strand. 
 
 It is only fair to add that there are other choice 
 viands at Simpson's. You can also obtain there 
 boiled turbot, with the only English sauce, 
 w 337 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 melted butter ; boiled beef, with vegetables ; 
 boiled salt beef; and boiled leg of mutton. All 
 these delicacies are trundled about on tables bear- 
 ing chafing-dishes, and when the lids are lifted — 
 which they often are — a rich and mingled per- 
 fume of roast beef, boiled beef, boiled mutton, 
 and boiled fish permeates the air. It is much 
 like the odors which rise from the basement of a 
 cheap boarding-house on corned-beef day. 
 
 From these guarded remarks it is evident that 
 I do not like the roast beef of Old England, as 
 served at Simpson's — nor, for that matter, any- 
 where else in London. I look upon that great 
 city as a gastronomic Sahara. There are only 
 two or three oases in it. One is Prince's restau- 
 rant. Another is the Cafe Royal, a pretentious 
 restaurant, but only fairly good. 
 
 It would be impossible to write of the Paris 
 hotels, restaurants, and cafes in a few pages. It 
 would take volumes. There is every kind of 
 hotel there, from the modest third-rate houses on 
 back streets to the palaces on the grand boule- 
 vard or the Champs-Elysees. There are restau- 
 rants where you can dine for ten cents, and there 
 are restaurants where they charge you ten cents 
 
 338 
 
OF EATING Ai^ID DRINKING 
 
 to sit down; that is the first item on your bill, 
 and the only moderate one. There are restau- 
 rants where the bills of fare are priceless, and in 
 which you never know what you are going to 
 pay. There are the cheap "bouillons," where there 
 are dishes from two cents up, served in such 
 microscopic portions that you eat some seven or 
 eight courses, pay about a dollar and a half, and 
 go away hungry. There are table -d'hote res- 
 taurants at fixed prices, where you can gorge like 
 Gargantua for about fifty cents. There are cafes 
 where you can get a cup of good black coffee 
 for five cents, served by an attentive waiter who 
 is grateful for a one-cent tip; and there are cafes 
 in the Bois where you can get a cup of bad 
 black coffee for twenty-five cents, served to you 
 by an insolent rascal who looks superciliously at 
 a ten-cent tip. 
 
 The leading Paris restaurants are probably as 
 perfect as they can be in cookery, appointments, 
 and service. Their prices are very high, and are 
 not always fixed. They are interesting places to 
 visit occasionally, as one sees there the lions of 
 the "tout Paris** — the latest Anonyma, the 
 latest fortunate youth who is spending his own 
 or his wife's millions, the latest duelist who has 
 just pinked his, man, the king who is visiting 
 
 339 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Paris incognito, the lady who is with the king, 
 and who is visiting Paris incognita. But for a 
 steady diet, and having a decent regard for one's 
 purse, digestion, and morals, there are better 
 ordinaries to frequent than the "grand restau- 
 rants" of Paris. 
 
 Hotels and hotel managers are continually 
 changing in Europe. A year-old guide-book is 
 often out of date. Furthermore, prices in Europe 
 seem to be slowly on the up grade. In 1895 
 the Quirinale Hotel in Rome charged five francs 
 for their table-d'hote dinner; they charged in 
 1900, six. 
 
 The table d'hote is not an ideal system. It 
 endeavors to give the number and variety of 
 dishes which will please the greatest number and 
 variety of people at a fixed price and at a fixed 
 hour. There is nearly always beef or mutton 
 on the bill, and nearly always fowl, so that if you 
 do not care for made dishes and sweets you can 
 at least make out a dinner. If you do care for 
 made dishes and sweets you will find a plenty at 
 the table d'hote. But you must be on time. 
 They will not serve you the table d 'hote at the 
 fixed price after the fixed hour. In some places 
 
 340 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 they charge an extra franc if you are fifteen 
 minutes late. This marvelously stimulates the 
 punctuality of the guests. It is highly amusing 
 to watch a crowd of well-dressed people sprinting 
 for the table d'hote at fourteen minutes past 
 seven in order to save a franc. In other places 
 they charge a-la-carte prices for the table d^hote 
 served fifteen minutes past the hour. By the 
 carte the six-franc dinner costs about sixteen 
 francs, which produces a dull, heavy feeling un- 
 favorable to perfect digestion. 
 
 The "American plan" is to serve a fixed-price 
 dinner, but not at a fixed hour. The result is 
 distressing. A dinner ready at six is served at 
 any time up to eight. No dinner could stand 
 this test — not even the best. If the American 
 dinner is good at six o'clock, it is bad at half-past 
 six, and at seven it is awful. It is odd that the 
 American people, with their strong good sense, 
 should not see and remedy this cardinal error in 
 their hotel service. In a good European hotel a 
 good table - d'hote dinner is served cheaply, 
 promptly, and well. Everything is hot, there is 
 an abundance, there is a variety, the cookery is 
 good, and the waiters serve swiftly and noise- 
 lessly. As a rule, it takes about an hour to 
 serve a dinner of seven or eight courses ; then, 
 
 341 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 if the guests desire to dawdle after their dinner, 
 there are "winter gardens," smoking-rooms, etc, 
 provided, where they can take their after-dinner 
 coffee and spend as much time as they please. 
 
 I do not by any means consider the tahle- 
 d'hote dinner an ideal one. But the European 
 plan is at least an attempt to serve it at its best. 
 The American plan is an attempt to serve it at 
 its worst — and a successful one. Personally, I 
 think the ideal way to dine is to order your own 
 dinner, select the dishes, the manner of cooking, 
 and the hour at which it shall be served. But 
 both in American and European hotels this 
 method is expensive. It is no cheaper in Europe 
 than in America, and in some places it is dearer. 
 
 The horrors of undesirable propinquity at 
 European tables d'hote^ the neighborhood of 
 hairy Germans who comb their whiskers at table, 
 the facing of garlicky Latins surrounded by an 
 aureola of breath, the affliction of sallow Italian 
 tenors who warble operatic airs between the 
 courses — all these may be avoided by having the 
 table -d^ hot e dinner served at a separate table. 
 This you can generally have done for an extra 
 charge of about a franc per person. Thus you 
 not only* avoid disagreeable neighbors, but you 
 also get the first hack at the dishes. This privi- 
 
 342 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 lege is especially dear to the veteran table-cThote 
 habitue; with an automatic, shuttle-like move- 
 ment he can help himself to all of the white meat 
 on a dish of fowl, and leave nothing for the 
 others but drumsticks and backbones. 
 
 At Naples there is a new establishment, the 
 Hotel de Londres — an excellent one, by the 
 way — where they serve the table-d'hote meal at 
 separate tables without extra charge. At that 
 hotel the charge for dinner was four and a half 
 lire — about eighty-three cents. Here is a speci- 
 men bill of fare : 
 
 Fusaro oysters on the shell. 
 
 Consomme Savoy. 
 
 Mullet, Hollandaise sauce, new potatoes. 
 
 Roast beef, garni (with garniture of vegetables). 
 
 Sweetbreads a la Milanaise. 
 
 Artichokes, Parmesan. 
 Young turkey, a la Broche. 
 
 Salad. 
 
 Ice Cream, Neapolitaine. 
 
 Plum cake. 
 
 Assorted cakes and sweet biscuits. 
 
 Oranges, apples, pears, figs, dates, nuts, and raisins. 
 
 Contrasted with this is a specimen six-franc 
 dinner ; that of the Hotel Quirinale at Rome. 
 The Quirinale is a first-class hotel, one of the 
 
 343 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 best in Rome. It has a large and handsome 
 tahle-d^ hote dining-room, in a gallery of which 
 an orchestra plays through the dinner hour. 
 The Quirinale has an excellent restaurant, which 
 is not cheap. There is also a large "winter 
 garden," smoking-rooms, reading-rooms, billiard- 
 room, and writing -rooms for the guests. The 
 table -d^hote dinner served here costs six lire — 
 about one dollar and eleven cents — and this is 
 a specimen bill of fare : 
 
 Consomme a la royale. 
 
 Boiled turbot, sauce Hollandaise, pommes duchesse. 
 
 Chicken saute, a la Marengo, cooked with small ecrevisses. 
 
 Spinach with ham. 
 
 Roast beef, garnished with vegetables. 
 
 Young duck, a la Perigord. 
 
 Salade. 
 
 Ice-cream, Pistache. 
 
 Sponge cake. 
 
 Oranges, apples, pears, figs, raisins, dates, nuts, and 
 
 assorted cakes and sweet biscuits. 
 
 The foregoing is a six-franc dinner in a first- 
 class Roman hotel. But Rome is a much cheaper 
 city than the other capitals — Vienna, Paris, Ber- 
 lin, or London. The rates in the smaller Roman 
 hotels are lower than these, and in the smaller 
 Italian cities lower than those of Rome. 
 
 344 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 The Roman cafe-rest3Mra.nts are cheaper than 
 the hotel-restaurants frequented by English and 
 Americans. There are three kinds of them. At 
 the ristorantes meals are served at all hours to 
 order, generally with a fixed-price dinner and 
 luncheon also. At the caffes wines, liqueurs, 
 malt liquors, tea, coffee, milk, and chocolate are 
 served, together with simple cold luncheons, such 
 as ham, cold chicken, sandwiches, boiled eggs; 
 this they call the buffet-freddoy or cold buffet. A 
 third class is the pasticheria or gelatteria^ where 
 pastry and ices (gelatti) are served, together with 
 tea, coffee, chocolate, and frequently wines, cor- 
 dials, and liqueurs (the Italians drink almost no 
 ardent liquor). These establishments shade off 
 gradually into one another, and it is hard to tell 
 where a restaurant leaves off and a cafe" begins. 
 
 Of the first, or restaurant grade, the best are: 
 in Rome, the Caffe Roma; in Naples, the Caffe 
 Gambrinus; in Genoa, the Caffe Milano; in 
 Florence, the Caffe Doney. The Gambrinus, in 
 Naples, is situated on the corner of the Chiaia 
 and the Piazza San Ferdinando, the very heart of 
 the city; one may dine there very pleasantly in 
 the windows looking out upon the fine carriage 
 parade — for the Neapolitans drive until dark 
 and dine late. 
 
 345 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 In Rome the CafFe Roma Is on the Largo al 
 Corso, next to the Church of San Carlo — also 
 in the heart of the city. The cafes I have men- 
 tioned in Genoa and Florence are also on the 
 leading streets. A sample bill from one will give 
 the average prices of all. Here is a tahle-d' hote 
 luncheon at the CafFe Roma: 
 
 Antipasto, or hors-d'oeuvres, including sardines, sliced 
 mortadella sausage, cold ham, radishes, and butter. 
 
 Macaroni, omelette, or risotto. 
 
 A choice of several plati d'l ^/^r«(?, such as veal cutlets, 
 chops, steaks, chicken saute, etc., garnished with vege- 
 tables. 
 
 Cheese, gorgonzola and gruyere. 
 
 Oranges, apples, pears, figs, dates, nuts, coffee. 
 
 For this luncheon, served at the best restau- 
 rant in Rome, the price is three and a half lire, 
 or about sixty-four cents. A specimen luncheon, 
 ordered a la carte at the same place, is as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 Lire Centeiimi 
 
 Consomme with an egg 75 
 
 Tenderloin steak i 5° 
 
 Half a chicken i 50 
 
 Risotto 50 
 
 Coffee 50 
 
 Total , , . . 4 25 
 
 346 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 Or about seventy-eight cents. These are the 
 prices in the best restaurants in Rome — that is, 
 not including hotel restaurants. 
 
 Another typical establishment is the Caffe Na- 
 zionale in the Corso in Rome, always called the 
 CafFe Aragno, from the name of the proprietor. 
 This is a large and handsomely fitted up estab- 
 lishment — more of a cafe than a restaurant. It 
 is on the wide part of the Corso, near the Piazza 
 Colonna, and therefore has some sidewalk space 
 for tables and chairs. From midday to midnight 
 these outdoor tables are crowded — as for that 
 matter, so is the interior of the spacious cafe'. 
 While a majority of its patrons are men, prob- 
 ably one-fourth are women, particularly at the 
 afternoon tea hour. But at almost any hour the 
 Aragno is filled with a polyglot throng watching 
 the brilliant equipages roll by on the Corso. 
 
 The men drink principally vermouth, cordials, 
 and sugared water. The Italian women drink 
 what their husbands do. The German women 
 drink Vienna and Munich beer. The American 
 and English women drink tea. The women go 
 to the bufiFet and pick out their own pastry and 
 sweets, of which there is an infinite variety. It is 
 rather amusing to see an American woman " sam- 
 pling'* a variety of sweets, finally selecting those 
 
 347 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 she wants, preparing to pay her bill, and finding 
 that the polite clerk has charged her two cents 
 for every "sample." It vastly disgusts her. But 
 after she has been abroad a while she gets used to 
 it. If in Europe you get anything for nothing, 
 I don't know what it is. 
 
