We were again booked for Shephards. What a cosmopolitan crowd gathered in the exchange of that hostelry that evening. Many permanent guests for the season; many more in a transition condition; many waiting for the return of our vessel, as it was the best on the river, to go again on that bourne, from which most travelers return. The room allotted me was on the ground floor; I think in my weakness I would have accepted it, but Mrs. Stroud and Baxter, my patron saints, declared it unfit for me, and a cot was placed in a large upper room which had been assigned these ladies, and I was forced by them to take the best bed. At the end of three days the crowd grew less and accommodations better, and a sunny, bright room was given me all to myself. Can such kindness as those friends conferred upon me ever be forgotten? Not by me, nor those of the name who come after me. One is not apt to forget an "oasis in the desert." Having decided to remain in Cairo for at least two weeks, in anticipation of meeting a friend who had followed in my wake "around the world," I decided to have some repairs made in my wardrobe, such as old buttons taken off, new ones in their place; new veils, new gloves, etc. All this was done at a little shop near by, kept by an English woman named Cole. There Mrs. Baxter accompanied me, and I came out quite renewed, as far as my clothes were concerned. Having a spark of life yet remaining, and with my usual amount of energy, I was again persuaded to go to Jerusalem with a party, rather than to remain for the Bombay steamer that was, I supposed, to bring my friend with whom I had agreed to return home. When the proposition was made me by Mrs. Logan—I will confess, even to my grandsons, to a little irreverence—the very thought of more temples to see and more tombs to encounter, was a trifle too much for my endurance, and I simply said "No! Not if I expected to meet my Lord!" for to tell you the truth, I expected and felt He would come and meet me if rest was not soon obtained. But after a week's sojourn in Cairo I agreed to join the party and go over to Jerusalem and Damascus for a brief stay of ten days. Plans were made with T. Cook & Sons for dragomen and provisions, when all were frustrated by quarantine being declared. Our only escape from Egypt was to be made by Brindisi and Marseilles. All ports of the Turkish dominion were shut off from us on account of several cases of cholera which had broken out in Alexandria. "To arms" was never before more readily responded to than by the inmates of that caravansary. Tickets were secured by those who had not yet bought. I had, in purchasing mine at Bombay, bought through to Marseilles; luggage was brought forward, big bags, little bags and my "Cheap Jack" was much in evidence. Lunch baskets were prepared by the hotel for the journey to Ismalia that resembled great wooden bird cages. Among those friends we left behind were those destined for the Nile trip and a few habitues of Cairo, not easily frightened. With homesick eyes, those of our country followed us, and as a parting gift gave us lovely bouquets of flowers.
I must, before leaving Cairo, give an account of a large ball given in honor of those who had been up the Nile, and those who were awaiting a departure thence. It was given by the proprietors of Shepheards. The salon was cleared of its tables and the military band assisted the house musicians in furnishing music. The crowd was large, but I speak truthfully and without exaggeration when I say that American women take the palm in dancing. There is a stiffness, a want of gracefulness, in those ladies of foreign nations. We were shocked by the innovation of the British army officers, with their red coats, and swords dangling at their side, which were permissible in this Oriental city, but when their spurs were worn, to the detriment of the gauzy draperies of ladies participating in the dance, it was a breach we could not overlook.
FROM EGYPT TO FRANCE
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."