GREECE AND ROME FROM A THIRD-CLASS COACH
TWO weeks of the Greek freighter were enough, and Richardson and I
rejoiced to see the picturesque sky-line of Constantinople come into
view. We made short work of getting ashore as soon as the anchor
was dropped and in a few minutes were on a local steamer going up
the Bosporus on our way to Roberts College, the famous American
institution of the Near East, where we were to be the guests of friends
of Richardson's. Here we received a real welcome and once more began
living the civilised life--as true Americans can when given a chance.
It had now been many months since we had left Manila and a job; and
our exchequers, in spite of the economical methods of travel we had
pursued, were being slowly depleted. However, as near as can be
recalled, we had about two hundred and fifty dollars each and, although
this sum is a mere joke when compared with the distance we were from
home, still a man is not broke until he is broke. We concluded that if
it was possible we would get jobs in Constantinople and at least break
even financially during our stay there.
Looking for work in Europe is a very different thing from such a quest
in the Orient. Indeed, we soon found that as a whole travel in Europe
was far different and in many ways less interesting than in the Far
East. Europe is the beaten path where the inhabitants of each country
are organised and lie in wait to separate the American tourist from
his coin. The paths are all cut and dried and everything is carried on
along the lines of the personally-conducted sight-seeing tours. Jobs
are scarce, and the few obtainable pay very small wages. The thrifty
native can do the work as well as, and oftentimes better than, the
transient American. The conventional character of European travel
strips this pastime of two-thirds of its charm. Experiences, which one
is daily encountering in the more or less primitive countries of the
Orient, are not to be found in Europe. Civilisation, with its comforts
and conveniences, eliminates the possibilities of adventure and the
traveller, whether rich or poor, usually deteriorates into a bored and
bleary-eyed sight-seeing machine.
After a couple of days' rest we set out to find jobs. We invaded
Stamboul, Galata, Pera and Scutari, the three sections of
Constantinople, and called on the American Consul, several large
foreign mercantile houses, and a number of educational institutions. In
nearly every instance we were dismissed with a laugh. Roberts College
came to our rescue. Richardson received a position, if it could be
elevated to such dignity by the appellation, which consisted of doing
electric wiring in one of the college buildings at two dollars a day.
Out of this he was to board and room himself. The best I could do was
to become assistant instructor in physical culture in the gymnasium at
thirty-five dollars a month and from this princely sum I was to pay for
my board and clothe and shelter myself--in addition to providing for
the many and sundry wants of an American in a strange land.
Richardson decided to accept and I to reject the respective posts. I
concluded that I would rather starve moving than while stationary.
We agreed to separate--Richardson to remain in Constantinople for a
couple of months and I to continue on alone,--to meet later in London.
Before our separation we made a systematic and tourist-like conquest
of beautiful Constantinople. We went up the Bosporus and travelled in
circles on the Black Sea. We explained the interesting but backward
city itself. We made our way among the quaint bazaars and finally came
to the Mosque of San Sophia. Here I took leave of Richardson and we
planned to meet in London in a few months to cross the Atlantic to
America together.
I did not have any itinerary. My plan was simply to go through Europe.
I decided to go from Constantinople to Greece. The first-class fare to
Athens was eighty francs. At this rate my supply of coin would not last
long. I knew I could beat that. I visited several steamship offices
along the waterfront in search of cheap passage.
Accompanied by a Greek, as an interpreter, I entered a dingy little
office.
"When does the next boat leave for Piræus?" I inquired of a moon-faced
man in uniform behind a counter.
"To-morrow morning at nine o'clock," was the reply by way of the
interpreter.
"What is the fare?" I asked.
"Thirty francs," was the response.
"That's too much," I said, starting to walk away.
"What will you give?" asked the steamship company official.
"Five francs," I uttered, smothering a smile at the smallness of the
amount.
"All right," agreed the officer--and I bought my ticket at once. I
was so astonished that I could hardly dig up the money fast enough.
