Evening star., 1925-11-22
AROUND THE CITY
By MAMIE LANCASTER.

travelling world was expected to say
It's prayers-and private bath
snowy porcelain sprayed over with
pink fiowers-gay marble tiled floor
Ing, two gilt mirrors, q restful chair
In pale blue brocade to match the
walls. and all the hot water, soap
and towels that any traveller could
ask for. After that there was time
for 40 winkS-make 1t 50-before
dinner In big room all marble and
more palms. AS most of the party
was too tagged out for sightseeing,
you started out in stlvery twilight
for walk along the Arno--a river
as wide as across the street, that
makes straight, walled-in line
through the middle of Florence, with
bridges at every few corners. AS
the twilight deepened into the
darker silver of dusk lights flashed
out III necklaces of fire across the
arches of each bridge, the reflections
filling the water with ripping stars.
Because you are tired. of course. and
overeNhilarated AT the realization of
having reached the worlds shrine of
immortal greatness, II seems. some
how, that here and there d figure
takes on a familiarity that puts a
jump in your heart-that cloaked
man, say, leaning despondently
against the river wall with his eyes
on the water-might be Dante
poor Dante-that night, You remem-
Der, when some one he loved had
been unkind before ne met up with
his Beatrice and took her with him
on his trip through the Inferno. Antr
the group of other men coming to-
ward you-could that be young
Raphael's voice, laughing out in the
night TO the listening silence of the
two who We're Michelangelo and
Leonardo da Ninci?' Maybe not. but.
anyhow, by the time you get back
to your hotel You understand why
great travellers and scholars refuse to
measure Tuscany's capital by such
common yardsticks as houses, streets
and populations, for she is not TO be
classed. She is like the supreme
painting that criticism has marked
Exempt" The nearest you can come
to a description Is to lay out your
stock of adjectives and pick out the
superlative. And at that you won't
do her justice. For Florence is
florence-and that IS the greatest
tribute You can pay.
Set In an amphitheater Of grape
growing hills. with the Apennines
near enough to blow an icy Chill down
the spine OF the city when Winter
comes, Florence IS the admitted era
die of the renatssa nee. To voice a
greater than thou, she is a beacon
night OF history and a treasure house
of art. You don't need TO be told
all that once you have been through
ner galleries-the Pitt Palace and
the Jtizi-though. to prove that preju-
dice can show a forked tongue under
any circumstance, one traveller, In
discovering Spy spot" above the
grand gallery, took occasion to air
an unconplimentary opinion Of the
ancient prince that had dared 10
make an opening as big as a cigar
box SO that he could look down into
the lower yastness upon callers who
might not be welcome. Naturally
we don't understand meanness like
that. We just peek through a cur
tain to see who's coming and lean
over the stair rails to listen 10
find out whether or not We are "at
home" And we lack the excuse of
a way-back-century prince. whose
castle was his citadel, with many in
yaderS to keep at bay. She vas a
reasonable traveller, however, and
admitted she had never seen such
splendor in her life-only she was
glad Of our immigration laws-Amer-
lea asked nothing Of Italians.
She didn't seem to know that an
italian discovered us, that another
Italian designed the dome of ST.
Peters. from which the domes of the
world are copied, including the Cap
itol of the United States; that the
calendar that records our days was
the work Of another Italian, a Pope,
at that, and that many of the laws
we inherited from England are found
ed on the laws of Rome. Still, what
does It matter, one way or the other?
A criticism on perfection is like fly
speck on lily-only you can't swat
for today, not having space to an.
swer i question regarding Savanna
rola, which will have to wait until
next time.