Chapter I: Must Rove Away From Paris (2)

I said in August on my departure from Paris, that I was leaving it to "enjoy the anxiety to get back." Now I am biasing my tour in verification of that expression. I am now close to Paris, and can go there to night. It is eleven o'clock at night, and I am at Paris. I am going to stay this winter, as I am getting used to the life here. Last night I arrived at the Hotel des Princes; the pretty little portress was glad to see me, and I felt at home. She asked me if I wanted a bottle of water with ice inside; she gave me all the news, and showed me a list of her American occupants, and said the Russian Princess was gone, not from Paris, but to private rooms. I put a five franc piece in her hand to convince her I was the same man in all particulars, and went to my room and looked around for Elverata, who used to arrange my wardrobe so nice and say, with neatness on her brow, "How do you like that, Mr. Dorr?" I did not see her and rang the bell, when a strange waiter came quickly and I enquired for Elverata; he satisfied the enquiry by saying he was only a few days there and could not say. I went to bed. Next morning I saw the shadow of a woman moving towards my drawer, I raised my weary head on my elbow and said, "Good morning, Elverata." The woman quietly passed out; I rose and dressed and went to enquire for unpretending Elverata, but like a plant under the cloud of night, I was seeking a tear, she was dead! and dead only one month, and everybody had forgotten her. I had difficulty in that vast hotel to make them understand who I was seeking. I asked what graveyard she was buried in, but that, like Elverata, was forgotten. I shall never see her again! she a good, honest, and religious girl; though nothing here below, in heaven she will be more than a _femme de chambre_. Some may well say,

"Happy those who linger yet
The steep ascent to climb,
For jewels lie like treasures set
Upon the breast of Time."

COUP D'ETAT OF NAPOLEON III.

On the morning of the 3d and 4th of Dec., the fate of Paris, like a stormy sea, was rocking to and fro in the minds of this versatile and fickle people.

On the 2d of December, the morning after the ascent of the members of the National Assembly, I went to the Boulevards to see how the populace took this daring of the Presidents. The place was crowded with groups discussing the importance of this blow to their liberties. Old, white-headed men were making speeches in different places within sight. But while they were making speeches Louis Napoleon was at the Palace decreeing laws for this particular occasion, and he was not only in the Palace quelling the populace, but the very same day he rode through the Boulevards at the head of soldiers, and people shouted _vive l'empereur_. How and why they said this, when as yet they had none, remains to be seen. That night fifty or sixty thousand soldiers slept in the streets of Paris, and cavalry stood close to the side walk for miles without one single break of ranks. The soldiers had their rations carried to them. Next morning, the 3d, the rebels commenced their work of destruction in spite of the soldiers. The news came into Paris from all parts of France that a hundred thousand soldiers were rapidly marching to the assistance of the army and sustainance of the republic. But this did not intimidate the factions. The soldiers though now one hundred thousand strong, right in the city, they had to keep on the march, up one street and down another, to keep down the barricade builders. I saw a strong wall built across a street in a quarter of an hour. They go about peaceable in droves until they pass the soldiers and then with pickaxes and crowbars and all manner of iron implements dig up the flag-stones, door-sills and stone steps, and place them one upon another until they get them head high. They leave small apertures to poke their pistols and guns through, and therefrom they fight the soldiers who cannot, except by accident, shoot through the apertures. If the soldiers come down behind them to hem them in, they jump over the barricade and they are as well there as on the other side. But the soldiers are in a critical condition fighting barricaders, because they have their friends on the top of the houses and in each story, throwing down all manner of heavy things, such as pots, skillets, pans, chairs, beds, plates, dishes, tumblers and bottles on the heads of the soldiers until they are intimidated enough to stand from under. I saw one old orator leading the rebels up by the side of the soldiers and trying to persuade some of them to say they would not fire on the citizens if they were ordered. The captain of these troops told him if he did not leave off talking with the soldiers that he would have him shot. He would not, and was placed back against the wall and shot through.

On the 4th, precisely at two o'clock, the firing of muskets and cannon were heard from all parts of the city of Paris. The cannon balls ran through whole blocks of buildings, but the destruction was not, as one might suppose, bustling but made clear, rounded holes of its own size, and passed on so rapid it left no bustling confusion. Where it touched, it done its work. When the firing commenced I was in the crowd on the _Boulevard des Italian_ with the crowd that was being shot at. Some fell, and I, with hundreds, ran over them. I fell, and a dozen or so leaped over me. Like a tangled rabbit I rose and went faster than ever. I ran down the _rue Lafitte_, trying to get into some of those large palace doorways, but all was firmly barred. Having run clear past my own house, No. 43, _rue Lafitte_, I only discovered my mistake by observing a squad of soldiers behind _l'eglise l'orette_, loading and firing over some dead bodies that had already fallen beneath their fire. Like a rabbit again, I took the back track, and my good old porter saw me from the third story, and descended and opened one foot of his _porte firme_, and said with a cheek flushed with fear, "_Entree vite_." I was about to kiss the old man, but he was not inclined to enjoy such a luxury, most especially as I had failed to take the advice he gave me the morning before, "_pas allez dans la rue_."

