The Old Lady Was In The Great National Museum At Naples, Fluttering
About Like A Distracted Little Brown Hen.
She was looking for the
Farnese Bull.
It seemed her niece in Knoxville had told her the
Farnese Bull was the finest thing in the statuary line to be found
in all Italy, and until she had seen that, she wasn't going to see
anything else. She had got herself separated from the rest of her
party and she was wandering along about alone, seeking information
regarding the whereabouts of the Farnese Bull from smiling but
uncomprehending custodians and doorkeepers. These persons she
would address at the top of her voice. Plainly she suffered from
a delusion, which is very common among our people, that if a
foreigner does not understand you when addressed in an ordinary
tone, he will surely get your meaning if you screech at him. When
we had gone some distance farther on and were in another gallery,
we could still catch the calliope-like notes of the little old
lady, as she besought some one to lead her to the Farnese Bull.
That she came right out and spoke of the Farnese Bull as a bull,
instead of referring to him as a gentleman cow, was evidence of
the extent to which travel had enlarged her vision, for with half
an eye anyone could tell that she belonged to the period of our
social development when certain honest and innocent words were
supposed to be indelicate - that she had been reared in a society
whose ideal of a perfect lady was one who could say limb, without
thinking leg.
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