Part 10

And now we are in Ismalia, our sailing port. Two steamers are momentarily expected; one bound for Brindisi, the other for Marseilles. The poor hotel accommodations were emphasized when this avalanche of people came down upon them. After baggage was identified and there was no room in the inn for many of us, I selected a sofa in the drawing room, on which to rest till the signal was given that the "Caledonia" was in sight. It was not a bed of roses, but many around me had a worse accommodation; but upon it I became half unconscious from sheer exhaustion, when a tender hand was laid upon me, and a kind, persuasive voice whispered in my ear: "Come with me; there is room for you with us." Almost reluctantly I arose and followed Mrs. Logan, who had, through her well-known forethought, secured two apartments for herself and party, the latter having agreed to double up and give me the extra cot in Mrs. Logan's room. We expected surely the cry would come at midnight, and we slept with one eye open to sight our steamer's coming. It was a cold, moonlight night. The desert's glistening sands were on one side of us, the sparkling waters of Lake Tesmah in the Suez Canal on the other. There was a bird with a lone, peculiar cry that added loneliness to the scene, and when the morning light dawned upon us we were still in Ismalia. A most inhospitable breakfast was served us, and at nine o'clock came the welcome cry: "Ship ahoy!" The wharf from off which these steamers anchored was near to the hotel and a procession of yawning pedestrians was soon on its wending way, followed by innumerable dragomen, who were still in anticipation of one more backsheesh, and a crowd of blear-eyed, frowsy Arab children brought up the rear. Breakfast was awaiting us on the good old ship "Caledonia," and a warm welcome from Capt. Andrews. My spirits rose, and my traveling friends, Mrs. Wilbur and her daughter, soon were on deck, taking in the surroundings. We landed at Port Said about 5:00 p. m. I invested my last piaster in an olive wood paper cutter. Port Said is said to be the most wicked place on earth. As I hailed from Chicago I thought perhaps honors were even. We did not go ashore, but got our steamer chairs in readiness for the next day, as we were told we would have a choppy sea, and we fully realized the truth of the prophecy. Our cabins proved the safe retreat, and there I remained until we reached Brindisi, at 6:00 a. m., February the 5th. At 5:30 we were called on deck by a visit from the health officers, as our vessel hailed from an infected district. All bore the inspection and we soon set sail again and landed in Marseilles the 7th of February. My baggage was soon O. K.'d, and a cab took me with my luggage to the hotel. Later in the day I took a drive through the city, and was much impressed with the growth since a former visit in 1881. Off the coast of Marseilles is built the famous prison Chateau d'If, immortalized by the author of Monte Cristo, a fine view of which is seen from the church of Notre Dame, built on a high rock on the outskirts of the city. The train for Paris leaves at 9:00 p. m., and after a fair night's rest, I am in the French custom house, where I have no trouble. A cab is secured for me and I land safely in time for coffee and rolls at Madame Therries, where I am expected. A hasty toilet and refreshments taken, gave me fresh strength, and I soon found my way to Brown & Shipley, bankers, where I found eight letters from home. I took up one, the latest date; found from its contents "all were well," and I retraced my steps to my own apartment, where I spent a most blessed day, reading and writing letters.

