From Job to Job around the World

by Alfred C. B. Fletcher

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.