As I left the little office I concluded that my luck had not left me
on setting foot in Europe. I shipped my suit case direct to England,
deciding to travel with only a small hand bag.
As my boat did not leave until morning, I now had the evening in
which to stir up some excitement. I wandered along the streets of
Constantinople ready to welcome any one or anything that came my way.
Presently a sign "American Bar" greeted my eyes and in I immediately
went, thinking that there the English or American language would be
spoken and I might find a companion of some sort. I found that French
was the only means of communication. Shortly, however, a man entered
the place who knew a little English.
"Where can I find a bit of excitement this evening?" I asked.
"There is nothing going on to-night except at the Paris Café," replied
the man.
"What takes place there?"
"Music, theatre, pretty women and plenty to eat and drink."
"Where is this café and how do I get there?" I asked, determined to
investigate the establishment.
"The proprietor will be here in a moment and you can go with him."
In a few minutes a sleek-looking Frenchman arrived and was introduced,
and in a second I was off with him in a closed carriage for the Paris
Café. We rode on for an hour. It was nine o'clock in the evening. The
Frenchman didn't speak a word of English. I began to think that I was
up against a knockdown and drag-out game. I decided to stick, however,
and see what this Paris Café was. We rode on. Finally, the carriage
came to a stop and we alighted in front of a small house, brightly
illuminated, from which was emanating the maudlin laughter of male
and female voices. There was not another house to be seen. We might
have been in the midst of an American prairie from the appearance
of the darkened landscape. My French companion and I entered the
house. I reluctantly paid the equivalent of one dollar admittance. On
entering, the Frenchman was lost in the crowd and I was left to find my
own way. An inebriated gathering of French life greeted my vision. I
seated myself at a table in one end of the large room, ordered a drink
and in a careless manner took in what was about me. A dozen or more
tables with six or eight people at each occupied half of the hall, a
highly-polished floor for dancing took up the other half and at one
end was a stage on which a succession of scantily-clad French women of
tender age executed a series of sensuous dances while the maudlin crowd
cheered and applauded.
I sat at my table unnoticed for fully an hour. At last, an ill-shapen
feminine individual advanced and, in broken English supplemented with
portions of French, asked me to join her crowd in an adjacent room
in some refreshments. I accepted. I considered that I was not a fool
and could take care of myself, and decided that I would investigate
the place to the limit. I joined this select party of eight. Liquid
began to flow freely and all were very solicitous that I should drink
my fill. Being suspicious of the whole proceeding I decided to drink
nothing. I had fears of being drugged, robbed and thrown out in an
alley to spend the night. My fears were well founded. The gang became
more and more intoxicated. They reached the point where they evidently
thought that I was ripe to pluck, and two of them ventured to separate
me from my money. It would have been a fruitless effort, if it had
been allowed to proceed to its consummation, for I had left all my
coin, with the exception of a small amount, in my hand bag at the
steamship office. My assailants plunged towards me like huge tigers.
They were so drunk that they were helpless. I handled them like a pair
of twin punching bags and left the room and the Paris Café with one
man stretched out so flat that he looked like an inlaid design on the
floor, while his co-partner was so completely pasted against the side
of the room as to be hardly distinguishable from a figure on the wall
paper. After this clean-up I calmly walked out of the joint, ordered
a hack, drove to town, put up at a little Greek hotel and had a good
night's sleep.
In the morning I boarded the Greek steamer ΙΣΜΝΗ. My bunk consisted of
nothing more than a niche in the side of the ship--similar bunks being
occupied by a score of Greeks--and my food was a supply of tinned goods
I had purchased in Constantinople. The next day at sunrise we were off
the shore of the Dardanelles, and here we spent most of the morning
waiting for the sea to subside in order to land a herd of cattle and
a small flock of unhealthy-looking sheep. The sea continued to rage
and it was not long before our common sleeping compartment presented a
most distressing scene, with a Greek chorus which so affected me that I
nearly joined the regurgitating throng myself.