About an hour after this the streets of Paris were as empty as a ball room after the festal scene. It is a wonderful sight to see the streets of Paris void of its moving mass of humanity. Like the streets of Pompeii, it reminds one of the victory of destruction. Paris looked as if it was mourning for those thousands that were fleetly moving on to eternity. Next day hundreds of ladies and gentlemen who were innocently killed, lay under a shed in Paris, to be recognized by their friends, and buried. You could not get close to them, not closer than ten feet, and then look along through the glass that kept you and the scent in your own places. There lay some of the gayest of Paris, with their fine kids on as they had fallen; their watches and diamonds denoted their bearing, while their countenances said in their expression, "in the midst of life we are in death."

There can be no mistake but that these were people that were trying to get out of danger, but were overtaken ere they reached the barrier of safety.

The poor horses in the streets of Paris looked round on the crowded and thronged streets with considerable amazement at man's convulsions. People, horses, birds, shops, and even the weather resembled the picture of discontent. The graceful hanging trees of the Champs Elysees, and Tuilleries, are disturbed by the bayonet, as the soldiers stand under them, for a sort of shield from the drizzling weather, while they keep the populace back from the National Assembly. The night after this awful contention of the people against the army, was as still and lonesome a one as ever the gay spirit of France was awed with. This night was as interesting to Frenchmen, as the 20th of January, 1793, the night before the execution of Louis the sixteenth, and which history describes thus: "Paris was, by the direction of the government, illuminated on the night of the 20th, and no person was permitted to go at large in the streets. Strong bodies of armed troops patroled in every district of that immense metropolis, the sounds of carriages ceased, the streets appeared deserted, except by the patrols, and the whole city was buried in an awful silence. About two o'clock on the morning of the fatal 21st, voices were heard, throughout the gloom, of lamentation and distress, but whence they came, or what they were, no one has ever discovered. On Monday morning, as the clock struck 8, he was summoned to his fate. He was conducted to a coach belonging to the Mayor of Paris, in which were two soldiers of the _gendarmerie_; the most profound silence prevailed while the carriage advanced slowly to the scaffold; Louis mounted the platform with a firm step and unaltered countenance, and was preparing to address them, when the ruffian _Sauterre_, who commanded the guard, cried out, no speeches, no speeches, and suddenly the drums beat and the trumpets sounded. The unfortunate monarch, then, with apparent serenity, placed his head upon the block, the axe fell, and in an instant he ceased to live in this world. So perished Louis the XVI, a prince whose heart nature had formed of the best materials, and who, from the first accession to power, appeared to make his first object, his peoples' happiness. He was an excellent husband and a good father."

Though the laws on both occasions were executed with great faith and promptness, they were by no means pacific to the nation. There is still too much royal blood in France to allow the seed of republicanism to prosper spontaneously heedless of their interests. Though they readily admit that Louis the fifteenth was a better sultan than a king of France, and that Louis Phillippe dissipated the throne by being an illegitimate heir, still they cannot look upon that as sufficient reason to rid them of their vested ancestral rights.

The French are full of that ambition that came from Orleans in female attire, to give back to royalty some hope of yet governing a versatile people. But if Louis Napoleon, the President of France, wants to rise higher, he must consult the legitimists of France, or he will never find bone and sinew for his cruel _coup de etat_.

THE SECRETS OF A PARIS LIFE, AND WHO KNOWS THEM.

Reader, can a man dream with his eyes open? or can a man see with them shut? Before you say no, bear in mind that man is the shadow of his maker; and life, a dream. As to the latter part of the query, the answer may be emphatically no! Then let me dream of what I saw.

One night my faculties fell asleep upon all the world's eider down, but these things, my faculties, could not sleep on, I saw myself going along by the quietest looking, but gayest palace of every day resort of noblemen and monied men, that decorates the Boulevard. It is not the magic No. from the corner of the _Rue la Fitte_. On the first floor is all the pleasure a monied man could momentarily crave; but the second floor looked gayer, and the third gayer still. I could see ladies and gentlemen coming in groups of two, four, and six, every quarter of a minute.

