There we find the most delightful hours of our existence, the hours of love and of sleep. We entrust our almost naked and fatigued bodies to it so that they may be reanimated by reposing between soft sheets and feathers. After this introduction, we have the miseries of the hotel of some great hotel full of people, and yet so empty the strange room and the doubtful bed! I am most particular about my bed it is the sanctuary of life. Nights spent in a train, the disturbed slumbers of the railway carriage, with the attendant headache, and stiffness in every limb, the sudden waking in that rolling box, the unwashed feeling, with your eyes and hair full of dust, the smell of the coal on which one's lungs feed, those bad dinners in the draughty refreshment rooms are, according to my ideas, a horrible way of beginning a pleasure trip. I am, as you know, not a great traveller it appears to me a useless and fatiguing business. You don't understand me, so I will explain: In the spring of 1874 I was seized with an irresistible desire to see Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples. I will make another attempt to penetrate into the interior, which I have not yet succeeded in doing. Some time, however, I must visit its cities, as well as the museums and works of art with which it abounds. And yet my two attempts gave me a charming idea of the manners of that beautiful country. So I do not know Italy, said my friend, Charles Jouvent. AS MOSCAS DE DEUS: I set out to see Italy thoroughly on two occasions, and each time I was stopped at the frontier and could not get any further.

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