[Illustration: A MARKET IN CONSTANTINOPLE]
Early the third day the Greek ship arrived at Piræus, the port of
Athens, and without stopping I betook myself by electric car to the
capital. I went directly to the "American School of Classical Studies"
where I presented a letter of introduction to Dr. Clyde Phaar. This
gentleman--for he surely was one--conducted me about the city of Athens
and I spent two most interesting days visiting the Acropolis, the
Olympieion, the Theatre of Dionysis and many other ancient structures.
On leaving Dr. Phaar I returned to my old level and picked up a couple
of Greek peasants who led me to their various haunts. One evening,
after a seven-cent meal (consisting of stewed liver, kidney and other
entrails) in the most unsanitary restaurant I ever saw, I left Athens
for Patras, laden with many introductory letters from my Athenian
friends to Grecian fruit vendors and candy fabricants in New York City.
After travelling all day, with an hour's delay at Corinth, due to a
defective engine--which time I utilised by sight-seeing--I arrived at
Patras in the evening. I was besieged by an army of hotel men as I was
leaving the station and nearly landed in jail, instead of an hotel,
for beating up an especially persistent hawker. However, I managed to
find an hotel and I spread myself to the extent of eating a first-class
dinner, the first food for the day. With this meal safely placed away
I strolled up the street. I was ambling aimlessly along; my thoughts
had drifted to America, when I was attracted by a Greek of about
thirty years, who called to me from across the street, addressing me as
"Charlie." As there was nothing on the calendar, I responded to my new
name and crossed over to see what the native wanted.
"Where are you going, Charlie?" he asked.
"No place," answered Charlie.
"Come along with me then," said the Greek in good English.
"Where are you going?" I enquired, preferring to know something of my
destination.
"To call on some of my relatives and friends." My boat for Brindisi did
not leave until midnight and I had plenty of time to learn something.
We strolled along a winding road lined on each side with little
native houses. Our first call was on the Greek's aged aunt, a peasant
woman, whose husband had been killed, a few days before, in a duel
with a neighbour. The house in which this simple and grief-stricken
woman lived was a low thatch-roofed adobe structure with the earth
for its floors. It was a near-to-nature residence and I was impressed
by its almost spotless cleanliness and neatness. We remained in this
little home for nearly an hour while the poor woman poured out her
troubles to her nephew, who later informed me that he had assumed the
responsibility of her support since her husband's death. We next called
on the Greek's older sister. This Grecian peasant home was also an
interesting place and was as immaculate as its predecessor. With this
second visit completed, my companion evidently had performed all his
obligations and he now felt at liberty to call on some of his girls.
Our last visit was at the home of a travelling butcher, who saunters
about the town pushing a one-wheeled vehicle, resembling a wheelbarrow,
laden with carcasses of cows and sheep, from which he hacks off a chunk
whenever he finds a customer. The walls of this modest mud house were
literally plastered with calendars, newspaper pictures and display
advertisements. It was inhabited by a most interesting set of human
beings. There was the mother with her three youngest huddling around
her skirt like little chicks around the proud old hen; there were twin
girls of about twelve years, who spent their energies giggling at the
idiosyncrasies of the American guest and there were two young women
of some twenty-one summers. There was also a boy of about sixteen and
from the accounts of his mother he must have been the tough lad of the
neighbourhood.
The two young ladies, whose names were Miss Vaseleki Caetina and Miss
Caraperpara Caetina, were bright, healthy creatures in spite of the
fact that they worked fourteen hours a day, one in a stocking factory
and the other as a dressmaker.
My visit was considered a great distinction and my presence was soon
noised about the neighbourhood and an endless file of proud mothers
came to exhibit their offsprings to me as I handed out compliments and
passed comments on them by means of my Greek companion. The Misses
Caetina became so infatuated with the sample American, in spite of
my travel-worn and trampish appearance, that they insisted on their
mother's inviting me to dinner. What they would have done to a regular
American one can only surmise. I was enjoying the affair to the limit
of my capacity and if I had been invited to a suicide I would have
accepted.