It was six o'clock, as near as I can recollect the dream. They commenced sitting down at different tables, while some were hanging up hats, and others looking around as if they were hunting something like what other people had; some of the tables were larger than others; according to their number was the measure thereof. The gentlemen looked as dignified as giraffes, whilst the ladies looked the picture of birds of Paradise more especially where fine feathers contributed. Some were placing their chairs in as agreeable a position as their inward idea could allow them to do with propriety. Towards the end of this Palace, in the direction of the Boulevards, now sprang up a volley of small, or not very loud, musket-like reports, but as nobody was afraid, no harm could be done. Then I could see the waiters pouring into some glasses like Dutch churns, upside down, some hot, smoking stuff that boiled over; it was so hot, that a man might well fear for the ladies mouths being burnt when they took hold of it as if they did not see it, but merely wished to comply with the desire of their beaux. I expected every moment to hear them scream, but they were not afraid of it. The waiters were running to and fro with bottles of all colors. Here one turned up some smaller glasses and poured in something like blood. If it was blood it was pure as Abel's sacrifice; I never before saw redder from veins. The next occupation of the waiter, was bringing different kinds of soups. I looked on the _carte_ and saw a dozen different kinds; some I never read of before. I looked out of the window on the _Rue la Fitte_, and saw as many as twenty carriages standing before one another, and from them descending ladies and gentlemen in pairs, running up stairs with perfect gusto.

It is six o'clock as I have said, and I will leave those scenes and tell what more I dreamt, but will return again. I thought I pushed my way through crowds of people, and moved along the Boulevards about four squares, until I came to an extraordinary fine and fashionable street called Vivienne, and I followed it about two squares until my attention was attracted by an immense stone building, taking up one whole square. It looked like the temples I had read of, and I asked a man what it meant, who said it is a place where all the rich people go every day at 1 o'clock to make money, and some loose; they call it "Bourse." He assured me that its financiering had made "countless thousands mourn." I next walked into a Caffee filled with ladies and gentlemen and found a seat. A few minutes afterwards a ballet girl entered and seated herself for _la creme_. I then called for some cream and we eat on the same side of the same table. I asked her if it was good? she said she liked it, and asked me if mine was the same. As the color was different I could not say, without tasting hers, and we put our glasses together and satisfied ourselves on the difference, after which we took a _vere du vin_ at the expense of one of us.

It is now 11 o'clock, and I said I would return to the "Maison Doree." Having reached this all-hour sought place, I saw the very same people I saw seat themselves at 6 o'clock. They were somewhat changed in color; they all looked rosier and better enabled to take hold of anything they had to do. The gentlemen looked more sociable, and the ladies--I won't say more bold, but less timid. When a gentleman had anything to communicate, he was not obliged to exert himself in reaching, because the ladies would meet him half way. Everything was so harmonious that one could not go through the laborious task of telling his wish, without assistance from his hearer. Every few minutes something like a rallying remnant of a weak soldier's gun would go off, and the glasses would smoke as though each one was a volcano. Every minute or two a couple would rise, and before the gentleman could give his arm the lady would reach for it. Even their tempers seemed to fit, as the ocean does the earth, all around and through. Whilst I was thus dreaming, the pillow became insufferable, and I must say it awoke me. I thought I looked out of the window on the moving surface of the Seine. The moon was shining down on its ripples with a most admirable light of solemn grandeur. Stillness reigned such as I had never seen in Paris, and all the time I stood gazing upon that famous stream, not once did that queer dream enter my mind. I jumped into bed and soon fell asleep, and soon got into the old habit, so I dreamt. How particular a man ought to be, when about to do anything for the first time, for, let it be good or bad, the mind will be tempered with the same sterile or fertile nature, as that of the preceding act. I thought I was again at the agreeable Maison Doree, and I looked upon the walled clock, and the hour hand stood at 2. The hall below stairs was as empty as the marble hall, where the true lover dreamed he dwelt among vassals and serfs. But I also dreamed, _which pleased me most_, that I saw very many beautiful women walking up and down the sidewalk with an apparent air of hunting for something; not that they had lost anything they ever possessed, but something to be found. I thought one came up to me with her dress fully two feet shorter in front than behind, I mean to say it looked so from what I could see, and said to me "_quelle heure it el?_" I told her 2 o'clock; she then looked puzzled, as if she was sure I did not know what she meant by speaking to me at that late hour. Then she started one way and turned and went the other. As she passed me she gave her dress a jerk in front that raised it so high that I almost saw the whole of a pair of the whitest stockings I had seen since I left the Dutch, who don't wear stockings at all. My curiosity was that of children on a Christmas morning, and I started after her in the same earnestness to see if there was anything good inside the stockings. I found that the supposed stocking, like Santa Claus, was all imagination. Thus ends the dream with open eyes.