 The prices of the CafF^ Aragno, taken from its 
 very extensive list, may prove interesting. Here 
 are some selections with prices in American money : 
 
 CAFFETERIA ^cnts 
 
 Coffee 05 
 
 Coffee with milk 07 
 
 Coffee with an egg 08 
 
 Coffee with bread 10 
 
 Chocolate plain 10 
 
 Chocolate made with milk 08 
 
 Tea plain 10 
 
 Tea with milk 12 
 
 Tea with bread 15 
 
 Cup of hot milk 06 
 
 Butter 04 
 
 Cream 02 
 
 Vienna roll 01 
 
 BUFFET 
 
 Cold ham 12 
 
 Small meat patty 06 
 
 Sandwiches 03 
 
 348 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 Cold roast beef 20 
 
 Cold roast veal 20 
 
 Two eggs cooked with butter lo 
 
 Two boiled eggs 08 
 
 French sardines 10 
 
 Assorted fruit 10 
 
 Cheese 06 
 
 Dried fruit 08 
 
 ICES 
 
 Ice-cream, whole portion 12 
 
 Ice-cream, half portion 06 
 
 Water-ice (granita)^ different flavors, 
 
 whole portion 08 
 
 Water-ice, half portion 05 
 
 With about twenty other ices, water-ices, 
 and combinations of syrups for which there 
 are no English equivalents. 
 
 WINES 
 
 Madeira, per glass 08 
 
 Medoc, per glass 06 
 
 Marsala, per glass 05 
 
 Old Chianti, per glass 06 
 
 French champagne, per glass 20 
 
 LIQUEURS 
 
 Vermouth, per glass 04 
 
 Anisette, per glass 05 
 
 Benedictine, per glass lO 
 
 349 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Absinthe, per glass 05 
 
 Chartreuse, per glass 12 
 
 Curasao, per glass 10 
 
 Kirschwasser, per glass 06 
 
 Hennessy cognac, per glass 16 
 
 Three-star M artel cognac, per glass ... 16 
 Punch, " Old mild Americano,*' per glass 20 
 
 With any of these beverages a glass of 
 seltzer or soda-water is served for an extra 
 charge of one cent. 
 
 This cafe'^ is largely frequented by strangers 
 as well as by the Romans, for one finds there 
 the leading journals of Italy, Austro-Hungary, 
 Germany, Spain, and Great Britain. There are 
 three English papers — the London Times ^ the 
 'Daily News, and the Illustrated Graphic, I saw 
 no American journals on file there. 
 
 The hotels of Cairo are among the best in 
 the world. Shepheard's, the Continental, the 
 New, the Ghizereh Palace, the Savoy, and Mena 
 House at the Pyramids are the leading ones. 
 They are run on both the European and Amer- 
 ican plan — en pension, as they call the latter over 
 there. They are large, handsome buildings, with 
 spacious corridors, and with luxuriously furnished 
 
 350 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 smoking, writing, reading, tea, and billiard rooms. 
 Gorgeous rugs from Persian and Arabian looms, 
 rich Oriental bronzes and brasses, elaborately 
 carved wooden Mushrabiyeh work — beautiful 
 objects like these surround you on every hand. 
 Even the bedroom floors and the staircases are 
 covered with Persian rugs. Through the richly 
 furnished corridors flit silent servants — white- 
 clad, turbaned, slippered, cringing Orientals, who 
 almost anticipate your every wish. But the ser- 
 vants are not all Orientals. The cooks are, of 
 course, Europeans, for the cuisine is French. The 
 table-waiters, the hall-waiters, and the chamber- 
 maids are also European. The service in these 
 hotels is excellent. So is the food, and so is 
 the cookery. 
 
 In addition to the elaborate table-d'hote meals, 
 most of the fashionable hotels have grill-rooms. 
 Here you may see pleasant little parties who do 
 not like the formality of the table d'hote^ although 
 the women all wear evening-gowns and the men 
 are also conventionally dressed. It is the formal- 
 ity of manner doubtless, rather than the formality 
 of dress, at the table d'hote to which they object, 
 for these handsomely gowned ladies do not scru- 
 ple to toss oflF a little glass of cognac and smoke 
 a cigarette after dinner in the grill-room. About 
 
 351 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 some of the parties at these Cairo hotels there 
 is a tinge of "sportiness." 
 
 The grill-room at Shepheard's is notable not 
 only for its "sporty** parties, but for its cookery. 
 It is excellent. Everything they set before you 
 is of the best. The hot plate there is not un- 
 known, as it is in so many hotels. And their 
 steaks and chops are super-excellent. You can 
 get at Shepheard*s grill an excellent porterhouse 
 steak — something, by the way, almost unknown 
 abroad. Even in England it is almost impossible 
 to get a porterhouse steak — they cut up the 
 beeves differently there. And Shepheard's rump 
 steaks are delicious. In fact, the beef there is the 
 finest I ever ate. Barring Cairo, the finest beef 
 I have found in the world has been in Chicago. 
 Chicago is the great beef center in the United 
 States, and the hotels there used to have the 
 choice of the choicest beef. Over thousands of 
 miles of Western pasture stolid steers plodded 
 and grazed ; the smartest steer got the best grass ; 
 the smartest buyer got the best steers ; the smartest 
 town had the best buyers ; the best beeves went 
 to Chicago ; and the best Chicago hotels got the 
 best beef of the best beeves. I still remember 
 the savory steaks and roast beef of the old 
 Richelieu there — now, alas, closed. 
 
 352 
 
OF EATING AND DRINKING 
 
 Not only is Shepheard^s grill-room excellent, 
 but its grill is a type of the whole hotel. The 
 first-class Cairo hotels all seem to be as good as 
 Shepheard*s. But all of them are high-priced. 
 Cairo is a very expensive city. 
 
 While I speak so highly of Shepheard's, I 
 may add that the EngHsh aristocracy and the 
 "smart set" seem very largely to have left it for 
 the Savoy/ the Continental, and the Ghizereh 
 Palace. This latter is across the Nile, some little 
 distance out of Cairo. It was a palace specially 
 arranged and decorated by the late Khedive Is- 
 mail to entertain his royal guest-s at the opening 
 of the Suez Canal, among them the Empress 
 Elizabeth of Austria, the Empress Eugenie of 
 France, and the Prince of Wales. 
 
 It is not surprising that so many of the Lon- 
 don smart set frequent Cairo. I think they go 
 there to get something to eat. The Cairo hotels 
 are much better than the best London hotels — 
 which, in my opinion, are poor. Even the newer 
 London hotels, like the Savoy and the Cecil, 
 have restaurants which are none too good. I 
 am aware that this will be considered heterodox, 
 but I stick to it, notwithstanding. I have eaten 
 some very bad dinners at the Savoy. I think 
 it was Talleyrand who left England declaring in 
 X 333 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 disgust that the English had forty religions and 
 only one sauce. 
 
 The taunt is true to-day. They still have only 
 one sauce — melted butter. But there may be a 
 few more religions now. 
 
 554 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 IT would be waste of space to tell of Oberam- 
 mergau. It has been so much written about 
 that little remains to tell. Every one has heard 
 or read descriptions of the village. Still, one 
 may perhaps indulge in comment on the play. 
 It lasts from eight o'clock in the morning till 
 five in the evening — a long play to sit through, 
 to write about, or to review. 
 
 Perhaps it would be well, in writing of Ober- 
 ammergau, to compile a list of what not to write 
 about — as, for example: 
 
 Of the origin of the Passion Play. 
 
 Of the history of the Passion Play. 
 
 Of the performers in the Passion Play. 
 
 Of the lives of the performers in the Passion 
 Play. 
 
 Of the village of Oberammergau. 
 
 Of its uninteresting whitewashed houses, with 
 their iron roofs. 
 
 355 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Of the enormous, ugly building, with iron 
 girders, like a railway station, which is the " new 
 theatre." 
 
 Of the crowded hotels at Munich and Inns- 
 bruck. 
 
 Of the carriage trip from Oberau to Oberam- 
 mergau. 
 
 Of the electric-tram trip between Murnau and 
 Oberammergau. 
 
 Of the new hotel, the Wittelsbacherhof, with its 
 uniformed porter and its brass-buttoned bell-boys. 
 
 Of the inns or beer-houses, with their tobacco- 
 reeking tap-rooms. 
 
 Of the crowded trains between Munich and 
 Oberammergau. 
 
 Of the people with first-class tickets who 
 were forced to travel third. 
 
 Of what they threatened to do about it. 
 
 Of what they did not do. 
 
 Of the German-speaking Americans who could 
 not understand the Ammergauers' German. 
 
 Of the " picturesque Tyrolean mountaineers " 
 whom some people saw in the streets. 
 
 Of the "funny-looking men with feathers in 
 their hats" whom some other people saw. 
 
 Of the fire-company marching through the 
 streets, headed by the Passion Play Brass Band. 
 
 356 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 Of the long procession of cows one saw filing 
 through the village every evening. 
 
 Of the shrines that line the roads around Ober- 
 ammergau. 
 
 Of the difficulty of getting seats to see the play. 
 
 Of the people who neglected to bring rugs and 
 wraps, and "simply froze." 
 
 Of the people who ate incessantly out of lunch- 
 baskets. 
 
 Of what queer things foreigners take out of 
 lunch-baskets. 
 
 Of the multiformity, mystery, and intricacy of 
 the German sausage. 
 
 Of how the cold hard-boiled egg makes the 
 whole world kin. 
 
 Of the queer effects produced by the chorus 
 when shouting scraps of Scripture. 
 
 Of their resemblance to some American college 
 yells. 
 
 Of the staring posters of the tourist agencies. 
 
 Of the people who came via Innsbruck and saw 
 the famous Maximilian tomb. 
 
 Of those who came the same way and did not 
 see it. 
 
 Of those who did not see it and said they 
 did not think much of the Maximilian tomb 
 anyway. 
 
 357 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Of the egotism of travelers who have seen 
 things that other travelers have not seen. 
 
 Of the travelers who say they have seen things 
 when they have not. 
 
 Of travelers' lies generally, and whether they 
 are white lies. 
 
 Of the long-haired Passion players one saw 
 walking about the streets. 
 
 Of the gaping tourist men who followed them. 
 
 Of the silly tourist women who ogled and flat- 
 tered the Passion players. 
 
 Of the silly Passion players who were spoiled 
 by the silly tourist women. 
 
 Of the pestiferous guides and touts for Munich 
 hotels. 
 
 Of the biograph machines and their crews 
 planted on commanding positions. 
 
 Of the wise tourist virgins who had their lamps 
 well filled, their lodgings secured, and who floated 
 around smiling. 
 
 Of the foolish tourist virgins who had neglected 
 to fill their lamps, who had a worried expression, 
 and who did n't know where they were going to 
 sleep. 
 
 Of the people who could not manage the Ger- 
 man feather-beds. 
 
 Of the fact that there were eleven thousand 
 358 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 American tourists booked in 1900 as against two 
 thousand English. 
 
 Of the probability that the Americans are more 
 pious than the English. 
 
 Of the possibility that they are only more 
 curious. 
 
 Of the people that one saw in the audience in 
 tears. 
 
 Of their' diversity in age, condition, and sex. 
 
 Of the weeping English tourists in noisy tweeds 
 and violent shirts. 
 
 Of the weeping German tourists who blew their 
 noses without the use of a handkerchief. 
 
 Of the American maidens who wept and chewed 
 gum synchronously. 
 
 Of the possible sympathetic connection be- 
 tween the salivary and lachrymal glands. 
 
 Of their probable non-relation, as ptyalin is 
 alkaline and tears saline. 
 
 Of suddenly waking up and looking at the 
 play again. 
 
 Of the people who "wondered whether the 
 crucifixion scene would be unpleasant." 
 
 Of the striking nature of the tableaux. 
 
 Of the inartistic effect of the actors' loud 
 shouting. 
 
 Of its necessity by reason of the open-air stage. 
 
 359 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Of the curiosity of the audience over the way 
 in which the blood gushed from the side of the 
 Crucified One. 
 
 Of the fact that it flowed out of the spear- 
 head. 
 
 Of the gratification of the audience in discov- 
 ering that fact. 
 
 Of their further discovery that the Christus 
 wore a steel corset under his flesh-colored tights. 
 
 Of the imitation cock which crowed over 
 Peter's denial of our Lord. 
 
 Of the genuine village cocks which cheerily 
 answered him. 
 
 Of the thieves who hung on the right and left 
 of the Lord. 
 
 Of their descent from the cross. 
 
 Of their dreadful death at the hands of a Ro- 
 man soldier by having their bones broken with 
 stufl^ed clubs. 
 
 Here is a specimen of the many queer tourists 
 who went to Oberammergau : I met in Munich a 
 man who had been recommended to the "Ho- 
 tel den zu Vier Jahreszeiten." He had the 
 name so written on a card. He had left his 
 hotel for a walk. He could not find it again. 
 
