military bands play--no European city being without its fine military

music at eventide; and yet others of the populace sit in the open air in

front of the refreshment houses and eat ices and drink mild beverages

that could not harm a child. They go to bed moderately early, and sleep

well. They are always quiet, always orderly, always cheerful,

comfortable, and appreciative of life and its manifold blessings. One

never sees a drunken man among them. The change that has come over our

little party is surprising. Day by day we lose some of our restlessness

and absorb some of the spirit of quietude and ease that is in the

tranquil atmosphere about us and in the demeanor of the people. We grow

wise apace. We begin to comprehend what life is for.

We have had a bath in Milan, in a public bath-house. They were going to

put all three of us in one bath-tub, but we objected. Each of us had an

Italian farm on his back. We could have felt affluent if we had been

officially surveyed and fenced in. We chose to have three bathtubs, and

large ones--tubs suited to the dignity of aristocrats who had real

estate, and brought it with them. After we were stripped and had taken

the first chilly dash, we discovered that haunting atrocity that has

embittered our lives in so many cities and villages of Italy and France

--there was no soap. I called. A woman answered, and I barely had time to

throw myself against the door--she would have been in, in another second.

I said:

Beware, woman! Go away from here--go away, now, or it will be the worse

for you. I am an unprotected male, but I will preserve my honor at the

The Innocents Abroad