Said the fast Countess of Blessington, "Oh commend me to the comforts of a French bed; its soft and even mattress, its light curtains, and genial _couvre pied_ of eider down; commend me, also, to a French _cuisine_, with its soup _sans_ pepper, its cutlet _a la minute_, and its _poulet au jus_, its _cafe a la creme_, and its desserts. But defend me from its slamming of French doors, and the shaking of French windows, &c." I like not the noise like the one in Paris; it is an amalgamated one, such as never was heard in another city on earth. The noise of Paris is a variegated one, like humming of bees, or a serpent's hiss when they cannot be seen. Sometimes its cabs alone, at another carts filled with groups of theatre actors, from the _Opera Comique_, _Theatre Francois_, _Ambique_, _Grand Opera_, _or Hippodrome_. Or if it is early in the morning, it is sure to be some gay crowds returning from some wild and exciting amusement, such as only French can enjoy without remorse. When you hear a noise in Paris, you can no more tell its cause, than you can tell the composition of a fricassee. It may be a good rabbit, or a better cat, the skin of the former lying on the table to prove its identity. When you see woodcocks in the window of a second rate _restaurateur_, you must not be sure that the cook is putting his herbs among the joints of the woodcock you have ordered, instead of a diseased owl that was caught in the barn, for French cooks are not to be scared by an owl. The more he can dress a rat like a squirrel, the greater his celebrity as an epicure of the most refined taste. If you go to market in Paris, you will see under a butcher's stall, whole herds of rabbits, for rabbits are domestic animals in France. This butcher lives at the upper end of the market, and has nothing to do with _Mons. Ledeau_, who lives at the other end, and who sells little cats under the disguise of amusing _les enfants de Paris_. But _Mons. Feteau_, the restaurateur, knows both, and takes particular care to invite _Mons. Ledeau chez Lui_ to take dinner with him, when they have a good deal of unknown talk. After this interview, the trade in rabbits gets dull, and the vender wonders who can sell them on more advantageous terms than he can. He looks all around the market, and finds that his price is the usual price. It never enters his head that cats are substituted for rabbits.

Now reader, don't accuse me of trying to become conspicuous by asserting more than others, for you know nothing about it, and I do. I have seen a landlord stand behind a post in his own restaurant, watching some of his patrons trying to cut what he called _poulet_ (chicken), but no mortal man could tell what it was but a French _cuisineur_. I have dined at the _Maison Doree_, _Trois Freres_, _Cafe Anglaise_, and _Vachettes_, and then gradually down to the lowest grade, the socialists, and I ought to know something about it.

Oh, how delightful it is to walk on the Champ Elysee and take a seat among the French girls, _au fait_, and order your _caffee au lait_. Then take from your pocket a _sou_, sit cross legged and toss it up and down, and turn it over and, look at it, and while waiting for the light guitar, to fend off those nimble fingers, that are taking from it its sweetest notes, you can think what an immense deal of pleasure you are getting for the mere anticipation of a _sou_. Then look around, not slyly, but boldly, and you see some unassuming French _demoiselle_ gazing upon you with such riveted force of interest, that the lashes of her eye moveth not. After this you walk into some _valentino cassino, or jardin_, and you will see some 80 or 100 modes of cupids and Psyches, keeping time to a Parisian band, and there will appear to your mind a perfect agreeing correspondence between the music and the figures that dance around it. Never will you see the right foot of one couple up while the left foot of another is down, such perfection of dancing is to be found in all classes in Paris.

Very candid, frank and free is a Frenchman. If one admires a lady, she knows it almost before an opportunity presents itself. If he is encouraging a useless desire, he always manages it before it can do a serious injury. Little trouble dwells within the mind of a Frenchman; he makes much of to-day, to-morrow's trouble must dawn or die with itself. He finds more pleasure in going to the opera, with his five francs, than he does by sitting in the house, waiting for the morrow that never comes, or if it does come, bringing with it a greater anxiety and love for another morrow.

There is an amusement in Paris, which language is inadequate to express the vulgarity of. It is called the "_industrious fleas_." The name does not indicate the performance. It changes its location every night in fear of the police. Its supporters are merely curious young men, who wish to see as strange a sight as the mind of woman can picture. Their performance commences with a dozen beautiful women habited like Eve before she devised the fig leaf covering. They first appear in the form of a wreath, with each one's head between another's legs; the rest must be imagined. _Au revoir._

ROME AND ST. PETER'S CHURCH.