Paris, as it is to-day (1896) strikes a visitor as one of the most cleanly, most attractive cities in the world with its triumphal arches, which Napoleon had erected in commemoration of his victories, one of which, "The Arc de Triomphe," was begun in 1806, although the work was not completed till 1836, long after the founder and architect had passed away. This arch is the largest in the world. The arch is ninety feet high and forty-five feet wide. It is considered too narrow for its height, and the insignificant ornaments along the top of the structure destroy all grandeur of outline. You will find "Hare's Walks" your best guide book for Paris and its surroundings. A year and a half's researches are herein condensed. I never fail to revisit Versailles, when the opportunity presents itself. Your early studies in history will enable you, in later life, after seeing this beautiful architectural pile, to long for a more extended history. The fountains are only in full play on the Sabbath day, and throngs of people of all walks in life, are seen in these grounds and crowd the corridors of historical paintings. La Madeline, one of the popular churches, resembles a Pagan temple. Begun by Louis XV (1777) as a church, and finished under Louis Philippe in 1832, it resembles the Parthenon of the Greeks. You will hear fine music at the Church of "La Trinita," but the Parthenon is full of interest. The first church on or near this site was built by Clovis, and dedicated to St. Genevieve; it was burnt by the Normans and after numerous changing of owners, it was finally, by the order of Louis XV, torn down and rebuilt, as a votive offering to St. Genevieve, who he believed to be his patron saint during his extreme illness. The first stone of the new church was laid by this king in 1764, and was completed by the architect, Rondelet, the pupil of the first architect Soufflot (deceased), in 1780. It is the burial place of illustrious citizens. Its possession was in a transition state for years; first a church of God, then a resting place for the immortal dead. At length, in 1885, it was taken from the worship of God and given Victor Hugo, whose tomb to the right as you enter is usually the first to be shown. The tombs of Voltaire and Rousseau are empty, having been pillaged during the revolution. Pere La Chaise and Montmartre are cemeteries where familiar names are recorded on tombstones and mausoleums. In the former lie Abelard and Heloise, the tragedienne Rachel, and the open sarcophagus ready for the remains of Sarah Bernhardt, when she, too, shall lay off this mortal coil. There are in Pere La Chaise, and in Montmartre, many musical celebrities. While I was there, in April or May (1896), Ambrose Thomas' funeral cortege solemnly wended its way from La Trinita to this field of tombs. The funeral dress of the Frenchman is what we term full evening dress. The bier or catafalque is clothed in black broadcloth, embroidered in silver. The floral offerings are piled upon it; colossal wreaths of violets and immortelles, strung on wire, are emblematic in their designs. No music on that lonely march on foot but the quiet tread beats a requiem for the dead.

Fine views are obtained from the galleries of the Trocadero. In the same vicinity is the "Palais d'Industrie," which was used in 1852-55 for the great exposition, and will be utilized again in 1900 for another fair. The shops of Paris are small; the windows seemingly contain most of the stock. We must except those great magazines, the "Louvre" and the "Bon Marche."

"The Musee de Luxembourg, by the order of Louis XVIII, contains only such works of living artists as were acquired by the state. The works of each artist are removed to the galleries of the Louvre ten years after his death; the pictures are constantly changing. The walks in the Garden of the Luxembourg are the best types of ancient palace pleasance. They are considered the pleasantest spots in Paris. The character of the Louvre has changed from a fortress or a state prison (1367) to a picture gallery. It was the great dungeon tower in the center of this palace, or castle, called the Louvre, that the great feudataires came to take or renew the feudal oaths; it was there the great ceremonies took place. The Louvre was enlarged by Charles V, who added many towers and surrounded it with a moat, which was supplied from the Seine. He made a palace into a complete rectangular, always preserving the great central dungeon tower. Francis I destroyed this tower (1527). It took five months to do this, as it was as strong as the day it was built. It was regretted by the populace, because they lost the pleasure of seeing great lords imprisoned there. The existing palace was begun under Pierre Lescot in 1541. During Henry II's reign of twelve years, Lescot continued his work. After Henry II's death his widow, Catherine de Medici, came with her children to live in the new palace. Henry IV united the buildings that Catherine de Medici had built with those she had previously built, which, under the name of Tuilleries, were still outside the limits of the town. And from this time no one touched the Louvre till Richelieu demolished all that remained of the feudal buildings and used only in rebuilding the existing wings as the half of his facade of his new Louvre, and built two others on the same plan to make the building a perfect square.

"While the minority of Louis XIV lasted, Anne of Austria lived with her children in the Palais Cardinal, now Palais Royal, and even while the work was going on at the Louvre, apartments were given to the exiled Henrietta Maria of England, daughter of Henry IV, who met with most generous treatment from her sister-in-law. Little more was done toward improving the Louvre through the reigns of Louis XV and XVI, and then came the revolution (1848). Napoleon III determined, as he was in power, to unite the Tuilleries and Louvre into one great whole. This was carried out and accomplished in 1857."

During my visits to Paris (1881 and 1896) the repairs to the central facade of the Tuilleries had not been made. This unmeaning, desolate space presents to the mind the ruthless hand of war in the conflict of man's ambition for supremacy. Before the revolution of 1876, historians tell us that between the beautiful chestnut avenues, across the brilliant flowers and quaint orange trees of the garden, beyond the sparkling glory of the fountains, rose the majestic facade of a palace, infinitely harmonious in color, indescribably picturesque and noble in form, and interesting beyond description from its associations, the one spot to be visited by strangers, which attracted the sympathies of the world.

We see the Arc de Triomphe du Carousal, built in 1806, by Fontaine, for Napoleon I. The car and horses are a reproduction of the famous group on St. Marks at Venice, which Napoleon captured, but were afterwards restored by the allies. The street scenes of Paris are most entertaining, but to enjoy it in its perfection, go when you are young, before your muscles grow stiff and your eyes dim, for the "run for your life" requires agility and good vision.

