he least
interesting city of its size, from a visitor's point of view, that I
know. Venice always reminds me of a beautiful and charmingly gowned
woman, perpetually young, interested in art, in music, in literature,
always ready for a stroll, a dance or a flirtation. Trieste, on the
contrary, is a busy, preoccupied, rather brusque business man, wholly
self-made, who has never devoted much time to devote to pleasure because
he has been too busy making his fortune. Venice says, "If you want a
good time, let me show you how to spend your money." But Trieste growls,
"If you want to get rich, let me show you how to invest your money." The
city has broad and well-kept streets bordered by the same sort of
four-and five-and six-story buildings of brick and stone which you find
in any European commercial city; it has several unusually spacious
piazzas on which front some really pretentious buildings; it has a few
arches and doorways dating from the Roman period, though far better ones
can be found in almost any town on the Italian peninsula; on the hill
commanding the city there are an old Austrian fort and an ancient
church, both chiefly interesting for the views they command of the
harbor and the coast of Istria; some of the most abominably rough
pavements which I have ever encountered in any city; one hotel which
just escapes being excellent and several which do not escape being bad;
and a harbor, together with the wharves and moles and machinery which go
with it, which is the Triestino's pride and joy.

To my way of thinking the most interesting sight in Trieste is a small
chateau, built in the castellated fashion which had a considerable vogue
in America shortly after the close of the Civil War, which stands amid
most beautiful gardens on the edge of the sea, two or three miles to the
west of the city. This is the Chateau of Miramar, formerly the residence
of the young Austrian Archduke Maximilian, who, dazzled by the dream of
life on an imperial throne, accepted an invitation to become Emperor of
Mexico and a few years later fell before a Mexican firing-party on the
slopes of Queretaro. Though the chateau has now passed into the
possession of the Italian Government it is still in charge of the aged
custodian who, as a youth, was body-servant to Maximilian. Barring the
fact that the paintings and certain pieces of furniture had been removed
to Vienna to save from injury by aerial bombardment, the interior of the
chateau is