From this Fort I took a ride to Baie, and after two hours’ ride I reached it. Two thousand years ago it was a great city where Cæsar and Cicero dwelt a great part of their time. The site of their palaces are yet discernable. The hot baths out of the earth are here yet, and I took one. No doubt but they are heated, running under the bay from Vesuvius on the other side. A few hundred yards out in the bay is the smallest island I ever saw to have a town of thousands of souls on it. It is about a mile in circumference. The town takes up almost all of the island of Procida. The inhabitants are nearly all Greek descendants, and are celebrated for keeping up the Greek fashions. The old guide insisted on us going into the heart of Procida, where he would show us the curious costumes. Having waited in an old dirty room some time for the scene, a rough working girl came into the room and stood some time. The old man asked me how I liked it? but I couldn’t see anything different from other women about the town. He told her to turn around, when he called my attention to some plaiting around the waist of the woman’s dress. She now whispered something to our guide, which, when translated, meant that she had her soap to make, and would like to discontinue the performance as the show was out. He said we must give her a couple of pauls for her trouble of dressing and undressing. This old man kept us laughing all the way back to Naples. When leaving Baie, passing some old magnificent ruins, he said, “Gentlemen, that is the ruins of the palace of Lucullus, the greatest eater that ever was in Italy.” Then he commenced relating Plutarch’s history of Lucullus’ style of living. He told us of the single dish that was expensive to the tune of 1,200 francs. Here the old man licked out his tongue, in token of his approbation of its being good. This old man has a country seat and town residence. He showed us, on our way out, his country seat; it consists of an old brick building, that in times of yore must have been used by somebody, who had a house, as a stable, and being an enterprising man, his mouth watered for it as a filthy retreat from Naples, when he can get no labor, such as he is now occupied with. We give him about forty cents a day, and he finds himself.
In Napoli is a church of fearful renown. It is built upon the site of the temple of Apollo; it was commenced by Charles the first, and finished by Charles the second, in the twelfth century. It is built of stone, and pillars of stone, from all parts of Africa, brought here in conquest. In it is buried the aforesaid Charles. This is the church of St. Janarius; a large statue of St. Janarius is represented seated, and always ready to bless the people. In a small tabernacle, with silver doors, is preserved the head and two vials of the Saint’s blood, said to have been collected by a Neapolitan lady during his martyrdom. This blood becomes miraculously liquid, whenever it is placed before the head of St. Janarius. The ceremony of this miracle is repeated three times a year, that is, during eight days in the month of May, eight days during the month of September, and on the day of protection, on the 16th of December. This miracle is to the Neapolitans a constant object of devotion and astonishment, of which no one that has not been present, can form a just idea. When the liquifaction of the blood takes place immediately, the joy of the people knows no bounds; but if the operation of the miracle is retarded one moment, the cries and groaning of the people rend the air; for at Naples the procrastination of this miracle is considered the prestage of some great misfortune; the grief, particularly of the women, is so great, that the blood never fails to become liquid, and resume its consistency, on each of the eight days; so that every one may see and kiss the blood of St. Janarius, in as liquid a state as when it first issued from his veins. The city of Naples has been in danger of being destroyed by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, by earthquakes, and other calamities, such as war, pestilence, &c., &c., but it has always been delivered by the blood of this mighty Saint. A lady writer says: "At one time the blood was rather slow about doing its duty, when their hypocritical priest says to the people, that the blood would never liquidate so long as they allowed the French to keep possession of the town. As soon as the French general heard this, he sent notice to the people that if the priest did not make the blood liquidate in ten minutes, off went his head. There was great lamentation for the priest, and the whole city was sympathizing with him, as his time was short; but at the expiration of nine minutes and three quarters the blood liquidated.”
CONSTANTINOPLE.