By the gate on the southern side, on the 28th of March, 1852, I entered the "Holy City," just as day was turning to night. I moved slowly along by the venerable walls of the great St. Peter's church, in a shackling old _viturino_. A celebrated writer says it is built on the site of the palace of Julius Cæsar. He also says the extent of ground covered by the ruined and inhabited parts of Rome amounts to four and twenty miles. You there find eighty halls of the eighty eminent kings; from king Tarquin, to king Pepin, the father of Charlemagne, who first conquered Spain, and wrested it from the Mahomedans. In the outskirts of Rome, he said, there is the palace of Titus, who was rejected by the 300 senators, in consequence of having wasted three years in the conquest of Jerusalem, which, according to their will, he ought to have accomplished in two years. There is likewise the hall of Vespasian, a very large and strong building, also the hall of king Galba, containing 360 windows, the circumference of this palace is nearly three miles, and on this very three miles of earth, a battle was fought in times of yore, and more than one hundred thousand fell, whose bones are hung up there even to the present day. Now Rome is the leader of all Christendom, and St. Peters' yearly carnivals are the glory of Rome, instead of the gladiatorial festivals in the Colisseum. Some writers assert that it is only the forum upon the site of the palace of the Cæsars. Cooper says in his excursions in Italy, that the first palace of Nero must have occupied the whole of the Palatine hill, with perhaps the exception of a temple or two. The ground round the Colisseum, and all the land as far as the Esquiline, and even to the verge of the Quirinal, a distance exceeding a mile; this was occupying, moreover, the heart of the town, although a portion of the space was occupied by gardens, and other embellishments. When this building was burned, he returned to the Palatine, repaired the residence of Augustus, and rebuilt his residence with so much magnificence, that the new palace was called the "golden house;" this building also extended to the Esquiline, though it was never finished. Vespasian and Titus, more moderate than the descendants of the Cæsars, demolished all the new parts of the palace, and caused the Colisseum and the baths that bear the name of the latter, to be constructed on the spot; the emperors were all elected, and they found it necessary to consult the public taste and good. Thus we find the remains of two of the largest structures of the world, now standing within the ground once occupied by the palace of the Cæsars, on which they appear as little more than points. From this time, the emperors confined themselves to the palatine, the glory of which gradually departed. It is said that the palace, as it was subsequently reduced, remained standing in a great measure, as recently as the 8th century, and that it was even inhabited in the 7th, so says Cooper.

Having been anxious to see the Pope of Rome, Pius IX, I was a frequent visitor of the Carnival, and at last got a good look at the great man. He was seated on a divan, which rested on the shoulders of twelve cardinals, or senators of Rome; he was crowned with a gorgeously jewelled crown, as the eye of man need wish to gaze on. Ten thousand people were in the church at the time, and they would carry the Pope from one aisle to another. The people all would fall on their knees, and the great man would bless them in the name of God, and the organ would peal its bassy notes of Te Deum, from east to west, and north to south, whilst the alarum from the belfry jarred my heart strings.

Rome, said a great traveler, is well known; authors of veracity assure us that for seven hundred years, she was mistress of the world, but although their writings should not affirm this, would there not be sufficient evidence in all the grand edifices now existing, in those columns of marble, those statues. Add to the quantity of relics that are there, so many things that our Lord has touched with his own fleshy fingers, such numbers of holy bodies of Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, and Virgins; in short, so many churches, where the Holy Pontiffs, have granted full Indulgences for sin.

This writer that spoke of these true merits of the city of Rome, was among these great and magnificient ruins of Rome, in the 14th century. His name was Bertrand de la Bracquiere, a Lord of Vieux Chateau, counseller and first Esquire carver, to Phillip, Duke of Burgundy, living at that age in Ghent.

One day when it was very warm, I went down to the Tiber to waste a little time reflectively, where the golden candlestick that was brought from Jerusalem fell off the bridge and never was afterwards found. Whilst I laid there on its banks, listening to its most inaudible murmur a Jew came and stretched himself close to my feet. I asked him if he recollected who it was that Plutarch says was condemned to the hideous punishment of being nailed up in a barrel with serpents and thrown in the Tiber to float on to the sea? He had never heard of such a thing. I then asked him if he was aware that the golden candlestick out of the temple of Solomon lay at the bottom of that muddy stream? he said yes, and added that the Pope had been offered millions of piastres by the Jews to let them turn the current of the Tiber twenty miles above Rome, that they might recover all the lost and hidden treasure of nearly three thousand years' standing, but the Pope had refused because he was too superstitious to allow the Tiber's current to be changed.

My attention was just at this time drawn to a large old building that had the bearing of royalty deeply marked on its furrowed decay. I asked its use, and was informed that it was a maccaroni manufactory. I drew nigh, and stood, in company with dozens of girls, looking through its decayed apertures. I saw hundreds of men walking about in a perfect state of nudity, and also as many more moving round at quicker step. I would discover every few moments a couple of these that seemed to be mantled with small reeds of a bending nature, step on a platform and commence turning round, like crazy men imitating the spinning of a top, but I could discover nothing of their intention until they walked off the platform, when I could plainly see that they had divested themselves of something I knew not what.

