I did regret to leave, with the probability of never seeing her again—a choice specimen of the Viatrix Americana, a veritable unique, whose seat was next mine at luncheon and dinner. Our friendship began through my declaration, at her earnest adjuration, of my belief that the “kick-shaws,” as she called them, offered for our consumption were harmless and passably digestible by the Yankee stomach. She was half-starved, poor thing! and after this I cheerfully fulfilled the office of taster, drawing my salary twice per diem in the liberal entertainment of her converse with me. She had been three-quarters of the way around the world, with her husband as banker and escort; was great upon Egyptian donkeys and the domestic entomology of Syria, and could not lisp one word of any dialect excepting that of her native “Vairmount” and of her adopted State, which we will name—Iowa.
“You sight-see so slow!” was her unintentional alliteration, on the fifth day of our acquaintanceship. “Aint bin to see a church yet, hev you?”
I answered, timidly, that I was waiting to grow stronger. “The churches are so cold in Winter that I shall probably put off that part of my sight-seeing until Spring.”
“Good gracious! Be you goin’ to spend the winter here?”
“That is our hope, at present.”
“You’ll be bored to death! You wont see You-rope in ten year, if you take it so easy. We calkerlate to do up Rome under a fortnight. We’ve jest finished up the churches. On an averidge of thirty-five a day! But we hed to work lively. Now we’re at the villers. One on ’em you must see—sick or well. ’Taint so very much of it upstairs. The beautifullest furnitur’ I ever see. Gildin’ and tay-pistry, and velvet and picters and freskies, common as dirt, as you may say. The gardings a sight to behold. You make your husband take you! Set your foot down, for oncet!”
“What villa—did you say?”
“The Land! I don’t bother with the outlandish names. But you’ll find it easy. Napoleon Boneypart did somethin’ or ’nother ther oncet. Or, his son, or nephey, or some of the family. Any way, I do know I never see sech winder-curtains anywhere. Thick as a board! Solid satin. No linin’s, for I fingered ’em and took a peek at the wrong side to be positive. We wound up the churches by goin’ to see the tomb the Pope’s been a buildin’ of for himself. A kind o’ square pit, or cellar right in the middle of the church of What’s-his-name?”
“Santa Maria Maggiore?”
“That’s the feller! You go down by two flights of stun steps. One onto each side of the cellar. Its all open on top, you understand, on a level with the church-floor, and jest veneered with marble. Every color you can think of. Floor jest the same. Old Pope Griggory, he aint buried yet. Lies ’bove-ground, in a red marble box. He can’t be buried for good ’tell Pious, he dies. And he must hev the same spell o’ waitin’ for the next one. Ther’ must be two popes on the top of the yearth at the same time. One live and one dead. Thinks-I, when I looked inter the cryp’—as they call it—jest a-blazin’ and a-dazzlin’ with red, blue, green and yellow, and polished like a new table-knife blade.—If this aint vanity and vexation! I’d ruther hev our fam’ly lot in the buryin’ groun’ to Meekinses Four Corners—(a real nice lot it is! With only one stun’ as yet. ‘To my daughter Almiry Jane, Agéd six months and six days,’) where I could be tucked up, like a lady, safe and snug. Oncet for all and no bones about it!”