 360 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 He could not pronounce the name of his hotel. 
 The passing Miincheners could not read it on 
 his card, for it was written in English script 
 instead of German cursive. His hotel omnibus 
 was passing him in the street continually, but he 
 did not recognize it, for on the right side was the 
 sign " Four Seasons Hotel," and on the left 
 "Hotel des Quatre Saisons," while the German 
 name was on the back of the 'bus, where he did 
 not look. Had he not met an American Good 
 Samaritan, he would have been arrested — for in 
 Germany it is a misdemeanor to get lost, and it 
 is a criminal offense not to know where you live 
 — Es verboten. Yet this tourist was one of the 
 many who pass judgment on a play whose play- 
 ers use a Bavarian dialect that many Germans 
 cannot understand. 
 
 What will be the fate of any man who ven- 
 tures to say that the Passion Play at Oberam- 
 mergau is not all the tourists say it is ? What 
 the fate of him who asks awkward questions ? 
 
 " •• Hush,' said Mr. Pickwick ; ' don't ask any ques- 
 tions. It 's always best on these occasions to do what 
 the mob do.' 
 
 35i 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 cc c 
 
 But suppose there are two mobs?' suggested Mr. 
 Snodgrass. 
 
 " 'Shout with the largest,' said Mr. Pickwick. 
 " Volumes could not have said more." 
 
 No one can doubt the soundness of Mr. Pick- 
 wick's worldly wisdom, as set forth in the fore- 
 going extract. It is always easier to agree with 
 everybody — when you can. Sometimes it is dif- 
 ficult to find out what everybody thinks. But 
 find out what most people think, and then agree. 
 To disagree implies superiority. People think 
 (and say) that you are affecting a higher wisdom. 
 To disagree is to be lonesome. It is better to 
 agree, to be commonplace, and to be happy. 
 Mr. Pickwick was right. 
 
 But the foregoing lines from the "Pickwick 
 Papers" recall another passage in one of Dick- 
 ens's books — some one who "always wanted to 
 know, you know.'* Was it the Young Gentle- 
 man in the Circumlocution Office? Or was it 
 Rosa Dartle? Like him or her, I want to know, 
 you know. I want to know whether the Passion 
 Play at Oberammergau is really the dramatic, the 
 artistic event that everybody says it is. I am the 
 more disposed to doubt it because its audiences 
 are mostly tourists, and, to my thinking, tourists 
 lack independence of judgment. 
 
 362 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 . One of the curious phases of this traveling age 
 is the disposition of travelers to hoodwink them- 
 selves. By this I mean the propensity of tour- 
 ists to throw dust in their own eyes, to sneeze 
 when art critics take snuff, to gush to order, to 
 admire by rule, to rave by rote, to fall into ecsta- 
 sies over the proper thing — in short, to "jolly" 
 themselves, to use the slang phrase. If you take 
 some of these soulful tourists into a strange gal- 
 lery and show them a picture in the school of 
 Rembrandt, telling them it is from the master's 
 brush, they will rave over Rembrandt. When 
 you (accidentally) discover that you have made a 
 mistake — that it is by one of Rembrandt's follow- 
 ers — that the "genuine" Rembrandt is in the 
 next room — then they will rave over the picture 
 in the next room. They remind me of the actor 
 "Billy" Florence, who, when called before the 
 curtain, used to make an "old home" speech in 
 each new town. Before a Connecticut audience 
 one night he was extending his heartfelt thanks, 
 and with tears in his voice said : " I can never 
 forget that the happiest days of my life — my 
 boyhood's days — were passed here in Hartford." 
 A man in the front row interrupted, and said: 
 "This is New Haven, Mr. Florence." "I 
 meant New Haven," said Florence, gravely. 
 
 363 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 The soulful tourist will correct himself with as 
 little discomfiture as did Florence, and with as 
 brazen an ease will direct the nozzle of his emo- 
 tional hose at New Haven instead of Hartford, 
 and besprinkle it with tears. 
 
 May I be pardoned, therefore, if I question 
 the sincerity of some of the tourists who un- 
 qualifiedly rave over Oberammergau ? — question 
 the wisdom of those who rave sincerely? — ques- 
 tion the claims of the Oberammergau peasants to 
 be raved over? 
 
 To save space, let me coin a couple of words, 
 and call the gushers the " Oberammergushers," 
 the gushees the " Oberammergauers." 
 
 It is the thing to think the Oberammergauers 
 artistic and the Passion Play soulful ; therefore all 
 tourists declare they are soulful and artistic. 
 
 But why should these Bavarian villagers be 
 considered artistic ? Why should their crude 
 and mediaeval Passion Play be deemed soulful ? 
 The players are peasants — dull peasants — 
 dull Teutonic peasants. Were English peas- 
 ants to-day to produce the mediaeval " Gam- 
 mer Gurton's Needle," mother of English plays, 
 would their effort be " artistic " ? No. Why, 
 then, should Bavarian peasants successfully pre- 
 sent a play which would test the abilities 
 
 364 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 of skilled actors ? Acting is an art, like any- 
 other. How can these peasants excel in an 
 art which they have never learned ? Why- 
 should Anton Lang, potter, without an actor's 
 training, succeed in acting Jesus Christ? Why- 
 should Sebastian Bauer, wood-carver, without an 
 actor's training, succeed in acting Pontius Pilate ? 
 Could Joseph Jefferson, without a potter's train- 
 ing, succeed in making Anton Lang's pots ? 
 Could Henry Irving, without a carver's training, 
 succeed in making Sebastian Bauer's wooden 
 angels ? 
 
 All intelligent people — except amateur actors 
 — will agree that the acting of untrained actors is 
 very bad. Who ever saw a genuinely good ama- 
 teur performance ? Maugre the galvanic smiles 
 with which hapless guests greet drawing-room 
 comedies, every one knows in his secret soul that 
 they are awful. The worst barn-storming com- 
 pany that ever stormed barns is better than the 
 best of amateurs. 
 
 Are these ignorant peasants brighter than the 
 well-educated and highly polished people who 
 fail so lamentably in drawing-room performances? 
 And if so, why? It may be contended that they 
 are "nearer to nature." That would only make 
 them awkward and shy. Can a plow-boy play a 
 
 365 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 plow-boy as well as an actor can ? Can a clod- 
 hopper successfully delineate a lout ? The stage 
 peasant is always more picturesque than the real 
 thing. 
 
 It was the beautiful ballerina Fanny EUsler 
 who, masquerading as a milkmaid, won the heart 
 of the gloomy Duke of Reichstadt, Napoleon's 
 son. Had Metternich hired a genuine Schonn- 
 brunn milkmaid instead of an actress, his trick 
 would have failed. Genuine milkmaids, to be 
 good milkers, must have large, red hands, and 
 they often have bad tempers and use bad lan- 
 guage from contact with obstinate cows that 
 persist in switching their tails and tipping over 
 the milk-pail. 
 
 The Oberammergushers contend that the 
 Oberammergauers possess a special gift of clever- 
 ness. But why should they ? There is no 
 smarter set of country people than those who 
 dwell in the rural districts of the United States. 
 They are not so smart in the gainful sense — 
 that is, not so mercenary — as are most European 
 country people. I hope they never may become 
 so. But in other respects they are fully as keen- 
 witted as Swiss villagers or Normandy farmers, 
 and they are much more intelligent, broader, and 
 better educated. I say this despite the excel- 
 
 366 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 lent schools in Switzerland and North Germany. 
 Our American common schools may have faults. 
 But few European common-school systems sur- 
 pass them. Take some hundreds of the gradu- 
 ates of the American public schools, keen-witted, 
 bright young men and women, with the facility 
 of speech which comes from the "composition 
 writing'' and "declamation" taught in the Amer- 
 ican schools. Give them an ambitious histrionic 
 performance to cope with. Let us not say the 
 Passion of Christ, for it is foreign to their ideas, 
 and to many of Protestant training its stage 
 representation would be repulsive. Take any 
 other great human drama — say, the Reign of 
 Terror, the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, or the 
 Fall of Troy. What sort of a fist would they 
 make of putting such a play upon the stage ? 
 One smiles at the mere idea. Yet these Ameri- 
 cans would be superior in every way to the 
 Bavarians. 
 
 To those who say that the peasants have, in 
 the interval between their decennial perform- 
 ances, training enough to make their scenes into 
 a play, to make their tableaux into a drama, and 
 to make themselves into actors, the answer is 
 that no such training ever accomplishes those 
 ends. It is not rehearsing, but actual playing — 
 
 367 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 upon a stage, and before audiences — that turns 
 raw material into plays, and raw men and women 
 into actors and actresses. No man, however ex- 
 pert, can tell the fate of an untried actor or an 
 unplayed play. Millions have been spent to 
 produce new plays by skilled playwrights, which 
 plays saw the footlights only to meet disaster. 
 Sardou and Dumas — veterans both — have both 
 produced fiascos between their most successful 
 plays. Dress-rehearsals settle nothing. They 
 are what the peasants have. Dramatic schools, 
 lyceums, teachers of acting — most of what they 
 teach has to be unlearned when the novice faces 
 the footlights. 
 
 The contention of the Oberammergushers is 
 that the lack of histrionic ability in these peas- 
 ants is made up by their simple piety. Simple 
 piety is perhaps a potent thing. Like faith, it 
 may move mountains, but it will not move audi- 
 ences — that is, not metropolitan audiences. The 
 tourist audiences one sees at Oberammergau may 
 be moved by this mixture of piety, bad acting, 
 and maudlinism. That is what they are there 
 for — to "jolly" themselves into the belief that 
 they are witnessing a great dramatic representa- 
 tion and artistic acting. But the gatherings of 
 jaded worldlings and hurried workers that make 
 
 368 
 
THE PASSION PLAY V" 
 
 up metropolitan audiences do not indulge in sei 
 deception. They will not be "jollied." They 
 want their money's worth. They are keen critics, 
 enthusiastic admirers, merciless judges. They 
 would hoot the bad acting of the peasants unless 
 it was so bad as to be funny. And it is not that* 
 It is only dull. At Oberammergau in 1900 the 
 only one whose acting was so bad as to be ludi- 
 crous was the young woman who played Mary. 
 
 Alienists and other skeptic specialists say that 
 "fervent piety" is a form of mild mania. If the 
 religious fervor of these peasants be madness, 
 there is certainly method in their madness. In 
 1890 they took in three-quarters of a million 
 marks as gate-money for their performance — for 
 piety. They gave a quarter of a million marks 
 in salaries to performers — for piety. Some fifty 
 thousand marks went to house-owners for rooms 
 rented — for piety. Each of the following funds 
 received ten thousand marks — hospital, drainage, 
 public fountains, paving, fire-engines, paupers, 
 soldiers, parish church, singing lessons, agricul- 
 ture, carving-school — all for piety. Among the 
 performers, the man who played Jesus Christ 
 received two thousand marks — for piety. The 
 leader of the band thirteen hundred marks — for 
 piety. Even the six -year -old children in the 
 y 369 
 
 J 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 tableaux received forty marks each — for piety. 
 There is nothing like making children pious 
 when they are young. A little Oberammergau 
 angel who gets forty marks for being pious when 
 he is six years old may grow up to be a Caiaphas 
 and get four hundred marks for being pious 
 when he is sixty. 
 
 Anton Lang, the man who played Jesus Christ, 
 in addition to receiving two thousand marks for 
 his play-acting, made several thousand marks 
 by the sale of his photographs, autographs, and 
 poems. 
 
 The "fervent piety" of the villagers seems to 
 an unprejudiced person to be highly commercial- 
 ized. Everything is for sale. Every bed in the 
 village is for hire. The last drop of milk is 
 "stripped" from the cows* udders — for piety. 
 Before the eggs are hatched, they are carefully 
 counted — for piety. The villagers even spy upon 
 the cackling parturient hen — for piety. If you 
 have a camera you may not use it, as the conces- 
 sion for photographing has been sold — for piety. 
 If you wish to have stenographic notes taken of 
 the play, you are stopped, as the right of repub- 
 lication has been sold — for piety. You could 
 probably hire a halo — for a pious price. And 
 as for the homely, simple, unspoiled villagers, 
 
 370 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 they strike me as being more practical than pious. 
 The villagers may have been simple, fervent, and 
 ingenuous creatures in the old days, but they are 
 not now. The tourist agencies have spoiled that. 
 When you can hire in London Pontius Pilate's 
 great-grandm.other's best front bedroom for twen- 
 ty marks per day it removes the glamour. 
 
 Those who babble of the simple villagers, of 
 their being children of nature, and of their intuitive 
 ability as actors and actresses, will find it difficult 
 to explain why the simple villagers should hire 
 skilled stage-managers and professional costumers 
 to help them. Yet the reason is not difficult to 
 find. It is easy so to drill ignorant people as 
 to make them march and group themselves in 
 eflFective tableaux. It is easy to design handsome 
 costumes, and so to arrange their wearers on the 
 stage as to make the color-masses unique and 
 effective. In short, any kind of human beings 
 can be utilized as stage-supers, banner-bearers, 
 and clothes-racks. But when it comes to utiliz- 
 ing them for histrionic purposes, it requires 
 human beings with some brains and a talent 
 for acting. 
 
