Roman Holidays, and Others

In Short

This travelogue records an aging American writer’s late-life return journey through Mediterranean Europe, taking in the Atlantic island of Madeira, Spanish border towns, Genoa, Naples, Pompeii, Rome, Leghorn, Pisa, and Monte Carlo. Observing both ancient relics and modern developments, the author reflects on history, art, architecture, and national character with light humor and sharp insight. Rather than offering a rigid guidebook, the book captures the texture of early twentieth-century travel, lingering over the quiet absurdities of daily encounters, changing urban landscapes, and the lingering presence of the past.

The Story

The narrative begins at sea during a mid-January voyage toward Italy. As the steamer approaches Madeira, the traveler marvels at the mountain scenery, compare its dramatic cliffs and waterfalls to a grandiose theatrical drop-curtain, and notes the rainbow arching over the sea. Continuing past the rock of Gibraltar, the writer ventures into the borderlands of Spain, noting the awkward neutral territory, the bad roads that pitch passengers into the paths of beggars, and the stern Spanish customs officers armed with javelins to check carriage cushions for contraband.

Upon arriving at Naples, the traveler finds a city unchanged in its energetic, noisy, market-like character since earlier visits in the nineteenth century. Navigating cold, narrow streets filled with cabs, pedestrians, and cautious automobiles, the author admires the underlying spirit of Italian fraternity and contrast the affordable, well-run Italian hotels with those back home. A side excursion to Pompeii brings sobering thoughts on pagan life and moral continuity, with the ruined city showing how death ironically preserves the impression of daily existence.

Moving on to Rome, the author spends several weeks in late winter and early spring exploring both famous ruins and contemporary streets. Disagreeing with sentimentalists who mourn the expansion of New Rome, the writer enthusiastically defends modern progress, taking pleasure in electric lights, tramways, and new archaeology alike. Encounters throughout the city range from inspecting newly excavated graves in the Forum with a learned archaeologist to viewing classic art, such as Guido’s Crucifixion or Raphael’s frescos at the Farnesina, where the absurdities of tour-giving and hand-mirrors mingle with aesthetic appraisal. Motor-car drives across the cold, windy Campagna to Tivoli reveal vast, friendly olive orchards, while electric tram rides back to the city offer familiar, everyday comforts. Memories of Hawthorne’s The Marble Faun surface when a companion unexpectedly points out Hilda’s tower, bridging the gap between literary romance and physical reality.

Leaving Rome, the journey moves northward. At Leghorn, the party enjoys a quiet, out-of-season seaside hotel near naval shipyards and striking monuments, before traveling to Pisa, where an impromptu invitation to serve as a child’s godfather highlights the warm generosity of the local residents. Returning to Genoa, the writer wanders the tall, narrow shop alleys and chilly port arcades. The final leg of the tour leads to Monte Carlo and the height above Turbìa. Approaching the famous gambling center with a mix of moral curiosity and detachment, the author avoids the gaming tables, preferring instead to explore the nearby ancient ruin of the Tower of Augustus, taking in the sweeping view of sea and Alps where classical and medieval history blend into the surrounding landscape.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins Approaching the island of Madeira on a cold January afternoon, the author admires the grand mountain cliffs, cascades, and sea colors. Crossing toward Spain, the party encounters rough winds, terrible roads near Gibraltar, and vigilant customs inspectors searching for smuggled goods.

Voices of Naples and Pompeii In Naples, the author observes lively, crowded street markets, comparing the city's persistent gayety with impressions recorded centuries earlier. A trip to Pompeii reveals excavated houses and artifacts, prompting reflections on ancient life, death, and human nature.

Winter light over Rome Settling in Rome for the winter, the writer embraces the modern developments of "New Rome" while touring ancient ruins and churches. Walks through the Forum, visits to the Farnesina frescos, and chilly motor drives across the Campagna illustrate the city's layered history.

Lighter hours in Tuscan towns Moving on to Leghorn and Pisa, the travelogue focuses on tranquil seaside hotels, statues by the shipyards, and human connections. In a Pisan church, an encounter with a local family during a baptism leads to a gracious, humorous exchange about godparenthood.

The heights of Monte Carlo After returning through Genoa's cold arcades, the author visits Monte Carlo to observe the social atmosphere around the casino without gambling. Climbing up to the ancient Roman ruins at Turbìa, the writer closes the journey in quiet contemplation of Augustus's crumbled tower.

The People

The Author (William Dean Howells) An observant, humorous American traveler who brings decades of perspective to his European journey. He seeks an authentic engagement with daily life, appreciating modern conveniences like electric trams and warm hotels while maintaining an unpretentious love for classical art, literature, and history.

The Spanish Beggars and Inspectors Local figures encountered along the neutral ground near Gibraltar. The beggars, including a young boy smoking a cigarette while asking for bread, play their roles with a sense of theatrical irony, while the armed custom inspectors methodically guard the border with long javelins.

The Archaeologist in the Forum A learned scholar who guides visitors through recent excavations near the Arch of Titus. He speaks informally, poetically, and humorously, connecting imperial cisterns, broken marbles, and ancient child graves to the broader continuity of human emotion.

The Pisan Family A family gathering at a Pisan church for a baby's baptism. Warm and welcoming, the grandmother invites the author to become the child's godfather, accepting his polite refusal due to his Protestant background with cheerful understanding.

In Its Own Voice

"No drop-curtain, at any theatre I have seen, was ever so richly imagined, with misty tops and shadowy clefts and frowning cliffs and gloomy valleys and long, plunging cataracts, as the actual landscape of Madeira..."

The traveler describes the dramatic, curtain-like impact of approaching Madeira from the sea on a mid-January afternoon.

"There can be no doubt that at the heart of paganism the same plague festered which poisons Christian life, and which, while the social conditions remain the same from age to age, will poison life forever."

Reflecting on the ruins of Pompeii, the author contemplates the enduring flaws and realities of human civilization across different eras.

"The present vanished, and we were restored to our citizenship in that Rome of the imagination which is greater than any material Rome, and which it needs no archaeologist to discover in its indestructible integrity."

Spotting a cloud of doves around a medieval tower brings back memories of classic literature and the timeless, imagined city.

What It's Really About

Behind its leisurely travel accounts, the book examines how the past and present continuously inhabit the same physical space. The author actively challenges the sentimental notion that modern technological progress spoils ancient cities, arguing instead for the vitality of contemporary life alongside historical preservation. By contrasting the enduring ruins of Rome and Pompeii with the immediate, ordinary interactions of shopkeepers, guides, and drivers, the narrative explores how human nature remains remarkably consistent across centuries. It considers the nature of travel itself—not as an attempt to escape into romance, but as an opportunity to observe society with quiet clarity, humor, and balance.

Why Read It Today

This travelogue will appeal to readers who enjoy gentle cultural observation, historical reflections, and classic travel writing unburdened by modern haste. Rather than rushing from landmark to landmark, the writing offers the quiet pleasure of walking through European cities alongside a thoughtful, wry companion. Reading it feels like sitting back on a slow train or taking an afternoon coffee at a quiet piazza table, taking in the small, vivid details of a bygone world.

The book does reflect its era, which prospective readers should keep in mind. Its pace is deliberate and unhurried, characteristic of early twentieth-century prose, and it occasionally lingers over detailed descriptions of architecture, churches, and art history that require patience. Additionally, readers will encounter typical period attitudes regarding national traits and social classes. Yet these elements are tempered throughout by the author's underlying warm humor, sharp self-awareness, and genuine appreciation for the common humanity found in every city along the way.