A Journey to Crete, Costantinople, Naples and Florence: Three Months Abroad

by Annie Vivanti

We were at Naples the week after the first Sunday in May, which is one continual festival in honour of St. Gennaro, the great patron saint of Naples. Thus I had an opportunity of witnessing the celebrated miracle of liquefaction of the blood of the saint, which is kept in two phials in the chapel “del Tesoro” adjoining the cathedral, for the blood liquefies daily during the festival when high mass is celebrated. The chapel is wonderfully magnificent; the three altars with their ornaments, and the statues of more than forty saints, being all of silver. The most magnificent of all is, of course, that of Saint Gennaro standing on the high altar, whose mitre of gold is covered with precious stones of great size, and who wears round his neck enough ornaments to deck a whole crowd of queens and duchesses. They are the gifts of different kings and queens of Naples. Napoleon I., who stripped so many churches of their treasures, made a present to this all-powerful saint, and Victor Emanuel seems to have thought that in this respect he too must follow the example of his predecessors, for the saint wears two magnificent crosses of amethysts and diamonds, the gift of the Rè Galantuomo. My husband did not approve of this, and even expressed a wish that Garibaldi had melted down the gold and silver saints, and invested the money so obtained in schools for the people, and other public and charitable institutions.

But who can tell if even Garibaldi, the idol of the people of Naples, and the saint they perhaps most adore after St. Gennaro, could have done this. The priest to whom I expressed my astonishment, that the treasures of this chapel had escaped the vicissitudes of so many revolutions and wars, said it was evidently a miracle wrought by the saint.

If the great St. Gennaro has as yet escaped peculation, the common little saints that used to stand at every street corner of Naples, have not fared so well of late. They were all of them removed in one night, by order of General La Marmora, then Governor of Naples. The people, especially the women, became clamorous and noisy on the discovery next morning, but were told that the Governor was so fond of the Saints, that he wished to take better care of them. He had therefore removed the Saints from their uncomfortable quarters in the street, to snugger ones in the Churches and Convents, where they would be much better off. This entirely satisfied the crowd.

The removal of the Saints, and that of the pigs of St. Antonio, which Garibaldi effected, has much changed the appearance of the streets of Naples. The pigs of the Convent of St. Antonio, that used to run about in the principal streets of Naples, even in the fine Strada Toledo, and which lived upon public charity, were a terrible nuisance. The ignorant populace held these pigs of the holy fathers in great veneration, and fed them well, and I have been assured on good authority, that if a man had with his cart or carriage run over a child in the streets, he might possibly have escaped unpunished, but had he hurt a pig in that way, the infuriated mob would almost have killed him.

The morning I went to hear High Mass in the Chapel del Tesoro, it presented an animated and magnificent spectacle. The windows were darkened by crimson blinds, to keep the strong sunlight out, and the chapel was lighted up by numberless candles, the light of which was reflected by the silver ornaments that deck the whole chapel. The way up to the altar was lined with soldiers, I suppose to prevent disturbances in the eager crowd that longed to kiss the liquefied blood.

The people walked up in good order to the altar, but on the sides down which they returned, there was a good deal of squeezing and pushing. The priest that held the little glass case, containing the two phials in his hand, and who showed them to the congregation, shook the liquefied blood about, and thrust the case into the people’s faces with so rudely irreverent a manner, that I, who am no believer in the miracle, felt shocked; what impression it made upon the other people I cannot tell. They looked however quite contented and pleased. They were mostly priests and nuns, and persons of the lower orders, but I observed also some who appeared to belong to the upper classes.

While the crowd kissed the blood of the Saint the choir sang a most beautiful mass, and the rich voices with which bountiful Nature has endowed so many of her children under the blue sky of Naples, filled the chapel with harmony, and made the chords of my heart vibrate in unison. There was a bass voice among them that reminded me of Lablache.

On the evening of the same day I had witnessed the miracle of the liquefaction in the Chapel del Tesoro, the son of the famous conjuror Bosco repeated the trick before the boxes crowded with elegant ladies at the Theatre St. Carlo, but I did not go to see it. Ever since I am out of my teens, I no longer care for conjuring tricks; besides I had seen it done so well in the morning. I was however told that the trick in the evening succeeded quite as well, and was repeated several times before a smiling and applauding audience. I visited most of the other principal churches of Naples. The Church of St. Severo is full of fine modern statues. One representing a man who is trying to free himself from the meshes of a net in which he is entangled, and which is called “the snares of the world,” is very clever. Another one called “Modesty” is graceful, but as a representation of modesty, might have a somewhat thicker veil. At the Museo Borbonico, now called “Reale,” I admired some of the finest Greek marbles I have ever seen. The grand Torro Farnese, the wonderful Hercules, of the same famous collection, a Flora, that looks something between a Juno and a Venus, stately and graceful at the same time, the most charming representation of virgin youth I have ever seen. There is a whole room full of Venuses, of which one is certainly very beautiful, although apparently too conscious of her charms to please me very much.

“I must go up Mount Vesuvius before we leave Naples,” I said to my husband, and he, not less desirous than myself to visit a volcano, set out with me early the next morning, for the ascent of the mountain.

I know it is considered a beautiful sight to see the sun rise from the top of Vesuvius, but as it rises in the middle of May at a most unreasonably early hour, we despaired of getting to the top before the sun, so we let the god travel alone for several hours, and did not leave our hotel in the Chiatamone till a little after six o’clock. An hour’s quick drive brought us to Resina. Our way to the latter led us through the village of St. Giovanni, where one sees nothing but macaroni and pigs. Most of the houses are small macaroni manufactories, and the fresh macaroni are on long sticks, hung out into the street to dry. Most of the manufacturers keep a pig, which is tied to some post in the street, not far from the door of the house, or if a very tame, good little pig, runs about free.