 As for the Oberammergushers who talk of the 
 idyllic simplicity of the old days, the religious 
 fervor, the primitive piety of the peasants, and 
 
 371 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 all that sort of theologic legend, one may be par- 
 doned for taking it with a great deal of salt. Up 
 to a very recent period the devil was the principal 
 character in the Passion Play, and its greatest 
 scene was that in which he tore open the bowels 
 of the suicide, Judas Iscariot, and produced long 
 strings of sausages, which he distributed to the 
 roaring audience of pious peasants. 
 
 One evening in New York, some years ago, I 
 was in the club-house of The Players, and hap- 
 pened to be one of a circle the centre of which 
 was Edwin Booth. It was shortly after Booth 
 had purchased that building on Gramercy Square 
 and donated it to The Players, reserving apart- 
 ments in it for himself. At that time Booth and 
 Barrett had been making a tour of the country, 
 playing Shakespearean roles together. The tour 
 financially was very successful. Booth was a 
 great actor. Barrett was not great, but he was 
 a fair actor and an excellent business man. He 
 did much toward rehabilitating Booth's fallen for- 
 tunes. It is probable that the existence of The 
 Player's Club to-day is indirectly due to Barrett's 
 clever management of Booth as a star. 
 
 However that may be, a warm friendship 
 372 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 existed between the two men. There was appar- 
 ently no professional jealousy. But there could 
 have been none. Barrett was an eminently 
 just man — a rare quality in actors — and knew 
 that Booth was infinitely his superior. Barrett 
 was more than willing to serve as a foil to 
 Booth's genius, to play the secondary roleSy which 
 he did admirably, and look out for the box-office, 
 which he did even more admirably. 
 
 On this particular evening Booth was, as I 
 said, the centre of the circle. But he was a silent 
 centre. At best he was monosyllabic. Booth 
 was a shy man, and could not be induced to talk 
 in a circle of any size. How he may have been 
 in the privacy of a small and intimate circle, I 
 do not know. Barrett was a good talker, and 
 acted as a "feeder'* to Booth, as the stage slang 
 goes. But the dialogue between them consisted 
 principally in Barrett saying that he " believed 
 Mr. Booth thought so and so," and then saying 
 deferentially, " Is that not so, Edwin ? " To 
 which Booth would reply, "Yes, Lawrence," or 
 else would silently bow. 
 
 The talk that evening turned upon Edwin 
 Forrest and other robust tragedians of the old 
 school ; of tearing a passion to tatters ; of the 
 repressed or so-called Union Square School of 
 
 373 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 that day; of Clara Morris and her fits of hys- 
 terics in emotional roles; of intensity and emo- 
 tionalism on the stage; and, lastly, of whether 
 the actor should himself feel the emotion which 
 he is attempting to portray. 
 
 Although knowing nothing of the stage, ex- 
 cept from the orchestra side of the footlights, I 
 ventured to advance some views in the matter — 
 with less diffidence because they were not mine. 
 They were the theories which Diderot, critic, 
 dramatist, and encyclopedist, sets forth in his 
 famous "Paradoxe sur le Comedien." Briefly to 
 summarize them — I am writing from memory — 
 they are somewhat like this: Acting is an art, 
 like any other. The artist who is producing the 
 highest type of his art-work should be at the 
 highest pitch of his art -faculty. The highest 
 pitch of the creative art-faculty is not produced 
 by self-shared or reflex emotion, but the reverse. 
 The artist who strives to produce a certain emo- 
 tion must not himself be affected by his own 
 effort. To produce the highest type of emo- 
 tional simulacrum, his mind must be clarified, 
 tense, and free from any of the disturbing effects 
 of that emotion. If he yield to its effects his 
 mind loses its clarity, and he ceases to judge 
 accurately of artistic values. The clearness of 
 
 374 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 his mental vision is disturbed by metaphorical 
 tears, if that which he is representing be pathetic. 
 It is a species of artistic auto-toxication. When 
 the metaphorical tears become actual ones, and 
 the artist, like Narcissus, becomes so enamored 
 of his own creation that he weeps over its intense 
 pathos, artistic auto-toxication becomes maudlin- 
 ism. This is the extreme. But there are many 
 stages on the hither side of maudlinism, when 
 the artist's sense of values is affected by emotion- 
 alism. To produce the highest type of his art- 
 work, therefore, the artist's mind must be clear, 
 calm, well-balanced, unconfused, and unaffected 
 by emotion. When he begins to be affected by 
 his own delineation, from that moment his work 
 begins to deteriorate. This is true of all artists 
 — notably true of the histrionic artist who simu- 
 lates human emotion in the flesh. 
 
 These Diderot theories attracted not a little 
 attention. They became the main topic of the 
 conversation for the rest of the evening, and were 
 discussed with great vigor. Naturally the views 
 were varying. Booth listened with close atten- 
 tion, but expressed no opinion, much to my re- 
 gret, as I had deliberately introduced the topic 
 for the purpose of drawing him out. I had long 
 looked upon him as the greatest artist on the 
 
 375 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 English-speaking stage; I had always believed 
 that his was the high type of art which approaches 
 its task with calmness and coolness, and which 
 delineates emotion without pretending to be 
 affected by it. I was disappointed that he ex- 
 pressed no opinion. 
 
 But at last he spoke. It was in reply to a 
 direct question from Barrett. We all listened 
 with keen interest. Booth spoke in low tones, 
 and very briefly. This substantially is what he 
 said : 
 
 "There can be no question that the Diderot 
 theory is sound. To accomplish his best work, 
 the actor, like any other artist, must have his 
 mind clear and free from any overmastering emo- 
 tion. True, there is a certain exhilaration which 
 every artist feels when he knows that he is doing 
 his best work. But he does not feel the emotion 
 which he is attempting to portray." 
 
 Although several of the men present w^ere 
 actors, none of them seemed to have heard of 
 Diderot's theory before, with the exception of 
 Barrett. He told me that he had the book in 
 his library, but frankly admitted he had never 
 read it. Next day he sent me a handsome 
 edition of Diderot's "Paradoxe" — a tall copy, 
 printed in Elzevir and bound in vellum — with 
 
 376 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 a pleasant note, begging me to keep it as a 
 souvenir of the conversation the night before. I 
 have it now. 
 
 I was not in that club again for a long time, 
 and when next I crossed its threshold it was to 
 find the club-house hung with black. Edwin 
 Booth had passed away the night before, and his 
 gentle presence was henceforth to be among The 
 Players in the spirit only. 
 
 It was the eve of the funeral. A hush brooded 
 over the luxurious club-house. The chair in 
 which Booth had sat on the evening of this con- 
 versation — his accustomed seat — was draped in 
 mourning. The few members who were there 
 conversed in undertones. We walked through 
 the rooms, confronted at every hand by some 
 souvenir of the dead man. Here it was Collier's 
 large and imposing picture of Booth in the role 
 of Richelieu, as he stands with uplifted finger 
 threatening Baradas with the curse of Rome. 
 There it was a spirited black-and-white by Thure 
 de Thulstrup — a group in the grill-room of The 
 Players, with portraits of Booth, Jefferson, Bar- 
 rett, Florence, James Lewis, and others. Next 
 it was his silver cup hanging on its peg in the 
 grill-room, with his name beneath. 
 
 In the library there was upon the wall some- 
 377 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 thing before which hung a decorous curtain. One 
 of our party drew it aside. It was a collection of 
 death-masks. The freshest-looking were those 
 of Dion Boucicault and Lawrence Barrett. 
 
 The same thought occurred to all of us — not 
 many days would pass before that of Booth would 
 figure there as well. 
 
 His body was lying in an upper room, laid out 
 for burial. We were asked if we wished to see 
 it. We declined. 
 
 Personally I did not wish to see him dead. I 
 preferred to remember him as he was in life. So 
 we went out of the Players' Club into the warm 
 June night, and stopping as we walked by Gram- 
 ercy Park, we looked up at the floor where the 
 dead actor lay. The little park is away from the 
 roar and turmoil of New York — it was as quiet 
 as a village. There was nothing to disturb the 
 rest of the great actor, as he lay there sleeping 
 under the silent stars. 
 
 I have often thought of the conversation that 
 night in The Players — more often since the 
 Passion Play at Oberammergau. Probably what 
 recalls it is the contrast between the opinions 
 expressed on acting by actors — among them 
 
 378 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 Booth, one of the greatest of actors — and the 
 opinions expressed by tourists about the Passion 
 Play. The tourists include young women of 
 eighteen or thereabouts, whose matured opinions 
 on any subject are naturally of value ; their 
 younger brothers — hobbledehoys of sixteen, say, 
 who decide all grave questions instanter ; faded 
 mothers of fifty-odd, who secretly disapprove of 
 all plays except "Ben Hur," "Quo Vadis," and 
 the circus ; gray-whiskered fathers of nearly three- 
 score, who have retired from business, who know 
 naught except business, who never went to the 
 theatre except to see Brass Monkeys or Parlor 
 Matches, and who generally went to sleep there 
 even then. American tourists in large majority 
 are made up of the foregoing types. And it is 
 odd how closely the foreign tourists resemble them 
 in the types, if not in the individuals. 
 
 It is not remarkable, therefore, that actors 
 should not share the views of the tourist audi- 
 ences about the Passion Play. With the excep- 
 tion of the tableaux, it is, they say, crude and 
 inartistic. If I were a very religious person, I 
 would go further and say that it seems coarse 
 and blasphemous. The tableaux are remarkable, 
 but that is due to the Munich stage-managers 
 and costumers. The peasants serve no higher 
 
 379 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 purpose in the tableaux than would so many- 
 mules. Perhaps, however, they stand better. 
 
 I have already said that actors can play peas- 
 ants better than peasants can. I will go further 
 — irreligious actors can play a religious drama 
 better than religious peasants can. I saw the 
 Passion Play when it was put upon the American 
 stage by Salmi Morse years ago. James O'Neill, 
 a good actor and a good Roman Catholic, 
 played the Christ. He played the difficult role 
 reverently and well — far better, in my opinion, 
 than any peasant could — even Josef Mayer. 
 So with the other actors in the professional ren- 
 dering of the Passion Play — whatever their pri- 
 vate lives or their religions, they played their 
 roles much better than the pious peasants. Let 
 the cobbler stick to his last. 
 
 With the memories of the last time I saw 
 Booth revived by this train of thought — the 
 Passion Play — the crude workmanship of the 
 peasant player-folk — the recollection of the dis- 
 cussion over actors and acting at The Players — 
 the superiority of the professional players to the 
 untrained ones — the Christ as played by James 
 O'Neill, actor, and by Anton Lang, potter — this 
 train of thought suggested to me the idea: How 
 would Edwin Booth have played the Christus? 
 
 380 
 
THE PASSION PLAY 
 
 As there rose up before me the recollection of his 
 magnetic person, his handsome, haunting face, 
 his melancholy eyes, I could not help but think 
 that in his early manhood no one could have 
 played the Saviour better than Edwin Booth, 
 player. 
 
 381 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 ONE of the most amusing of Alphonse 
 Daudet's books is "Tartarin on the Alps." 
 Tartarin is the typical southern Gaul. He comes 
 from Tarascon, a little place which Daudet's play- 
 ful pen has made famous, although its inhabitants 
 by no means relish their peculiar fame. When the 
 trains of the Paris-Lyons-Mediterranean line stop 
 at this station and the trainmen bawl "Tarascon ! " 
 heads pop out of windows like Punch-and-Judy 
 shows, and doors slam open all along the train. 
 Every countenance wears a broad grin. For 
 every traveler on the train knows that this was 
 the home of Daudet's Tartarin, of Tartarin of 
 Tarascon. 
 
 Tartarin is depicted by Daudet as being a lion- 
 killer. He returns from Algeria, bringing with 
 him some moth-eaten lion-skins which he has 
 purchased, and thereafter poses before his Taras- 
 connais fellow-townsmen as a lion-slayer, a Nim- 
 rod, a mighty hunter before the Lord. Such is 
 
 382 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 his local fame that he is elected president of the 
 Alpine Club of Tarascon, which daring band at 
 stated times climbs a little hillock in the suburbs, 
 and periodically plants thereon the banner of the 
 club. But a base jealousy seethes in the heart 
 of Costacalde, Tarascon's gunsmith. He even 
 ventures to decry Tartarin to Tartarin's bosom 
 friend, Bezuquet, Tarascon's apothecary. He 
 drops the poison of doubt in his townsmen's 
 minds. He brews suspicions of Tartarin's lion- 
 killing. He distills venomous sneers concerning 
 his exploits. 
 