The way they make maccaroni in Rome, is thus: when it is hot or warm, the men stand by the aperture that squeezes it into a reed-like shape, and wind it round their bodies until they are totally covered or mantled, and then they walk in great haste in a circle until it is nearly cool, after which they walk on the aforesaid platform and unwind themselves from its cooling grasp, and there it stays until it becomes totally dry, after which they box it for export. That which is made for home consumption is not made on so extensive a scale, and different ideas of neatness is needed lest it affect the home consumption.

Three days it took me to pass through the "Vatican." It is the great gallery of fine arts, and the Pope lives in one part of this Palace. The Carnival being over, I took one day to go to Tivoli to see an old temple and olive orchard and the vast ruins of the emperor Adrian's brick palace, after which I returned to Rome, and bought some mosaiac work in breast pin jewelry, hired a viturino and four, went to St. Peters and took a last farewell glance at St. Peter, who stands in his statue dignity over an altar with his keys of Heaven, and left Rome in its decay of tyrannical monuments for Naples, its bay and Vesuvius.

NAPLES AND ITS CRAFT.

After twenty days sight-seeing in Rome, observe me seated in the front of a viturino on my way to Naples. E. G. Squires, the author of a book of discoveries, is seated in one of the back seats. He is a little man full of humor, and a man to judge him by his looks and manners would have a hard task to steer from error. He is well versed in Roman lore. We were now an hour and half out from Rome, and he said "look there ahead, those old walls we are going under is the walls of old Rome, and that high archway, with those splendid pillars of carved stone, is the gate leading into Rome via the Appian road from Naples." We passed through these walls and Rome was forgotten, in the matters of interest to which he directed our attention. As we came up to the pretty little ruined city Albano, he said, "there, gentlemen, is the tomb of Pompey the Great." It was a tall monumental tomb of white marble, but fallen on all sides by the wreck of the weather. We entered Albano and dined, and paid a visit to the Veil of Diana, whose temple was here at Albano. This city occupies the site of the palace of Pompey the Great and Domitian. The Veil of Diana is a lake of a few hundred yards round, and hemmed in on all sides by cliffs of fertility. Two days and a half brought me to the back part of the city of Naples. In coming to Naples by this route you are some hours going down hill, but as the lombard poplar trees are so numerous, it is impossible to get a look at Naples; occasionally I could hear the roar of Vesuvius and the hum of business, coming by the force of the breeze from the bay on the other side. All at once I came out on an open descending slope, but, a quarter of a mile ahead, the lombardy poplars intercepted our view, still over their tops, off to the left of Naples, I could see Vesuvius like a sleeping giant with his flag of wrath ascending on high. The flag of smoke was as still as a standing cloud, and it stood like God on the earth, but spreading above in the Heavens.

Napoli is the city's name, and its meaning is New City, and we call it Naples.

I don't think that one contented man can be found in the whole city of Naples, with its 450,000 souls. Every time this growling, burning mountain roars it jars the whole city; organ grinders give themselves as little trouble about Vesuvius as any other class, and the streets are full of them. They stand all day playing away in the streets as if they had no where to run to, whilst all house tenants, citizens, king and priests, run in the streets for fear Vesuvius will spit fire and brimstone on them, for she has once or twice proved that she, like God, had no respect of persons. Naples is at least five miles off, but they looked to me as if they were only a quarter of a mile apart. It is believed by philosophical men that Vesuvius has burnt out her bowels for miles under the shallow bay, and also under Naples.

I went to Pompeii and Herculanium, two great cities that Vesuvius, in her tipsy spree, belched all over, destroying population, temples, theatres, and gladiatorial arenas. Expeditions from different parts of the world were here, excavating crowns of diamonds; and hundreds of thousands of scuddies worth of the rarest jemmed jewelry has been found, even upon the parched bones of notorious victims to this hideous spree.

Naples was founded one thousand and three hundred years before the Christian era, and still escapes this awful calamity. Generation after generation has lived and died in this fear, and still Naples is yet the most wicked city on the face of the globe. It shows that hell-fire preaching will never advance man in this world, or better prepare him for another. Nothing but an educated mind can ever understand the mission of christianity. If tyranny can ever do anything with the mind of man, it had full scope here. The Neapolitans, reared under such fearful influences of wrath, must naturally be tempered with surrounding influences. To see a club slain man in Naples is no object of pity; their mind is forever placed on wholesale calamities, and nothing short of that can excite sympathy in such a people. They can fight well because they are always well prepared to fight, or be annihilated. When the great Carthagenian, who was so victorious over the Romans, at the well known battle of Thrasimene, came here to take Naples, he was so much frightened at the walls, that he would not undertake to besiege the city. Cumae was the first name of this city, but its inhabitants being a very jealous people, fell out, and destroyed it; but it was soon rebuilt, and then it was renamed New City, Napoli, when its walls obtained the strength that scared the son of Hamilcar, who had come away from Carthage, leaving behind him a people who could never believe that the Italians could be whipped, not even by Hannibal, until he sent three bushels of gold rings back, that was taken from the fingers of conquered Italians, to prove it.