The meal was served in the most informal way in what might be termed
the parlour. Informal is hardly the word. Jam came straight from
the jar to the eater's mouth. One spoon did service for the entire
gathering, each one using it in turn without any cleansing process
intervening. Still having some ideas of hygiene in spite of my
unsanitary experiences, I considered myself fortunate in being the
guest and, therefore, getting the first fling at the much-worked
spoon. Greek wine was poured out in lavish quantities and, not being
acquainted with the inebriating efficiency of this liquid, I partook
of it cautiously. Strips of dried meat, squares of bread and walnuts
completed the repast.
The evening was an entertaining one and I took my leave while the
young Grecian maidens danced with joy as I wrote down their names
and promised I would drop them post cards from Italy. This promise I
fulfilled.
I now turned my thoughts towards Italy. A much-travelled man once
advised me that if I had but six months in which to tour Europe to
spend four of them in Italy. Although I do not agree with his ratio, I
do thoroughly believe that four months is much too short a time to even
get a start in this wonderful land, rich in everything that interests
an intelligent human being. But lack of funds haunted me with the
necessity for speed and, much as I regretted it, I had to keep moving
on.
A sea trip of two nights and one day brought me to Brindisi. I took the
first train to Naples where I arrived after a delightful route through
green fields, prosperous farms and orchards and a country radiant
with the bloom of youth, for it was the early spring-time. I put up
at a small rooming house with eating arrangements connected, which I
discovered near the station.
Italy proved to be a land of little adventure. The traveller has
nothing to do but go sight-seeing and about the only way in which to
encounter an unusual experience would be to go out in the street and
deliberately insult some one. Not having any desire to do this I became
a simple and ordinary tourist, and the following sample from my diary
concerning my activities in Naples very clearly illustrates this:
"Saturday:--I nearly walked my crimson head off to-day. Armed with a
Baedeker, I went after Naples with the persistence and energy of an
American book agent. I managed to get about very satisfactorily without
a guide or even the disbursing of a single tip.
"In the morning early, after carefully studying the Baedeker map, I
went to the Villa Nazionale, a public garden next the sea, with many
trees and marble statues. The 'fashionable' world flit to and fro in
their automobiles on the broad Via Caracciolo along the water, while
the scum and tramps, like myself, get out of their way in the best
manner we can or are run down and trampled into eternity. In the Villa
Nazionale is the famous Aquarium, which I will visit to-morrow--as on
Sundays the admission is one franc instead of two.
"From this park I went to the English church, a fine large building,
with a tasteful interior, quite in contrast to the churches of the
Papal obedience which I have seen. I wandered through busy, noisy
streets,--the inhabitants of Naples are the noisiest people I think I
ever heard--and came to the large church of San Francesco di Paola--a
modern edifice--having been constructed in 1817-31. In the interior are
superb marble columns, modern statues and pictures and a high altar
inlaid with jasper. It impressed me more favourably than other churches
of Naples because time had not filled it with a lot of gaudy fixtures.
"Passing the Plazzo Real and the Theatre of San Carlo, I went in the
Galleria Umberto Primo, a beautiful arcade containing many high-class
shops. I walked by the Municipio, a large square structure used for
city offices, as its name suggests, and came into the Via Roma or
Toledo, the main street of Naples. Jostling along this thoroughfare for
awhile, I turned off on a side street and spent some little time in
the Jesuit church of Gesu Nuovo. Near-by I visited the Church of Santa
Chiara, built in the fourteenth century and richly but tastelessly
decorated. It contains numerous altars and many paintings, and the
ceiling is a solid mass of gilding. Referring to the map in Baedeker
I directed my course to the Church of San Domenico Maggiore, erected
in 1289 and restored several times. My guide book states that some of
the great families (great because of inherited wealth, I suppose!) of
Naples have their chapels here.