 Tartarin by these doubts concerning his 
 apocryphal exploits is wounded to the core. He 
 determines to go secretly to Switzerland, and to 
 plant the banner of the Tarascon Alpine Club 
 upon the Matterhorn or the Jungfrau. He is 
 taken to Switzerland by express train, and alights 
 at the door of a magnificent modern hotel, with 
 electric lights, lifts, and waiters in swallow-tail 
 coats. Here his impedimenta of alpenstocks, 
 snow-spectacles, spiked shoes, and life-lines excite 
 some amusement not unmixed with wonder, The 
 wonder is reciprocal. Tartarin is amazed at find- 
 ing modern improvements and electric lights 
 where he had expected to find naught but ava- 
 lanches and glaciers. But to him there suddenly 
 
 3«3 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 appears Bompard. "Te! Tartarin!" " Te ! 
 Bompard ! " They fall into one another's arms. 
 Bompard is also a son of the sunny south. Like 
 Tartarin, he is given to lying about his own 
 exploits. Like him, too, he is credulous. Each 
 believes the other. Tartarin believes that Bom- 
 pard has climbed mountains. Bompard believes 
 that Tartarin has slain lions. 
 
 They dine together. They drink together. 
 They tell stories together. Tartarin is amazed 
 at Bompard's exploits in the high Alps, until 
 Bompard, swearing him to secrecy, confides to 
 him that Switzerland is artificial; that the whole 
 country is exploited by an enormous syndicate; 
 that it runs the hotels; that it runs the railways; 
 that it constructs the funicular and electric trams 
 up the mountain peaks; that it works the ava- 
 lanches; that the demolitions of villages are 
 pre-arranged; that the inhabitants are warned to 
 vacate their homes in time; that the gayly dressed 
 peasant-girls by the road-side are actresses; that 
 the mountaineers who sound the "Ranz des 
 Vaches'* are hired for the purpose; that the 
 dreadful accidents which terrify the world are 
 part of the syndicate's advertising scheme; that, 
 in short, all Switzerland is a gigantic fake. 
 
 " But," interrupts the breathless Tartarin, 
 384 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 "when mountain-climbers fall into bottomless 
 abysses, what happens to them ? " 
 
 "Mattresses/' replies Bompard, oracularly; 
 "there are mattresses at the bottom on which 
 they fall. Then the syndicate pays them a hand- 
 some salary to leave Switzerland for a term of 
 years. Let us drink." 
 
 They drink. 
 
 It would -be useless to give here the end of 
 Daudet's narrative — to tell how Tartarin char- 
 tered guides to climb the Jungfrau and Mont 
 Blanc ; of how he dragged with him the reluctant 
 Bompard ; of how Tartarin terrified the guides 
 by his daring and his indifference to danger ; of 
 how he amazed them by winking and joking when 
 they had escaped some deadly peril ; of how a cry 
 of terror, a sudden tightening of the life-lines, and 
 a fall, told Tartarin that there was indeed danger 
 in the higher Alps ; of how, when all was well 
 again, the guides found Tartarin and Bompard 
 had been on opposite sides of a backbone of ice, 
 and also found that the life-line uniting them was 
 cleanly cut — on both sides of the ridge. 
 
 Bompard had been willing to let his friend 
 Tartarin be dashed to death rather than die 
 himself. 
 
 Tartarin had resolved to save his own life, even 
 
 z 385 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 if, in so doing, he would forever lose his friend 
 Bompard. 
 
 Daudet's whimsical sketch points a moral as 
 well as adorns a tale. It is that the Swiss have 
 thoroughly and elaborately utilized Switzerland. 
 While they have not turned it into a gigantic 
 pantomime-show, with trap-doors and property 
 precipices, as the clever Frenchman implies, they 
 have done something akin yet different. They 
 have improved it like a Japanese landscape- 
 garden. They have turned everything in their 
 little land to material account. If the earth is 
 the Lord's and the fullness thereof. He has at 
 least given man the usufruct of it. The 
 usufructuary should therefore make it as useful 
 as he can. This the Swiss have done. 
 
 In Switzerland as elsewhere the land is tilled 
 where it is tillable; but where it is not tillable, it 
 is made otherwise useful. In other countries 
 great mountain ranges capped with perennial 
 snows are abandoned by man to the elements. 
 But in Switzerland the natives have made their 
 magnificent mountains so accessible, so easy to 
 climb, and so comfortable to visit, or even to live 
 upon, that the little land is ever filled with 
 strangers. During the season of 1900 some 
 twenty-five millions of visitors registered in the 
 
 386 
 
** The Rigi^ the oldest mountain-railway in Switzerland. 
 
\ a .; A /< 
 
 XJNIVEPSITT 
 
 »5LCAL»FOn2J> 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 Swiss hotels. This I saw in the " Report of the 
 Proceedings of the Swiss Innkeepers' Associa- 
 tion." Of course, this does not mean that any 
 such number of tourists visited Switzerland in 
 that year, for the same tourists registered over 
 and over again at different hotels. There is no 
 way of -ascertaining the number of actual tourists. 
 But twenty-five millions of hotel registrations 
 will give some idea of the number.- 
 
 I have said that Switzerland makes wild lands 
 profitable which in other countries pay nothing. 
 So she does. She makes rivers of ancient ice 
 and seas of modern ice bring her in a profit. 
 People pay her millions yearly for seeing the sun 
 rise and set — or, rather, for not seeing it rise and 
 set, for when they have ascended the mountains 
 for that purpose it nearly always rains. It has 
 been said that the sea yields more food to man, 
 acre for acre, than the land. It would be inter- 
 esting to ascertain the gains of Switzerland from 
 her rugged mountains, her glaciers, and her 
 pocket valleys, and to compare them with the 
 gains from level arable land, acre for acre — like 
 the San Joaquin Valley, for example. The com- 
 parison would be a difficult one to make, but I 
 believe that the arable land would suffer. 
 
 Switzerland has not left her wild mountains as 
 387 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 God made them. Having the usufruct of them, 
 she has tried to tame them for the use of man. 
 She has constructed magnificent roads over lofty- 
 mountain passes — roads of so easy a gradient 
 that a pair of horses can draw a fair load up the 
 hill at an easy trot. She has builded these 
 mountain roads so substantially that the road- 
 beds seem like parts of the very mountain rock. 
 She has constructed stone parapets for hundreds 
 of miles along the outer edges of these mountain 
 roads. She has spanned yawning chasms with 
 magnificent stone and iron bridges, which, seen 
 from afar, sometimes look like cobwebs and 
 sometimes look like lace. She has harnessed the 
 torrents which pour down the flanks of her 
 mountains, and from them has generated vast 
 volumes of electric energy for light, and heat, 
 and power. She has built funicular railways up 
 the sides of her mountains, and she hauls loads 
 of human beings to the tops of lofty peaks by 
 the power generated from the mountains' own 
 streams. She has built hundreds of miles of 
 combination railways — funicular, cog-wheel, and 
 frictional — and has wound ribbons of rails around 
 and over mountain ranges, where only an Ameri- 
 can buckboard might be expected to go. She 
 has erected mammoth hotels, with every modern 
 
 388 
 

 r 
 
 
 
 
 The Territet-Glio?i railway up the Rockers de Naye.'" 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 comfort, upon her lake shores and on her moun- 
 tain peaks. She has accompHshed engineering 
 feats in railway construction which make even 
 American engineers marvel. And she has honey- 
 combed her mammoth mountains, and pierced 
 the Alps with mighty tunnels which are the 
 wonder of mankind. 
 
 People who have not visited Switzerland of late 
 years would be surprised at the restless enterprise 
 of the Swiss. They are forever building moun- 
 tain railways. It is but a few years since I was 
 last in Switzerland, yet several new roads have 
 been constructed since then. One of the latest 
 is the Gunnegrat railway, which was completed 
 in 1898. It is the highest mountain railway in 
 Europe. It is a rack-and-pinion electric line, and 
 runs nearly to the top of the Gunnegrat, which 
 is 1 0,290 feet high. The road is over six miles 
 long, and has a maximum gradient of twenty per 
 cent. There are two modern hotels on the moun- 
 tain above Zermatt. 
 
 Another mountain railway of comparatively 
 recent construction is the Territet-Glion funicular 
 road. It starts from the town of Glion on Lake 
 Leman (the Lake of Geneva), and climbs to the 
 top of the mountain known as the Rochers de 
 Naye. Half-way up the mountain, at an altitude 
 
 389 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 of thirty-three hundred feet, is a hotel and collec- 
 tion of houses known as Caux. At the top of 
 the mountain is another comfortable hotel. This 
 mountain is not so well known as the Rigi, near 
 Lucerne, but the panorama from its peak is one 
 of the finest in Switzerland. It commands the 
 Bernese Alps, with the Matterhorn, Eiger, Jung- 
 frau, Monch, and Finsteraarhorn ; the Aiguille 
 Verte and the Aiguille d^Argentiere in Savoy ; 
 the Alps of the Canton of Vaud, the highest 
 peak of which is the Tour d* Ai ; a part of the 
 Valois, with the Grand Combin and the Dent du 
 Midi ; and the whole of the Lake of Geneva. 
 
 At the base of this mountain lies one of the 
 most interesting "settlements" in Switzerland. I 
 use this term for the country collectively known 
 as " Montreux," as the towns and villages are so 
 numerous that they are practically continuous. 
 Vevey is perhaps the principal town, the scene of 
 Rousseau*s "Nouvelle Heloise." Then, along 
 the curving lake shore, come Clarens, Vernex, 
 Territet, Bonport, Planchamp, Charnex, Glion, 
 Colonges, and Veyteaux — the district of Mon- 
 treux extending as far as the famous Castle of 
 Chillon. 
 
 It is needless to speak here of the Rigi and 
 Pilatus railways, for they are the oldest among the 
 
 390 
 

 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 mountain roads of Switzerland. The Vitznau 
 line of the Rigi was finished years ago. 
 
 The Kaltbad-Scheidig is another and later rail- 
 way which climbs the Rigi. 
 
 The Arth-Rigi railway is one which starts from 
 Arth on the lake of Zug. Most travelers climb 
 the mountain by the railways running up from 
 the lake of Lucerne. 
 
 The Pilatus railway starts from Alpnachstad 
 and climbs the Pilatus by a gradient of 38. 
 
 From Kehrseiten, on Lake Lucerne, a railway 
 runs up the Burgenstock. 
 
 A railway runs up the Stanserhorn 6,230 feet, 
 330 feet higher than the Rigi. 
 
 A railway runs up the Gutsch mountain near 
 Lucerne. 
 
 In 1899, a railway was run up the Gurten peak 
 near Berne. 
 
 This is an incomplete list of Swiss mountain 
 railways — in fact, it would be difficult to make 
 a complete list. New lines are continually being 
 projected. Old travelers are surprised to find so 
 many new mountain railways when they revisit 
 Switzerland. These roads are not confined to 
 Switzerland proper, for you find them also in 
 Savoy, near the Swiss frontier. There is a fine 
 funicular railway which climbs Mount Revard 
 
 391 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 near Aix-les-Bains ; it was built only two years 
 ago. 
 
 Even now the Swiss are pushing railways up 
 the mountain peaks and boring tunnels through 
 the mountain ranges in every direction. During 
 the summer of 1900, several hundred men were 
 working on a railway up the Valley of Chamou- 
 nix ; work there will be resumed at the close of 
 the long and bitter Alpine winter. In another 
 year it will be possible to go from Geneva by rail 
 almost to the Mer de Glace and the foot of Mont 
 Blanc — if that mammoth mountain can be said 
 to have a foot. This road is another of the com- 
 bination cog-wheel roads now so common in 
 Switzerland. 
 
 Some readers may think that these many 
 mountain railways are trumpery aiFairs. If they 
 think so, let them examine the roads. They will 
 find that their construction has involved much 
 engineering skill and large sums of money. 
 
 Not content with mountain railways, Switzer- 
 land is still boring her mountain walls. There 
 are now three tunnels through the Alps : The 
 Arlberg, six and one-quarter miles long; the 
 Mont Cenis, seven and one-half miles long ; and 
 the St. Gothard, nine and one-quarter miles long. 
 All of these are to be eclipsed by the great 
 
 392 
 
ff V 
 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 Simplon tunnel, which was begun in 1898. On 
 this tunnel about 5,000 workingmen are at present 
 engaged. It is to be twelve and one-half miles 
 long, and will be completed in 1903. Its cost is 
 estimated at 70,000,000 francs. It is about 2,200 
 feet above the sea and some 7,000 feet below the 
 peak of the mountain under which it runs — the 
 Wassenhorn. There is a parallel tunnel being 
 bored, on which the railway tracks will not be 
 laid for the present. I saw in a Swiss paper that 
 there are in this parallel tunnel, at regular inter- 
 vals on the Swiss side of the frontier, chambers 
 containing dynamite, with electric connections for 
 exploding the charges. These chambers, accord- 
 ing to the Swiss journal, were for the purpose 
 of collapsing the tunnel in the event of an Ital- 
 ian invasion of Switzerland. 
 