There is three hundred churches in Naples, but the vestry of priesthood is no sign of the true temple of wisdom. The lower classes are craft ridden from the faggest end of an intelligent class, to the uttermost peak of sublime ignorance. The moral authority has great power over those who profess to be the followers of the Church; even the king himself, is afraid of the priest. In illustration of this I must relate an anecdote on the present king of Naples, whose title is better known as the king of the two Sicilies. A good, and honest intentioned priest one day called on the king to obtain a certain small sum of money from his honor, as a starting point of collection to build a church at a certain place. The king, who loves money much, refused to start the ball rolling by contributing the first subscription. The good father, somewhat astonished, stood sometime, thinking over the chances of getting anything after the king's refusal, put his hand under his ground colored gown to lay hold of his handkerchief to wipe his nose and eyes of their weeping. The king took fright, and ran to the bell and rang furiously, the guard came running in and arrested the priest, but to their great pleasure they discovered that the king was frightened at the priest's motion for his handkerchief, instead of a stilleto. The people got wind of it, and laughed at the scary old king so that he dare not go out.

This old ugly king has been trying to make some improvements in the way of morality. He has appropriated a small portion of the city to the safe keeping of lewd women. It is about three squares of this city being walled in, and all women found and proven in adultery are to be condemned to the inside of these walls until the city authorities become satisfied that they are sufficiently punished. Police are stationed at the gate and no one but spectators are allowed to go in and out, except an old woman who acts as their steward. All foreigners are allowed to go in once, but I don't suppose foreigners ever wished to go in more than once. When I was in, the Lazaroni asked me if I would allow him to spend a quarter of my bag of change to see the women perform. I, not knowing what he meant, said "Yes." He gave a 25c. piece to one woman, and there was a hundred in that group, and said something in Italian, when, as many as wished to claim stock in the 25 cents commenced showing their nakedness, to the horror of man's sensual curiosity. I saw fifty women show what I had never legally seen before. I must end this chapter and commence another of more superstition, of St. Janarius and his Blood.

ST. JANARIUS AND HIS BLOOD.

In the centre of Naples, on a very high hill, is a splendid old castle or fort. Myself and two American ladies winded round its base upwards, till we reached its gates. Our guide beat there some time before its old lord would hear; we handed him our permit from below to enter, and he said "walk in," in the French tongue. These two American ladies and their father seemed to make quite an agreeable impression on the commander of the castle or fort. He invited us into his parlor where he asked us many disguised questions, such as; "how do you like Naples?" "when are you going to leave and what directions will you take from here?" was some of his questions. Having "pumped" us as dry as he could, he called a guard and put us under escort to see the wonders of this old tyrant mound. Cannons were pointed from the loopholes of this fort to all parts of the city. The people are afraid to rebel against the laws of Ferdinand II, because orders from the palace to this castle can come under ground. The king has a private path miles under ground to get to this castle when besieged in his palace. It is said that this fort can destroy the city in a few hours; can batter it all down and set it on fire with its shells, and burn it up, and as the property belongs to the citizens they keep quiet. The old man now invited us back to his saloon and asked us our opinions of this, his castle; of course it was all we anticipated and more too. Whilst he was delighted with the ladies' answers to his questions, I walked out in the court, and the lazaroni or guide called my attention to the open register, where all visitors' names are recorded, and glanced at the following record of that morning: "_Mons. Millenberger et deau dame; Compte Fello de Amerique et une jeune homme._" This was indeed laughable, but to make it more absurd, my old guide informed me that he was aware of our nobility some days ago. I inquired of him how it was possible for him to find out such a mystery. He smiled very knowingly and assured me that he was possessed of peculiar tact for finding out such things. Then in his confirmation of his skill in fathoming this hidden secret, he told me of a Mr. Rice, a powerful lord of South Carolina, who would be an heir to an immense estate if he lived long enough, and of his noble bearing, and how Mr. R. tried to conceal it from him, but it couldn't be done, and which Mr. Rice had to acknowledge. Then he went on to show me why Americans ought not to try and conceal such things as they eventually lost the best accomodation the hotels could afford, by not letting it be known who it was wanted them. He also suggested that American noblemen ought to wear some peculiar mark or sign that they may be distinguished from those of an inferior dignity. I for once felt like driving the good-natured old fool away, but as he was so bigoted with his own errors I told him that all noblemen of American peculiarities did have signs about them unmistakeable. Here his curiosity rose to such a pitch he asked me to make it known to him so that he might hereafter know how to treat such worth. I told him that if ever he came across an American of Arkansas or Texas, to get behind him when seated and look over his left shoulder, in his bosom, and he will most likely see something like an elephant's tusk, but it was nothing more nor less than what was called a toothpick, and when he saw that, it would be to his advantage to be mighty polite. The old man believes now he has the insignia of an American prince, and intends treating him with due respect to his high position.