HOMEWARD BOUND

We now bid "au revoir" to Paris, and cross the English channel, from Calais to Dover, without any great inconvenience. And mighty Neptune did not call on us for many returns of the day. We proceed from Charing Cross station to the hotel of the same name, where we remain until we obtain more pleasant surroundings in the west end of London. Daily excursions, always on top of omnibuses, when there were seats for us, run to the Picadilly, Pall Mall, down Regent and Oxford streets and into Dickens' haunts, when time afforded, out to St. John's Woods, and without fail to Kensington, to the Museum, which is most absorbing of time and interest. We take carriages and drive through Carleton terrace and through streets where the city homes of the royalty are located. To drive in Hyde Park or Rotten Row, with a crest on your carriage door, would be fine, but as we had left our crests at home we were denied many of those privileges. I recall here with pleasure an opportunity that was afforded my daughter and myself, in 1881, while on a visit to Kensington. While wandering in the vicinity of Albert Hall, we were attracted by crowds of people gathering roundabout its doors. On inquiry we learned a bazaar was in progress therein for the benefit of some London hospital. By paying the admittance fee of one pound each ($5.00) we could enter, where we could see royalty, each person of note in his or her booth with the name attached. "Maidens like moths are caught by glare," and we were soon in regal atmosphere. Here were ladies of high degree, dressed in Queen Anne's style, who had been brought thither by lackeys in sedan chairs of that ancient class. Most marvelous was the display of jewels which met our bewildering gaze, and these high-born ladies, with their pretty feet and high insteps, delicately formed hands and tapering fingers, gave evidence of good blood. We were approached by these noble men and women, soliciting us to take chances in prizes that were to be raffled off, but we declined for two reasons. In the first place, we could not see how we could accommodate in our steamer trunks the huge Chinese umbrella, under whose shade at least fifty people or more could find shelter at a garden party, and the greater reason why we did not invest was that our entrance fee was quite enough for the good cause. However, we felt ourselves most favored at this extraordinary opportunity of witnessing the gentle manners, and hearing the musical intonation of voice that marks good birth.

On Sunday afternoon we went in search, in the east end of London, for the "Palace of Delight," and its surroundings. We took the tramway and inquired of a demure, missionary-looking lady, the way to the most degraded quarters. She replied: "You are in that region now," and having no male escort, we were not particularly over-confident of our position. The streets were swarming with children; some fairly well clad, others ragged and soiled. Groups of men and women, many in Sunday attire, others whose habiliments were evidences of great want and poverty. But few were hilarious. On the contrary, serious countenances betrayed earnest conversation between and by these groups of people. We encountered no special exhibition of degradation; but upon the women's faces we detected the marks of toil and care, and in many of their offspring, idiotic, expressionless faces. Woman's work among women may bring in God's own good time a fulfillment of things hoped for. Again, I recall a scene I witnessed in 1881. We were inmates of Mr. Burr's hotel, as he termed it. Among his guests were people of some distinction. Mrs. Mary Livermore, of Massachusetts, was in this category. She had been sent over by her state or the city of Boston, to investigate the "Coffee Houses" of London, and Mr. Burr was known as a philanthropist in that city. Preparations were made to see London by gas light, and I was among the few invited to go with Mrs. Livermore. Two carriages were provided for the party, and each held besides four occupants, a seat either for Mr. Burr or his son, with the respective coachmen. We drove to the station and then took the steam cars to "Wandsworth," a short distance from London. On disembarking we walked to one of the public resorts known as a "Coffee House," where light refreshments, with tea, coffee and chocolate are offered at a trifling price; also a bottled drink labelled Ozone, which had no intoxicating influence. These institutions were for the congregating of the laboring classes, where they might spend an hour or so in discussing the news of the day, or in social intercourse, where no intoxicating beverages could be obtained, and which served to entertain and keep them off the streets or from dens of infamy. Here husband and wife, with clean hands and faces, and perhaps sweethearts for aught we knew, were apparently happy in this hour of recreation. Mrs. Livermore was asked to speak to that body of people, and her satellites drew close around her, not knowing how she would be received. Suffice to say that motherly face drew the attention of all, and the appeals she made to men and women present drew many a tear from the female portion, and to suppress an emotion, an apologetic cough issued from rough exteriors. We retraced our steps to London and there our carriages awaited us. We were driven to the "Seven Dials," and worse places, if possible, where we were subjected to jeers and penetrating glances into our carriage by the passers-by. Across these streets were hung clothes lines and under the glare of electric or gas lights could be inspected the second-handed garments that were hung thereon. Markets, whose stale and unhealthy condition revealed itself to our sensitive nostrils, and we were glad to turn away from this unkempt crowd to a theatre in close proximity, whose doors were thrown open early to those who could afford a penny or more to enter. On the stage was a young girl, dressed in clean apparel. A check apron gathered at her neck and fell nearly to the tops of her shoes. She was amusing the audience with a dance they called a "hoe down." She kept time to the music by the clatter of slip-shod shoes. Then some "Punch and Judy" exhibition followed, and refreshments similar to those we saw at Wandsworth, were passed around, from which the hungry could appease their hunger, and with the tea and coffee, their thirst was satisfied for a mere trifle.