 The city of Geneva has often been described, 
 yet many writers fail to mention its great water- 
 works and plant for generating electric power — 
 the " Forces Motrices du Rhone." There are 
 few large cities in the world so fortunate as to 
 possess a great water-power at their very doors. 
 Geneva is so situated. The Rhone, issuing from 
 the Lake of Geneva, passes directly through the 
 
 393 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 city. Not many years ago the municipality con- 
 structed enormous water-works, supplying not 
 only water but electric power. The buildings 
 containing the enormous turbines and dynamos 
 are among the sights of Geneva. These and the 
 other works further down-stream generate some 
 20,000 horse-power at a nominal charge per 
 horse-power per year. Think of the power of 
 20,000 horses used in any California city! There 
 is no coal in California. Steam-power must be 
 generated at so high a cost for coal that many 
 kinds of manufacturing are impossible. While 
 California has no city situated as is Geneva upon 
 a great river like the Rhone, she has great rivers 
 and hundreds of thousands of horse-power in her 
 mountain streams. Some day this power, now 
 unharnessed, will be utilized, when California 
 shall have become as fully awake to her great 
 resources as is the little republic of Switzerland. 
 Geneva has an extensive system of narrow- 
 gauge steam tramways (chemins de fer a voie 
 etroite)^ which is rapidly being converted into an 
 electric system. These roads run in every direc- 
 tion — from Geneva to Ferney, where is the quaint 
 villa of Voltaire; to Pregny, where one finds the 
 imposing Rothschild chateau ; across the French 
 frontier to St. Julien ; to the Saleve, a picturesque 
 
 394 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 mountain, with a magnificent view of Mont 
 Blanc, the Lake, the Jura, the cantons of Geneva 
 and Vaud, and a part of France ; to Vesenaz, 
 with the Villa Diodati, where Byron wrote 
 " Manfred " — in a word, to at least a score of 
 places within and without Geneva's confines. 
 
 One of these tramways runs to a place much 
 frequented by the Genevese — the Bois de la 
 Batie. We one day hired a cabman to drive us 
 through this wood, which the ingenuous Gene- 
 vese call the " Bois de Boulogne of Geneva.'* 
 It is not a magnificent forest, although much 
 admired by the natives. From an elevated spot 
 in this little park one may see the junction of the 
 Rhone and the Arve. Where it emerges from 
 the lake the Rhone is clear, having the steel-blue 
 color of the lake water. The Arve, on the other 
 hand, is a muddy, brownish gray. Where it runs 
 into the Rhone the line of demarkation between 
 the two rivers is very plain, and the two streams 
 run side by side for miles without mingling. 
 
 I directed our cabman to take us to the spot 
 in the park whence one could see the junction 
 ^^ des deux fleuves^^ or streams. He politely cor- 
 rected me. " Pardon, monsieur," said he; " but 
 the Arve is not a fleuve^ it is a riviere ; the 
 Rhone is a fleuve^ Geneva is the Boston of 
 
 395 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Europe ; her matrons gossip of Greek roots ; 
 her very babes prattle in hexameters — or rather 
 alexandrines. Still, I do not see how my learned 
 cabman, or any other graduate of any one of the 
 six thousand schools of Switzerland, could in one 
 word speak of the meeting of a " fleuve *' and a 
 " riviere " in any other way. The greater in- 
 cludes the less. The Genevese are said to pride 
 themselves on speaking better French than the 
 Parisians. I can readily believe it after this ex- 
 perience with my pedagogic cabman. It would 
 be almost as surprising to have a Boston Jehu 
 tell you not to split your infinitives, or for a 
 London cabby to warn a Scotchman not to con- 
 fuse "will" and "shall." 
 
 As the convention for the amelioration of the 
 horrors of war was held at Geneva, the Red Cross 
 flag was adopted in honor of Switzerland. It is 
 a reversal of the flag of Switzerland — a white 
 cross on a red field. To a heedless observer, 
 however, the two flags look very much alike. 
 Wherever you see fleets of pleasure-boats on the 
 Swiss lakes you see the flags of every nation un- 
 der the sun — even the Swiss flag. For the Swiss, 
 while more than willing to please strangers by fly- 
 ing foreign flags on Swiss hotels and steamers, also 
 please themselves by flying their own. On the 
 
 396 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 Grand Quay at Geneva I heard a young woman 
 remark one day: "How curious that you see 
 the Red Cross flag everywhere in Switzerland!" 
 It was indeed curious — that is, curious that she 
 should make the remark, for it was not the Red 
 Cross flag that she saw, but a white-cross flag. 
 Her remark was not unlike that of the man who, 
 when he saw the play of "Hamlet" for the first 
 time, said that it lacked originality, " it Was so full 
 of quotations." 
 
 Switzerland runs Hke clockwork. Her hotel- 
 keepers close down their establishments on a 
 certain day, when the season wanes. They take 
 account of stock, pack away immovables, pack up 
 some movables, and ship their servants to the 
 south. There, on a certain day, they open their 
 winter hotels — on the French or Italian Riviera, 
 in Florence, Venice, Naples, or Rome. When 
 the winter season is over, they ship their servants 
 back to Switzerland, and on a certain day the 
 wheels begin running again. As a result, the 
 Swiss hotels are very well run, but sometimes 
 their dates fall a little too early or too late for 
 tourists. In the summer of 1900 the Paris Expo- 
 sition, the Passion Play, and the weather aflfected 
 
 397 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the dates of the roaming bands which in modern 
 times have succeeded to the pilgrims of old. Hu- 
 man beings in their wandering instinct are not 
 unlike the birds of passage, whose flights from 
 north to south are ruled by the weather. But 
 clockwork runs in hot and cold seasons, in fair 
 weather and foul. If certain Swiss hotels are 
 scheduled to open on July ist, they open the 
 doors on that day. There may be no guests to 
 whom to open the doors. They open just the 
 same. The hotel on July ist may be empty, 
 and on July 25th turning people away. 
 
 One of the most frequented places in Switzer- 
 land is Vevey, on the Lake of Geneva. It is 
 particularly affected by the English, and has been 
 an English resort for a couple of centuries. In 
 fact, one finds there a tablet to Edmund Ludlow, 
 one of the Stuart regicides, who was forced to fly 
 from England after the Restoration. Even in 
 those days Switzerland was a haven of refuge. It 
 was probably the only place in Europe which 
 Ludlow could find that was not too hot to hold 
 him. He lived and died in Vevey. The place 
 is beautifully situated on the lake, with an amphi- 
 theatre of mountains encircling it on the north ; 
 thus the cold north winds are rarely felt there. 
 Across the lake are the Alps of French Savoy, to 
 
 398 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 the right the Jura range, and to the left the Val- 
 ley of the Rhone, framed by the Vaudois Alps. 
 Vevey has many hotels, and the leading one 
 probably is the Grand Hotel. This is a large and 
 handsome building, situated on the shores of the 
 lake, and surrounded by such extensive gardens 
 that they justly merit the title of "Vevey Park." 
 The hotel has its own pier, at which the lake 
 steamers land. It has a jetty and a small artificial 
 harbor for pleasure-boats. It has all kinds of 
 boats, from a steam-yacht to a skiff. It has all 
 sorts of amusements, including tennis-courts, and 
 it has extensive stables for horse-vehicles and 
 automobiles. In short, it offers every attraction 
 that well-kept modern hotels can give in a coun- 
 try as highly specialized as is Switzerland. If 
 Switzerland runs like clockwork, each of these 
 big Swiss hotels runs like a watch. 
 
 We reached the Grand Hotel of Vevey on the 
 second of July, the day after it opened. The 
 smart omnibus was at the station, with its driver 
 and conductor in gorgeous liveries. We were 
 driven up an avenue of tall trees through the 
 large park to the carriage portal. As our vehicle 
 approached, a bell rang, and the retinue came out 
 to receive us. It was headed by the manager in a 
 frock-coat, the maitre (T hotel in a swallow-tail coat, 
 
 399 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the head-porter in a field-marshal's uniform, the 
 lesser porters in jackets and brass-bound caps, 
 the waiters in conventional waiter garb, and num- 
 bers of boys in buttons. A wave of bows ran 
 down this long line as we were ushered into the 
 fine hotel. We found no difficulty in obtaining 
 rooms to our liking, although the manager, 
 through professional habit, would hesitate over 
 each room number. We were shown through 
 the "grand salon," taken up in the lift, and our 
 footfalls echoed along the empty corridors as we 
 were shown to our rooms by obsequious lackeys. 
 From around corners and out of doorways peered 
 the white-capped heads of waiting-maids. There 
 was an air of expectancy about them all. What 
 could it mean? 
 
 After we had removed the dust of travel we 
 descended and passed again through the " grand 
 salon." It was empty. We went out upon the 
 spacious terrace. Empty. We wandered through 
 the long avenues in the garden. Empty. We 
 went down to the lake shore. The fine steam- 
 yacht lay at its anchor. It was empty. Gayly 
 painted skiffs and shallops — with names Hke 
 "Bessie" and "Emma" painted on them, I ob- 
 served, instead of Swiss diminutives — rocked on 
 the blue waves of the lake and pulled at their 
 
 400 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 painters. They were empty. We went to the 
 lawn-tennis courts, to the swimming-bath, to the 
 billiard -rooms, to the gymnasium. All empty. 
 We went back to the hotel and entered the grand 
 dining-room. With the exception of the lines 
 of idle waiters, that was empty, too. The great 
 hotel was like one of the palaces in Irving's 
 "Tales of the Alhambra," where everything had 
 been brought to a standstill by some powerful 
 magician. 
 
 The mattre cT hotel approached us to take the 
 order for our dinner. I said to him : 
 
 "How many people are stopping in the 
 hotel?" 
 
 He paused, made a slight swallowing motion, 
 and replied : 
 
 "Seventeen, monsieur." 
 
 Something clicked in his throat. It was the 
 falsehood he was swallowing. Poor man ! Hotel 
 loyalty made him lie. 
 
 Before the fish was served we heard soun4s of 
 music. It was an orchestra in the "grand salon." 
 Throughout dinner we were favored with the 
 latest melodies by this orchestra, and after dinner 
 we repaired to the salon^ where coffee was served. 
 There we saw the remainder of the seventeen 
 guests. He was seated at a small table, smoking 
 
 AA 401 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 a cigar with great gravity, while in front of him, 
 with equal gravity, were twelve musicians furnish- 
 ing him with sweet music, as per advertisement. 
 The orchestra had been ordered for the first of 
 July, and according to Swiss clockwork meth- 
 ods it would have played on the first of July if 
 there had been an avalanche. 
 
 I have rarely seen anything quite so curious as 
 the spectacle of this solitary American tourist 
 seated in the "grand salon" of the Grand Hotel 
 at Vevey, smoking a cigar to the music of a full 
 string band, while around him slowly revolved 
 the wheels of a great hotel. 
 
 Among the objections which some superaes- 
 thetic people have to Switzerland are its large 
 modern hotels as well as its mountain railways. 
 These objections seem to me to be unsound. 
 True, the Swiss have run railways up many of 
 their mountains, and they have put fine hotels at 
 the terminus of each of these mountain railways. 
 But there is no cantonal or federal law obliging 
 aesthetic tourists to stop at these hotels or to 
 travel on these railways. If they do not like the 
 railways they may travel by the diligence, or 
 stage-coach, or hire carriages. If they do not 
 
 402 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 like the carriage-hire — and very likely they will 
 not — they may walk. If any aesthetic tourist 
 objects to the railway up the Rigi-Kulm, he may 
 climb the mountain on foot. If he objects to 
 the sight of the Hotel Rigi on the Rigi-Kulm, 
 he may walk up the other side. The walking is 
 said to be quite good on that side, and the view 
 is believed to be even finer. 
 
 I have frequently suggested these expedients 
 to aesthetic tourists, but they generally make no 
 reply, and look at me with a sour expression. 
 Sometimes it makes them quite cross. 
 
 As for the unaesthetic modern hotels, there are 
 plenty of the other kind in Switzerland. The 
 aesthetic tourist who objects to electric lights and 
 lifts can go to the small hotels, where he will have 
 the dim, funereal light of smoky coal-oil lamps 
 and be obliged to walk upstairs. These are 
 cheaper than the modern hotels and more pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 There is a still lower grade of inn, much 
 cheaper, and possibly more romantic. These 
 places are frequented by cowherds, tramps, and 
 insects. ^Esthetic tourists can find them with 
 little difficulty. Matthew Arnold, the Apostle 
 of Sweetness and Light, was one of the aesthetic 
 tourists who objected to modern conveniences in 
 
 403 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 Switzerland. Unlike Ruskin — who railed at 
 railways on grounds of aestheticism, but who 
 traveled by them on grounds of convenience — 
 Arnold was consistent. He occasionally took 
 walking-tours through Switzerland, and stopped 
 at these peasant beer-houses. I could not help 
 but smile once, in reading Arnold's letters, when 
 I found in an epistle to his wife a graphic de- 
 scription of the Apostle of Sweetness and Light 
 waking up in the night, lighting a candle, and in- 
 stituting a diligent search in the grimy bedclothes 
 for the cimex lectularius. 
 