From this Fort I took a ride to Baie, and after two hours' ride I reached it. Two thousand years ago it was a great city where Cæsar and Cicero dwelt a great part of their time. The site of their palaces are yet discernable. The hot baths out of the earth are here yet, and I took one. No doubt but they are heated, running under the bay from Vesuvius on the other side. A few hundred yards out in the bay is the smallest island I ever saw to have a town of thousands of souls on it. It is about a mile in circumference. The town takes up almost all of the island of Procida. The inhabitants are nearly all Greek descendants, and are celebrated for keeping up the Greek fashions. The old guide insisted on us going into the heart of Procida, where he would show us the curious costumes. Having waited in an old dirty room some time for the scene, a rough working girl came into the room and stood some time. The old man asked me how I liked it? but I couldn't see anything different from other women about the town. He told her to turn around, when he called my attention to some plaiting around the waist of the woman's dress. She now whispered something to our guide, which, when translated, meant that she had her soap to make, and would like to discontinue the performance as the show was out. He said we must give her a couple of pauls for her trouble of dressing and undressing. This old man kept us laughing all the way back to Naples. When leaving Baie, passing some old magnificent ruins, he said, "Gentlemen, that is the ruins of the palace of Lucullus, the greatest eater that ever was in Italy." Then he commenced relating Plutarch's history of Lucullus' style of living. He told us of the single dish that was expensive to the tune of 1,200 francs. Here the old man licked out his tongue, in token of his approbation of its being good. This old man has a country seat and town residence. He showed us, on our way out, his country seat; it consists of an old brick building, that in times of yore must have been used by somebody, who had a house, as a stable, and being an enterprising man, his mouth watered for it as a filthy retreat from Naples, when he can get no labor, such as he is now occupied with. We give him about forty cents a day, and he finds himself.

In Napoli is a church of fearful renown. It is built upon the site of the temple of Apollo; it was commenced by Charles the first, and finished by Charles the second, in the twelfth century. It is built of stone, and pillars of stone, from all parts of Africa, brought here in conquest. In it is buried the aforesaid Charles. This is the church of St. Janarius; a large statue of St. Janarius is represented seated, and always ready to bless the people. In a small tabernacle, with silver doors, is preserved the head and two vials of the Saint's blood, said to have been collected by a Neapolitan lady during his martyrdom. This blood becomes miraculously liquid, whenever it is placed before the head of St. Janarius. The ceremony of this miracle is repeated three times a year, that is, during eight days in the month of May, eight days during the month of September, and on the day of protection, on the 16th of December. This miracle is to the Neapolitans a constant object of devotion and astonishment, of which no one that has not been present, can form a just idea. When the liquifaction of the blood takes place immediately, the joy of the people knows no bounds; but if the operation of the miracle is retarded one moment, the cries and groaning of the people rend the air; for at Naples the procrastination of this miracle is considered the prestage of some great misfortune; the grief, particularly of the women, is so great, that the blood never fails to become liquid, and resume its consistency, on each of the eight days; so that every one may see and kiss the blood of St. Janarius, in as liquid a state as when it first issued from his veins. The city of Naples has been in danger of being destroyed by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, by earthquakes, and other calamities, such as war, pestilence, &c., &c., but it has always been delivered by the blood of this mighty Saint. A lady writer says: "At one time the blood was rather slow about doing its duty, when their hypocritical priest says to the people, that the blood would never liquidate so long as they allowed the French to keep possession of the town. As soon as the French general heard this, he sent notice to the people that if the priest did not make the blood liquidate in ten minutes, off went his head. There was great lamentation for the priest, and the whole city was sympathizing with him, as his time was short; but at the expiration of nine minutes and three quarters the blood liquidated."

CONSTANTINOPLE.

On the second day of May I glided out on the beautiful bay of Naples, and steered towards the east, where the wise men lived, and the light rose up. The first piece of terra firma next discovered was Etna, in Sicily. Sicily, before the crusade of king Siguard, was governed by Dukes and Earls. Mussinna is the only town of any particular note, on this fertile island. Mt. Etna, while at Musina, hides half of the firmament from your view, but when seen at eventide from the deck of a receding vessel, it seems to have sunk in a mole hole. It takes two days carriage ride around its base, to reach its top. Six days out from Naples brought our good vessel to Syria, a city in Greece, with 14,000 inhabitants. It is a charming sight to look at from your vessel, on account of its resemblance to _wall hung pigeon houses_. From the sea, you look at a mountain, with hundreds of systematical white spots clinging to its sides, and which proves to be Syria.