"I next found my way in some mysterious manner through the narrow
foul-smelling alleys of the slums to the Cathedral of San Gennaro. This
church is in the French-Gothic style and is not especially attractive.
It contains a shrine called the Chapel of Saint Januarius. In the
tabernacle of the chief altar of this chapel there are two vessels
containing the blood of Saint Januarius, Bishop of Benevento, who
suffered martyrdom in the fourth century. The liquefaction of the
blood, which, according to the legend, took place for the first time
when the body was brought to Naples, occurs three times a year on
several successive days. On the occasion of this liquefaction thousands
of the faithful make pilgrimages to this shrine for prayers and
offerings, for by means of this liquefying a forecast can be made of
the prosperity of the land.
"From the Cathedral I went to the Castel Capuano, once the residence of
the Hohenstaufen, later of the Angevin kings and, since 1540, the seat
of the law-courts. Close by is the Porta Capuano, one of the finest
existing Renaissance gateways.
"In the afternoon I walked along the Via Tossa, a winding street
which ascends the hill behind Naples and which passes many beautiful
buildings and from which good views of the city and bay of Naples may
be had. I took a cable car lift and went up to and around the Castel
Sant' Elmo, fortified with huge walls and now used as a military
prison. Near this castle I visited the Church of San Martino. This
church seems to be deserted so far as religious purposes are concerned,
and has been turned into a money-making institution. In the Tesoro, a
room beyond a sacristy, is a "DESCENT FROM THE CROSS" by Ribera and on
the ceiling "JUDITH" by Luca Giordana--who is said to have painted it
in forty-eight hours, when in his seventy-second year. This sounds like
a California fish story.
"Adjoining the church is the museum, which contains many sculptures,
paintings and ecclesiastical vestments. From the Belvedere, a spacious
balcony, is an excellent view of the city and of Vesuvius beyond.
"Sunday:--I spent two hours this morning (admission free on Sundays) in
the Museo Nationale. It contains a fine collection of marble and bronze
sculptures, most of them from Herculaneum and a few from Pompeii--the
bronze exhibition consisting mostly of household utensils and affording
an admirable insight into the domestic life of antiquity. The museum
also contains a gallery with many beautiful and masterful pictures and
also an unrivalled collection of vases.
"Later in the day I visited the Aquarium, which was very interesting,
although not so large as the one in Honolulu. The sea life it contains
is of a different species, being from other waters, but there are not
so many varieties as in Hawaii.
"The shops, streets, and tenement sections of Naples are unique. Noise,
congestion and colour are their most predominant features. Every man
who is not a priest is engaged in ravenously devouring a greasy string
of macaroni, while the women are shouting inhuman shrieks in the effort
to sell a bottle of red wine."
The feeling of loneliness, which seizes us all at one time or another,
is probably more acute, when--travelling alone--one enters a large city
in a foreign land where he doesn't understand the language and doesn't
know a single soul. Especially is this the case when the traveller is
making his way on a sum which is so small that rigid economy has to be
practised every minute of the day.
Never was I more impressed with this feeling of loneliness than when
I arrived in Rome at midnight. It is a simple thing for the opulent
traveller to alight from his first-class train and take a carriage
to the leading hotel, but it is a very different matter for the lone
and coin-depleted tramp to find board and lodging commensurate with
his meagre funds and, especially so, during the middle of the night.
The greatness of Rome, its magnificent history and its position in
the world to-day made me feel as insignificant as when one gazes into
the heavens on a moonless night and beholds the stars. I swung off
a third-class coach, made my way through the crowds in the station,
elbowed the hotel hawkers aside and reached a street corner, where I
stood for a moment's reflection. I might as well have been in a jungle
so far as knowing where to go next. I finally set out in search of
an hotel, and for two hours I hunted in vain. I inquired for a room
at every establishment over the door of which was printed the word
"portier." My hotel in Naples had displayed this sign and I concluded
that all places with such a label were hotels. Working under this
delusion I canvassed every building which bore the inscription. No one
would take me in and I couldn't make any one understand me. I began
to wonder if there was something about my appearance which made me an
outcast and caused the portiers to regard me with suspicion. Some of
the supposed hotel-keepers laughed at me, others nearly threw me out,
while still others seemed to regard me with pity. I became discouraged.