 As for the aesthetic tourists who not only object 
 to Swiss hotels and railways but even to their 
 fellow-tourists, to bands of "Cookies," and to 
 the sight of red-bound guide-books, they can 
 easily avoid them by shunning the highways of 
 travel and going to less frequented parts of Swit- 
 zerland. Small as the little republic is, there are 
 many places there unknown to tourists. Victor 
 Tissot, the entertaining French traveler, has 
 written a vivacious volume called " Unknown 
 Switzerland." From it the lover of solitude may 
 learn that there are hundreds of other places 
 in Switzerland beside Lucerne, Geneva, the 
 Bernese Oberland, and the Engadine. 
 
 But the superaesthetic tourists who object to 
 404 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 Swiss railways and hotels are few in number. 
 Switzerland is a playground for the world, and 
 travelers come to the little federation from every 
 corner of the globe. Ninety-nine per cent, of 
 them are pleased with the excellent transportation 
 and comfortable hotels. The superaesthetic tour- 
 ists who object to improving the face of nature 
 are probably not more than one per cent. 
 
 These curious critics have some cousins in 
 California. For many years there has been talk 
 of utilizing the water-power in the Yosemite for 
 running funicular railways up the mountain-sides 
 and operating an electric rack-and-pinion railway 
 over the mountains and into the valley. Yet 
 whenever this project is discussed there arises a 
 cry of "Vandalism." Why vandalism? Is it 
 vandalism to render it possible for thousands of 
 people to visit the valley who otherwise never 
 could reach there ? Is it vandalism to render the 
 ascent of the mountain trails easy where now it 
 is difficult ? Is it vandalism to render the scaling 
 of the mountains possible to the weak, the elderly, 
 and the timid, where now it is impossible ? In 
 twenty years, from the 'sixties to the 'eighties, 
 the number of tourists entering the valley in- 
 creased only from twelve hundred to twenty-five 
 hundred. Were it possible for people to visit 
 
 405 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 the valley with a certain degree of cheapness and 
 ease, the visitors would be numbered by scores 
 of thousands where now they are numbered by 
 scores of hundreds. Europe does not call it van- 
 dalism to run railways up the Swiss mountains ; 
 why then would it be vandaHsm to run them up 
 the mountains of California? 
 
 To dwell upon California's scenery is needless. 
 All the world knows of her Yosemite Valley, her 
 groves of big trees, her petrified forests, and her 
 magnificent lakes. But not every one knows that 
 there is in California an Alpine region of which 
 Switzerland would have no need to be ashamed. 
 Not to mention her other mountain ranges, there 
 is in the Sierra Nevada, between 3 5 and 3 8 degrees 
 latitude, an area of several hundred square miles 
 with an elevation exceeding 8,000 feet. In this 
 California-Switzerland there are over one hun- 
 dred peaks exceeding 10,000 feet in height. The 
 best known of these are: Mount Lassen, over 
 10,000 feet; Mount Silliman, nearly 12,000 feet; 
 Mount Brewer, nearly 14,000 feet; Mount Lyell, 
 over 13,000 feet; Mount Dana, over 13,000 
 feet; Mount Tyndall, over 14,000 feet; Mount 
 Whitney, nearly 15,000 feet. 
 
 There are many other peaks in this region 
 which would be mighty mountains in other parts 
 
 406 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 of the world, but which here are lost in the pro- 
 fusion of peaks, so that they are not even named. 
 There are several about as high as Mount Shasta, 
 but that mountain, with its nearly 14,500 feet, 
 owing to its solitary position, looks infinitely more 
 imposing than mountains like Mount Tyndall. 
 One of these peaks. Mount Whitney, is prac- 
 tically as high as Mont Blanc, the highest peak 
 in the Alps. Mount Whitney is surrounded 
 by many other lofty peaks, and therefore is not, 
 like Mount Shasta, distinguishable from many 
 distant points. Mount Shasta is 7,000 feet 
 higher than any elevation within many miles of it. 
 Mont Blanc is visible from Switzerland, Italy, and 
 France. But Mount Whitney, in the California 
 Alps, is jostled by so many rival peaks that a 
 stranger can hardly pick it out from among the 
 others. 
 
 How many people visit these Alpine regions 
 of California? Only a few hundreds a year. 
 Even Californians neglect them, and visit other 
 parts of the world which have been made more 
 accessible. Were some of the Swiss "vandal- 
 ism" to be applied to California, she would 
 have hundreds of thousands of visitors yearly. 
 True, Switzerland is surrounded by the swarming 
 millions of Europe. But California has the 
 
 407 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 seventy -five millions of the United States to 
 draw upon. 
 
 Let not a returning Californian be deemed dis- 
 loyal if he speaks in these terms of his native 
 State. It is no slander upon California to say 
 that she needs more steam railways, more electric 
 railways, more funicular railways, more mountain 
 and seashore hotels, and last but not least, a rail- 
 way into the Yosemite Valley. 
 
 There are some villages in the high Alps of 
 Switzerland made up almost entirely of returned 
 Swiss burghers who have accumulated modest 
 competences in foreign lands. They spend the 
 evening of their lives in these high altitudes be- 
 cause they passionately love even these bleak and 
 cheerless mountain regions. Switzerland has a 
 most inclement climate. Many tourists visit 
 there and never see the sun. Travelers often 
 remain for days storm-bound in their inns. 
 When the steamers land at the piers on the 
 Swiss lakes it is edifying to see dismal "pleasure- 
 seekers" debarking wrapped in mackintoshes and 
 streaming with rain; at times it is almost plaintive 
 to see Somebody's Luggage dumped upon the 
 pier by the oilskin-clad sailors — unclaimed lug- 
 gage, American girls* summer trumpery, wicker 
 telescope-baskets, for example, left on the de- 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 serted dock under a pouring, pitiless Swiss rain- 
 storm. 
 
 Compare such weather as this — and it is the 
 average weather of Switzerland — with the long 
 rainless summers and mild winters of California. 
 You can leave snow-clad Mount Lowe in mid- 
 winter and go a score of miles to Santa Monica 
 and enjoy a swim in the surf. You can camp 
 in the lofty mountains of California for many 
 weeks in summer without fearing a rain-storm. 
 There is no season limit in California — the 
 season is twelve months long. There is no vain 
 search for climate in California — you can get any 
 kind you want in about twenty-four hours. You 
 can go from San Francisco in July with fog-horns 
 booming, raw winds blowing, and the thermom- 
 eter at fifty degrees, and in forty minutes cross 
 the bay to Ross Valley, where there is bright 
 sunshine and the thermometer at seventy-five. 
 You can get the warm, dry air of the inland cities 
 near the desert, like San Bernardino, the warm, 
 humid air of the seaboard cities near the des- 
 ert, like San Diego, or the cold, dry air of the 
 high Sierra. You can find every kind of scenery, 
 from the lofty peaks that soar up to the sky 
 around Yosemite to the limitless leagues of level 
 land in our great interior valleys. You can find 
 
 409 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 mighty rivers rolling placidly to the sea, like the 
 Sacramento, and impetuous torrents that hurl 
 themselves over rocky beds and rapids, like the 
 Klamath and the Pit Rivers. You can find 
 waterfalls descending from heights of nearly three 
 thousand feet, making leaps of a thousand feet 
 at a jump, like the Yosemite fall. You can find 
 almost every kind of fish that swims, from the 
 fresh- water black-bass and trout to the gigantic 
 jewfish of the Pacific, fit rival to Florida's 
 tarpon. You can find almost every kind of 
 bird that flies, from a canvasback duck to a black 
 swan. You can find deer, and brown bear, and 
 black bear, and if you go far enough you may 
 find a grizzly bear, and be sorry that you found 
 him. You can find mountain lakes, like Tahoe — 
 one of the most beautiful in the world, to which 
 no Swiss lake is a peer. You can find forests of 
 pine and redwood and the giant sequoias, beside 
 which the scrubby dwarf forests of the Old 
 World seem like children's toy tin trees. In 
 short, the seeker for health, for sport, or for 
 climate, can find more of it in California than 
 almost anywhere in the world. 
 
 There are Californians who waver in their 
 allegiance to the climate of California. Some- 
 times the climate of San Francisco has made me 
 
 410 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 cross. Sometimes I have thought that the winds 
 in summer were too cold, that the fogs in sum- 
 mer were too thick. But whenever I have 
 crossed the continent — when I have emerged 
 from New York at ninety -five degrees, and 
 entered Chicago at one hundred degrees — when 
 I have been breathing the dust of alkali deserts 
 and the fiery air of sagebrush plains — these are 
 the times when I have always been buoyed up 
 by the anticipation of inhaling the salt air of San 
 Francisco Bay. 
 
 If ever a summer wanderer is glad to get back 
 to his native land, it is I, returning to my native 
 fog. Like that prodigal youth who returned to 
 his home and filled himself with husks, so I 
 always yearn in summer to return to mine, and 
 fill myself up with fog. Not a thin, insignificant 
 mist, but a fog — a thick fog — one of those rich 
 pea-soup August fogs that blow in from the 
 Pacific Ocean over San Francisco. 
 
 When I leave the heated capitals of other 
 lands and get back to California uncooked, I 
 always offer up a thank-offering to Santa Niebla, 
 Our Lady of the Fogs. Out near the Presidio, 
 where Don Joaquin de Arillaga, the old coman- 
 dantey revisits the glimpses of the moon, clad in 
 rusty armor, with his Spanish spindle-shanks 
 
 4" 
 
ARGONAUT LETTERS 
 
 thrust into tall leathern boots — there some day I 
 shall erect a chapel to Santa Niebla. And I have 
 vowed to her as an ex-voto a silver fog-horn, 
 which horn will be wound by the winds of the 
 broad Pacific, and will ceaselessly sound through 
 the centuries the litany of Our Lady of the Fogs. 
 
 Every Californian has good reason to be loyal 
 to his native land. If even the Swiss villagers, 
 born in the high Alps, long to return to their 
 birthplace, how much the more does the exiled 
 Californian yearn to return to the land which 
 bore him. There are other, richer, and more pop- 
 ulous lands, but to the Californian born, California 
 is the only place in which to live. And to the 
 returning Californian, particularly if he be native- 
 born, the love of his birthplace is only inten- 
 sified by visits to other lands. 
 
 Why do men so love their native soil ? It is 
 perhaps a phase of the human love for the mother. 
 For we are compact of the soil. Out of the 
 crumbling granite eroded from the ribs of Cali- 
 fornia's Sierras by CaHfornia's mountain streams 
 — out of the earth washed into California's great 
 valleys by her mighty rivers — out of this the 
 sons of California are made, brain, and muscle, 
 and bone. Why then should they not love their 
 mother, even as the mountaineers of Montenegro, 
 
 412 
 
THE THRIFTY SWISS 
 
 of Switzerland, of Savoy, love their mountain 
 birth-place ? Why should not exiled Californians 
 yearn to return ? And we sons of California 
 always do return; we are always brought back 
 by the potent charm of our native land — back 
 to the soil which gave us birth — and at the last 
 back to Earth, the great mother, from whom we 
 sprung, and on whose bosom we repose our tired 
 bodies when* our work is done. 
 
 413 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Academy, French, 102. 
 
 ^tna, 35. 36- 
 
 Alameda Gardens, 13, 17- 
 
 Alban Mountains, 75, 119. 
 
 Albert the Good, 289. 
 
 Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 188, 
 
 Alexandria, 36, 37, 42, 44 48. 
 
 Alfonso, Don, 180. 
 
 Algeciras, 16. 
 
 Algiers, 302, 
 
 Alps, 23. 25, 77. 242, 249, 257 
 
 277. 
 Annecy, 270, 271, 
 Aosta, Duke of, 86, 88. 
 Apennine, 242. 
 Appian Way, 119, 197. 
 Arab, 50, 51. 
 Arabia, 58. 
 Arno. 77 242. 
 Arnold, Matthew, 403. 
 Azores, 1-4. 
 
 B 
 
 Balearic Islands, 20. 
 Barcelona, 20. 
 Barrett, 372-378. 
 Bauer, Sebastian, 365. 
 Beato, Angelico, 237. 
 Berlin, 275, 344. 
 Bernhardt, Sarah, 301. 
 Bernini's Colonnade, 160. 
 Boden See, 263, 264, 265. 
 Boigne, General de, 267. 
 
 Bologna, 342. 
 Bonaparte, Pauline, 323. 
 Bonheur, 237. 
 Booth, Edwin, 372-380. 
 Bordeaux, 326. 
 Bordighera, 25. 
 Borghese, Cardinal, 153. 
 Borghese, Prince, 207. 
 68, 70. Borghese, Palace, 323. 
 
 Borghese, Villa, 152, 154. i55- 
 Borgia, Lucrezia, 177. 
 Borgia Tower, 196. 
 259. 268, Botticelli, 232, 233, 235, 236. 
 Bourget, Lake, 265, 277. 
 Brera Gallery, 247. 
 Bronte, Charlotte, 275. 
 Byron, 395. 
 