Thus the hours wore away which might have otherwise been spent, and would have rendered these people unfit for the next day's work. By ten o'clock all was over, and a very orderly crowd dispersed, we will hope, to their homes. The theaters in London are well patronized. I saw among other plays the "Prisoner of Zenda," and realized fully that to wear the court train, and handle it, and yourself gracefully must be to wear it often. The boxes are well patronized by coroneted women. I saw no one who struck me as being to the manor born. The universal law of removing all head covering is most strictly observed. The average appearance of the English woman does not compare with dainty, well-gowned French woman, but neither English nor French rival the American woman, when she starts out to please. No one visits London for the first time without seeing the tower, with its grewsome walls and its regal splendor of the crown jewels. The national and royal academies claim many hours, and to visit the churches and cathedrals one makes haste.

We were in London on Easter Sunday. We heard in his own pulpit Dr. Parker and, more than that, his wife, now deceased, stood on the left of the pulpit. Before the sermon by her husband, she appealed to the women of London, as well as the women of every nation, to spare the birds, and repeated several verses of her own composition in their behalf.

We fully intended to visit the cathedral towns of England, but sickness of one of our party, deprived us of that privilege, and after a lot of shopping, and more sight-seeing, we spent one day at Windsor, and saw the Eton College grounds. Not far away, but in sight, I believe, of Windsor Castle, is "Stoke Pogis," made memorable by "Gray's Elegy."

Her majesty, the queen, was not at home. We were shown one room in particular, which has been thrown open to the public since my visit there in 1881; that was, the one containing the "jubilee gifts of 1897," when hearts and hands must have been emptied in making these royal presents. The treasures of India were there, those of Afric's sunny shores, and from every nation and every tribe that acknowledged Victoria. Queen and empress, each and all, poured forth their trophies at her feet. Her stables were shown us, well stocked with thoroughbred steeds from far off Arabia and the Shetland Isles.

"Time and tide waits for no man," and we are booked for the "Augusta Victoria," that sails April ----, 1896. Some love to roam, but I like it better when I am nearer home. Our trip across the Atlantic is not what we hoped for, and a choppy sea with an occasional swell made us feel uncomfortable. I had the pleasure in Paris of making the acquaintance of a gentleman, wife and young lady daughter, who invited me to return to America in their company, and seldom, if ever, has it been my lot to have my lines cast among more delightful people than they and, although our homes are far apart, my heart often goes out to them.

When our own home port is sighted and the sensation the appearance of a custom-house officer always creates is over, and the welcome "O. K." is visible on our luggage, we feel like taking off our chapeau to "Liberty Enlightening the World."

It is midnight when we land on the Jersey shore, and the gallant captain, no less courteous on land than on sea, bids us return to our cabins and rest, when we have obeyed our country's mandate, the custom house officer.

A hasty breakfast and a few good-byes are spoken, and my heart swells within me, as I spring from the gang-plank to the shore, and the lines

"My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills, My heart with rapture thrills Like that above,"

seem to express all and more than all that I could say.

A short stay of a few hours in New York, and an uneventful trip on the New York Central Railroad brought me into Chicago, where those nearest and dearest to me were in waiting to bid me welcome home. And now in closing, my dear children, I will say: "That if the work I have done in leaving you these impressions and footprints, gives the pleasure hoped for, I will feel compensated, notwithstanding I have labored when the flesh was weak and my vision clouded. When you have reached my age (sixty-three), when youth and vigor are not in their fulness, this work of love may then be appreciated."

Your Grandmother,

ELEONORA HUNT.

Nov. 20, 1897.

End of Project Gutenberg's My Trip Around the World, by Eleonora Hunt