It was now two o'clock in the morning. Was I to pace streets all night,
luggage in hand, in search of a place to sleep? Tired and disgusted I
decided to retire in the first vacant lot I came to, if Rome had such
things. Presently I came across a large open space which appeared in
the darkness to be some sort of an ancient excavation or ruin. This was
good enough, I thought, and I scrambled down the decomposed steps and
in a few minutes was sound asleep in a secluded corner of this deserted
square.
[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF THESEUS]
I awakened early to recognise that my bedroom was no less than the
Roman Forum. A smile rippled over my unshaven face and my thoughts were
shifted years back to the time when I studied in school of the ruined
Roman Forum and how at that time I little realised that the day was
coming when I would wake up, like a tramp, and find myself surrounded
by its huge and stately old columns.
I explored the venerable place at once and, although it was six o'clock
in the morning and I had not eaten, I opened my Baedeker and spent two
hours reading and becoming familiar with this ancient seat of oratory
and modern domicile for hoboes.
Later in the day I found a modest little hotel whose proprietor spoke
English quite fluently. He explained to me that the reason I was unable
to get a room on the preceding night was that I probably did not
inquire at a single hotel. He informed me that many buildings in Rome
had a porter or caretaker and usually had the sign "portier" over the
door. I had been trying, in the early hours of the morning, to force
myself into wholesale houses, department stores, private homes and what
not. In each instance I had, unknowingly, applied to the watchman whose
duty it was to keep off all intruders and burglars. It is a wonder
that I wasn't shot down.
Probably the first point to which the traveller in Rome directs his
steps is Saint Peter's and I was no exception. I took a car to this
wonderful church and spent the entire day drinking in its marvels.
From the lantern on the dome (where I poked my crimson head--five
hundred and eighty-three feet above the ground--and took in the amazing
panorama of the Eternal City) to the main floor, I left little unseen.
I was quite content to be a spectator and took no active part in the
customary devotions of the average pilgrim. As I watched the long line
of the faithful file by the large bronze statue of Saint Peter and
osculate his big toe--which has been worn down, through the centuries,
nearly half an inch by this unsanitary process--I decided to give these
poor peasants a lesson in hygiene, but the play was taken away from me
by a high dignitary of the Church. A well-fed clean-shaven man, dressed
in a red cassock, was approaching the statue, accompanied by another
ecclesiastic in purple. At once I recognised them as a cardinal and a
bishop. They were going to kiss the toe of the saint. I forced my way
through the crowd to see how they would act. The cardinal drew a white
handkerchief from his cassock and diligently set to work to give the
toe of the huge figure of Saint Peter a vigorous scrubbing. He was so
adept at these menial movements that I concluded he must be one of
the peasant prelates of whom we hear so frequently in America. The
respectful pilgrims were much interested in the cleansing which the
cardinal was giving Saint Peter's toe, but the example was of no avail.
When he was satisfied that the member was sufficiently sterilised, the
church official stooped and brushed it with his lips. He was followed
by the bishop. Then the thousand or more ignorant pilgrims passed by
and performed this act of devotion without a thought of a microbe. I
can image the activity that would be exhibited on this toe under the
lens of a microscope after such an army of the unwashed had filed by.
The next day I returned to Saint Peter's and took up as companions
an American Methodist preacher and his wife, who were _en route_ to
India to resume their missionary duties. This unrefined and prejudiced
pair of representatives of our Great Middle West performed their
sight-seeing obligations in a thoroughly bigoted Protestant manner. The
Pope and all his adherents were denounced every time a new picture came
to their notice and as they watched the priests of Rome chanting the
ancient liturgy. They were not very pleasant companions but I concluded
that they were better than none at all.
