I never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so filled with a blessed peace, as I did yesterday when I learned that Michael Angelo was dead.

But we have taken it out of this guide.  He has marched us through miles of pictures and sculpture in the vast corridors of the Vatican; and through miles of pictures and sculpture in twenty other palaces; he has shown us the great picture in the Sistine Chapel, and frescoes enough to frescoe the heavens—­pretty much all done by Michael Angelo.  So with him we have played that game which has vanquished so many guides for us —­imbecility and idiotic questions.  These creatures never suspect—­they have no idea of a sarcasm.

He shows us a figure and says:  “Statoo brunzo.” (Bronze statue.)

We look at it indifferently and the doctor asks:  “By Michael Angelo?”

“No—­not know who.”

Then he shows us the ancient Roman Forum.  The doctor asks:  “Michael Angelo?”

A stare from the guide.  “No—­thousan’ year before he is born.”

Then an Egyptian obelisk.  Again:  “Michael Angelo?”

“Oh, mon dieu, genteelmen!  Zis is two thousan’ year before he is born!”

He grows so tired of that unceasing question sometimes, that he dreads to show us any thing at all.  The wretch has tried all the ways he can think of to make us comprehend that Michael Angelo is only responsible for the creation of a part of the world, but somehow he has not succeeded yet.  Relief for overtasked eyes and brain from study and sightseeing is necessary, or we shall become idiotic sure enough.  Therefore this guide must continue to suffer.  If he does not enjoy it, so much the worse for him.  We do.

In this place I may as well jot down a chapter concerning those necessary nuisances, European guides.  Many a man has wished in his heart he could do without his guide; but knowing he could not, has wished he could get some amusement out of him as a remuneration for the affliction of his society.  We accomplished this latter matter, and if our experience can be made useful to others they are welcome to it.

Guides know about enough English to tangle every thing up so that a man can make neither head or tail of it.  They know their story by heart—­the history of every statue, painting, cathedral or other wonder they show you.  They know it and tell it as a parrot would—­and if you interrupt, and throw them off the track, they have to go back and begin over again.  All their lives long, they are employed in showing strange things to foreigners and listening to their bursts of admiration.  It is human nature to take delight in exciting admiration.  It is what prompts children to say “smart” things, and do absurd ones, and in other ways “show off” when company is present.  It is what makes gossips turn out in rain and storm to go and be the first to tell a startling bit of news.  Think, then, what a passion it becomes with a guide,