 Caine, Hall, 86. 
 
 Cairo, 48, 49. 52, 53- 6i-^7, 31 7. 350. 353. 
 
 California, 78, 112, 113, 220, 223, 237, 
 
 250-254. 288, 311, 405-413- 
 Campagna, 75, 119, 121, 185, 187, 194, 
 
 200, 216. 
 Campo Santo, 27, 28, 33, 
 Canada, 318. 
 Canova, 323. 
 
 Capitoline Hill, 124, 198. ' 
 Capodimonte, 75 102. 
 Cappanelle, 119, 120. 
 Carlos, King, 103. 
 Carthagena, 20. 
 Cascine, The, 225-228. 
 Castel del Ovo, 151. 
 
 417 
 
INDEX 
 
 Castel GandoHo, 187. 
 
 Cast el St. Angelo, 184. 
 
 Catherine of Russia, 178. 
 
 Chambery, 261-282. 
 
 Ch6ret, 203. 
 
 Chicago, 52, 154, 155, 258, 283-308. 352. 
 
 Christina of Sweden, 177-180. 
 
 Cockayne, 272. 
 
 Col de Fr^jus, 257. 
 
 Colonna, Piazza, 347. 
 
 Colosseum, 129. 
 
 Cook, 6, 53, 262. 
 
 Corsica, 33. 
 
 Crete, 36, 37, 71. 
 
 Florence, 86, 102, 117, 225-241 248, 345, 
 
 346. 
 Florence, Wm.. 363, 364, 377. 
 Florida, 311, 312, 314, 315,316, 317. 
 Forum, 122, 123, 124, 129, 198, 199, 220. 
 Forrest, Edwin, 373. 
 Fountain of Trevi, 198, 223. 
 Fountain, Pauline, 223. 
 Fournier, 67. 
 
 Fra Angelico, 233, 236, 237. 
 Fra Lippo Lippi, 233, 234. 
 Francis Joseph, Emperor, 103. 
 
 D 
 
 D'Annunzio, Gabriele, 85, 219. 
 
 Daudet, 6, 382. 
 
 da Vinci, Leonardo, 240. 
 
 de Maintenon, Mme., 262. 
 
 de Montespan, Mme., 262. 
 
 de Musset, Alfred, 152. 
 
 Dent du Chat, 279, 280, 281. 
 
 deStael, Mme., 153. 
 
 Dickens, 222. 
 
 Diderot, 374, 375. 376. 
 
 Dijon, 34, 265. 
 
 du Barry, Madame, 262. 
 
 Dumas, 34. 
 
 Duse, loi, 247. 
 
 Easter, 75, 142, 152. 156. 
 Egypt, 44-70. 
 El-Azhar, 52-59. 
 Elba, 33, 34- 
 Eliot, George, 247. 
 Elizabeth of Austria, 353. 
 EUsler, Fanny, 366. 
 Emin Bey, 65, 66. 
 Eugenie, 254, 353. 
 " Excelsior," 258. 
 
 Favre, Louis, 258, 260. 
 Ferdinand, Prince, 79. 
 
 " Gammer Gurton's Needle," 364. 
 
 Gautier, 4. 
 
 Geneva, 393-397- 
 
 Genoa, 20-28, 33, 102, no, 255, 345, 346. 
 
 Genoa, Duke of, 86, 150, 151. 
 
 Gibraltar, 12-20, 38. 
 
 Gilbert, 61. 
 
 Ghiberti, Lorenzo, 235. 
 
 Golden Rose, 176, 177, 180. 
 
 Grand Prix, 80. 
 
 Gressoney, 102. 
 
 H 
 
 Harte, Bret, 261, 265. 
 Hautecombe, 277. 
 Hawaiian Islands, 2. 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 153. 
 Helena of Montenegro, 88, 104. 
 Herculaneum, 96. 
 Hogarth, 234. 
 Hortense, Queen, 278. 
 Hugo, Victor, 68, 254. 
 Humbert, 25, 100-104, 150, 224. 
 Hypatia, 42, 43. 
 
 I 
 
 Ireland, 273. 
 Irving, Henry, 365. 
 Isabella of Spain, 180. 
 
 418 
 
INDEX 
 
 Japan, 268, 302. 
 Jefferson, Joseph, 365, 377. 
 Joan, (^ueen, 240. 
 Jockey Club, 73. 
 
 K 
 
 Keats, 219. 
 
 Khedive, 39, 53. 54. 65, 353. 
 
 Koran, 54, 56, 57. 67. 
 
 Laboulaye, Edouartl, 318. 
 
 Lake, Alba no, 187. 
 
 Lang, Anton, 365, 370, 380. 
 
 La Scala, 245, 246, 247. 
 
 Legion of Honor, 74 75- 
 
 Leo, Pope, 126, 169, 184. 
 
 Leonine City, 184, 185. 
 
 Leopold, King, 79. 
 
 Lewes, George Henry. 247, 248. 
 
 Lindau, 263, 264, 265. 
 
 Lodi, 254. 
 
 Lombardy, 78, 104, 242-255. 
 
 London, 42, 203, 246, 310, 317, 331-338, 
 
 344. 353- 
 Long Island, 13. 
 Los Angeles, 254. 
 Louis, King, 179. 
 Louvre, 235. 
 
 Lucerne, 262, 263, 264, 316. 
 Luini, 247. 
 Luzzatto, 213-219. 
 Lyons, 21, 34, 265, 273. 
 
 M 
 
 Macaulay, 95. 
 
 Madonna, 233, 234, 236. 
 
 Magenta, 254. 
 
 Maggiore, Lake, 78. 
 
 Majorca, 20. 
 
 Malaga, 20. 
 
 Mameluke Beys, 65. 
 
 Margherita, Queen, 99, 100-102, 126. 
 
 Marengo, 254. 
 
 Marseilles, 35. 
 
 Mascagni, Pietro, 93. 
 
 Maximilian's Tomb, 357. 
 
 Mediterranean, 20, 21, 25, 38, 77. 
 
 Melba, 246. 
 
 Messina, 35, 36. 
 
 Metternich, 366. 
 
 Michael Angelo, 168, 225, 232, 238, 241, 
 
 294. 
 Milan, 102, 214, 242-248, 273. 
 Mohammed Ali, 65, 66. 
 Mohammedans, 54, 56, 58, 59, 60. 
 Mont Blanc, 270, 278. 
 Mont Cenis, 257, 265. 
 Monte Carlo, 23, 24, 25, 255. 
 Montenegro, Helena of, 88, 104. 
 Montmartre, 298, 299, 300. 
 Monza, 102. 
 Morelli 240 
 Morris, Clara, 374. 
 Moses, 238. 
 
 Munich, 154, 262, 263, 347, 356, 358, 379 
 Murillo, 241. 
 
 N 
 
 Naples, 27, 35, 75-90. "7. 142-151. 246, 
 
 255. 343. 345- 
 Naples, Prince of, 149, 150. 
 Naples, Princess of, 149, 150. 
 Napoleon, 33, 34, 74, 254, 366. 
 New Orleans, 208, 288, 311, 319, 322- 
 
 325. 
 New York, 13, 26, 40, 42, 70, 203, 2/.16, 
 
 258, 309. 310, 317, 3^9. 325. 332-331, 
 
 372. 
 Niagara, 270. 
 Nice, 22, 23, 25, 255. 
 Niebuhr, 152. 
 Nile, 37, 45, 47. 48. 
 North German Lloyd, 9, 10, 38. 
 Novell!, loi, 247. 
 Nuremberg, 264. 
 
 Oberammergau, 355, 356, 357, 360, ^64, 
 
 368, 369, 370, 378. 
 O'Neill, James, 380. 
 Oreglia, Cardinal, 170. 
 
 419 
 
INDEX 
 
 Palatine Hill, 125, 119. 
 
 Palazzo, Corsini, 177. 
 
 Palo Alto, 53, 311. 
 
 Palermo, 36, 77, 
 
 Paquin, 74. 
 
 Paris, 34, 73, 89, 158, 203, 256, 258, 283- 
 
 308, 317, 318, 320, 330, 331, 332, 338, 
 
 340. 
 Passion Play, The, 355-381. 
 Pecci, Counts, 167. 
 Pharos, 26. 
 
 Piazza Colonna, 200, 201. 
 Pickwick, 361, 362. 
 Piedmont, 78. 102, 103, 254-260. 
 Pincian Hili, 97, 197, 222. 
 Pisa, 22. 
 Pitti, 232. 
 
 Pius Ninth, 187, 196. 
 Players' Club, 372, 378. 
 Po, 77, 242, 249. 
 Pompadour, Mme. de, 264. 
 Pompeii, 91-96, 143, 145. 
 Pompey's Pillar, 37, 40. 
 Portici, 143, 145. 
 Posilipo, 151, 
 Prince of Wales, 25, 353. 
 Punch, 275. 
 Pyramids, 49, 50, 64, 350. 
 
 Quirinal, loi, 103, 122, 126, 167, 199, 
 aoi. 
 
 R 
 
 Raphael, 232, 239, 241, 294. 
 
 Resina, 143, 144, i45. I47 
 
 Rembrandt, 363. 
 
 Rhone. 265, 277, 393, 394. 
 
 Riverside, 254. 
 
 Riviera, 21, 22, 26, 36, 77, 151, 317. 
 
 Rivoli, 254. 
 
 Romanshom, 264. 
 
 Rome, 75, 97-105, 109, 1 13-141, 152- 
 
 159. 197-224, 248, 340-347. 
 Romulus, 123. 
 Rousseau, 278. 
 
 Rudolf, Prince, 79. 
 Ruskin, 236, 238 404. 
 
 Sahara, 76. 
 
 St. Augustine, 311, 312. 
 
 Sainte Chapelle, 267. 
 
 St. Gothard, 257. 
 
 St. John Lateran, 120. 
 
 St. Peter's, 119, 122, 126-141, 160-180, 
 
 188, 195, 248. 
 Sala, G. A., 333. 
 Salt Lake City, 269. 
 Salvini, 247. 
 Sampietrini, 171, 172. 
 Sandy Hook, 276. 
 San Francisco, 2, 146, 151, 258, 283, 
 
 288, 320-328. 
 San Carlo, 246. 
 San Diego County, 254. 
 San Donato, 72. 
 San Remo, 24, 25, 316, 317, 
 Santa Clara Valley, 250, 251. 
 Sardinia, 35, 104. 
 Sardinia, King of, 102, 103. 
 Savonarola, 225. 
 Savoy, 255, 261-282. 
 Senate House, 124'. 
 Severus, Arch of, 130. 
 Shakespeare, 269. 
 Sicilia, 104. 
 Sicily, 77. 
 Simplon, 258, 393. 
 Sistine Chapel, 188. 
 Sixtus, 196. 
 Smith, Sydney, 95. 
 Solferino, 254. 
 Sommdier, 257, 260. 
 Sonzogno, E., 94. 
 Sudan, 58. 
 Spanish Steps, 222. 
 Stephanie, Princess, 79, 80. 
 Story, 95. 
 
 Strand, The, 334, 337. 
 Stromboli, 35. 
 Strozzi, 226. 
 Sultan, 39. 
 
 420 
 
INDEX 
 
 Swiss Guard, i68, i86, 187, 188, 190. 
 Switzerland, 264. 274, 277, 27S, 382-413. 
 
 Tewfik, 53. 
 Thackeray, 71. 
 Tiber, 122, 160, 184, 185, 220. 
 Torre Annunziata, 96, 143. 
 Torre del Greco, 96, 143, 148. 
 Trasteverini, 184. 
 Turin, 102, 248, 255-260. 
 Turin, Count of, 118, 225. 
 Tuscany, 78, 104, 225. 
 
 u. 
 
 UflSzi, 232. 
 
 Usher, Bishop, 122. 
 
 Via Appia Nuova, 119, 
 
 Via del Tritone, 200, 201. 
 
 Victor Emanuel, 201. 
 
 Victoria, Queen, 25, 39, 289. 
 
 Vienna, 76, 103, 231, 275, 288, 344, 347- 
 
 Villa Borghese, 152, 154, 155. 
 
 Villafranca, 24, 25. 
 
 Villa Medici, 102. 
 
 Virginia, 46. 
 
 Voltaire, 394. 
 
 w 
 
 Washington, 285, 329-331. 
 Weyler, General, 20. 
 Whistler, 221, 222. 
 William, Emperor, 80. 
 
 Vatican, 103, 123, 134, 181-196. 
 Vatican Gardens, 182, 185, 195, 196. 
 Ventimiglia, 24, 25. 
 Versailles, 295. 
 Vesuvius, 35, 75, 142-151. 
 
 Yorkshire, 275. 
 
 Yosemite, 18, 270, 298, 405, 408, 410. 
 
 Zecca, 182, 183. 
 
 421 
 
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