Each day during my stay in Rome the three of us would meet in the
morning, map out our itinerary and follow it closely. We visited the
Vatican--that atrocious piece of architecture; we spent some time in
the Sistine Chapel with the usual horde of tourists; we drove to the
Coliseum and the Pantheon and saw hundreds of churches in all parts of
the city.
We hired a carriage, with meter and driver, and rode, along the
Appian Way to the Catacombs of Saint Callixtus. As we alighted at our
destination I took down, in my note-book, the figure that the meter
registered, having a suspicion that the cab driver might cheat us. My
suspicion was well-founded for, on our return, the gauge indicated that
an additional six miles had been rung up. The fare was cheap enough
and we had little objection to the amount our bill was approaching.
However, I remonstrated with the driver to let him know that our eyes
were open and that he had not tricked us without our knowledge. The
climax of this incident was reached at the end of our journey when,
in exacting our bill, the driver with a sudden jerk of the meter
forced it up five points more and then insisted on money for the last
dishonestly acquired mileage. We, of course, refused and paid him only
for the distance we had travelled, plus the increase registered while
visiting the Catacombs. As we walked down the street he followed with
his carriage loudly demanding more money. Finally an Italian policeman
intervened and we were brought to the first police station. Here the
magistrate heard both sides of the tale and on giving the matter a few
minutes' consideration told us to go on our way and placed the poor cab
driver under arrest for fraud.
For a city with a distinctive atmosphere I recommend Florence. To walk
its various streets is a rest for the weary. After the teeming millions
of oriental cities, the repose and quietness of this attractive town
is most restful. Florence is worth a visit if one only sits in its
beautiful cathedral and thinks. Its identity as the birthplace of
Dante, of Petrarch, of Boccaccio, of Galileo, of Michael Angelo, of
Leonardo da Vinci, of Andrea del Sarto and a host of other great minds
is sufficient to stamp it with a character which none but the dumb
brute would fail to discern.
With the contents of my pocketbook approaching the vanishing point I
could only visit the large cities of Italy and had to give up all idea
of seeing the countless small towns and villages with their wealth
of historical association and present-day charm. However, even a
tramp would not think of touring Italy without spending a few days in
Venice. Its unique situation, if not its rich past, would be sufficient
incentive to have it included in the itinerary of the most humble
traveller.
Venice is a city without a wheeled vehicle, without trees, without
sidewalks and without many of the ordinary appliances found in a
modern community. Situated as it is on a cluster of seventy-two small
islands, each inch of space is utilised and there is no subdividing of
large tracts of land into fifty-foot lots. Its streets are a regular
maze and the only way to get about, in the event one does not hire a
guide, is to follow the crowd and trust to luck. This was my method,
which at times proved very interesting. In this manner I wandered
aimlessly along and, after a couple of hours' walking, the beautiful
Piazzo of San Marco burst upon me. It was a scene I shall never forget.
Several thousand people were assembled for a band concert and I was
shortly lost in the crowd and had nothing to do but take in the many
interesting things about me. The stately and oriental-looking church of
Saint Mark at one end; the imposing Campanile, the ornate Palace of the
Doges and the old government buildings now converted into stores and
cafés, presented a picture for beauty and symmetry of design which is
probably unequalled.
In the middle of the square a man drove a donkey hitched to a small
cart, and the novelty of the conveyance aroused the curiosity of not
only the children but of the grown people as well.
Midnight seemed to be the hour at which I was destined to make my
advent into nearly all European cities. It was at this hour that my
train pulled into Milan. Finding cheap hotels had almost become second
nature to me and, with little difficulty, I located a comfortable
domicile and was soon enjoying the rest which no one but a weary
traveller can truly appreciate. Most of my brief stay in this city was
devoted to the famous cathedral. This church, the second largest in
Europe, stands alone from an architectural standpoint. It is richly
decorated with statues and sculptured pinnacles--more than two thousand
in number--which from the street look like countless inverted icicles.