On the second day of May I glided out on the beautiful bay of Naples, and steered towards the east, where the wise men lived, and the light rose up. The first piece of terra firma next discovered was Etna, in Sicily. Sicily, before the crusade of king Siguard, was governed by Dukes and Earls. Mussinna is the only town of any particular note, on this fertile island. Mt. Etna, while at Musina, hides half of the firmament from your view, but when seen at eventide from the deck of a receding vessel, it seems to have sunk in a mole hole. It takes two days carriage ride around its base, to reach its top. Six days out from Naples brought our good vessel to Syria, a city in Greece, with 14,000 inhabitants. It is a charming sight to look at from your vessel, on account of its resemblance to wall hung pigeon houses. From the sea, you look at a mountain, with hundreds of systematical white spots clinging to its sides, and which proves to be Syria.
The ship stopped here a day, and all the passengers, and the rest of mankind, went ashore. The men were quite handsome for such a rough country; four or five young men and myself, were determined to see some of the Syrian ladies, if possible. On we went to the top of the city, through very narrow streets, and few ran over fifty yards without ending, and taking some unknown direction. After great exertion we reached the highest house, but, like Moses from his Pisgah, we saw the land but not its fruits. We were still inclined to prosecute our search, until our minds came to some definite conclusion. An exclamation of joy burst forth from one of our company, indicating success. We all moved closer to our guide, who, most wonderful to behold, had discovered the figure of a woman with her back towards us. We passed respectfully by her, trying to conceal our emotion of success. The first that passed her, quickly turned round as if he would speak to our companions, just as you have seen a young lady walk a little ahead of her companion, to have an excuse to look back at some young gent who seemed to have admired her when passing, and lo! this woman’s face was bound in the fashion of death, her motion was as still as the grave, and well it might be, as it was nothing but a marble figure of some Grecian maid, long dead. We had one good laugh to reward the artist of so exquisite a piece of his skill. The young men went skipping down the hill towards our vessel. I, taking more interest in this monumental piece of affection, did not discover that my friends were gone until I found myself a “last Mohican.” I started to descend the theatrical looking town, by winding in and out of small passage ways, until I found myself up an alley with no outlet, and when I turned to go out, the gate was fast and barred. A gate running in another direction was opened, and, old as a man could well be, was an old priest, seated on a stone beckoning to me to come in. I did not seem to comprehend, but he was determined I should, and came out with an extraordinary long string of beads nearly counted. He spoke several languages, and informed me that if my business was what all persons’ business is that enter that alley, that he was ready to give me absolution. I informed him in French that I was there through a mistake; and he then told me that it was usual in Syria for those wishing immediate absolution, to come to the priest’s residence at all times, when there was no services in church, and on payment of a small fee, get value received in full. He was a kind old man. He offered to give me absolution right off, for any mistake, or bad intention that I allowed to occupy my attention, whilst in Syria.
Whilst I was explaining to the priest, I heard a suppressed laugh at the gate. The priest opened the gate and let me out. My friends were close by; they had seen me go in the passage way with no outlet and fastened the gate on me, as they say “to have a lark,” but they little knew that they were then placing me in wisdom’s way; I had learned more with the priest than I could from them all day long.
Our sail is up, and on ahead of us is Smyrna, the birthplace of Homer, one of the seven churches of Asia Minor, and it has 150,000 inhabitants, and it is close to the Isle of Patmos, where St. John wrote the Revelations and saw four angels standing on the four quarters of the globe holding up the four winds of Heaven, that they might not blow upon the sea nor the earth.
Smyrna has been destroyed ten or twelve times and still has a large population. Like Syra, Smyrna is on the side of a hill. None of its ancient buildings remain except a corner wall of an old church that resounded back the voice of St. John to the minds of his hearers, when he preached those very Epistles we hear every Sabbath, in all Christian lands. The streets and bazaars are densely crowded with business men from all smaller towns for hundreds of miles around, and the houses, which are only one story, seem to be as densely filled with pretty women. I see no window of a respectable looking house without a lady. I cannot describe the ladies dress as I was not fortunate enough to get inside, and as they are very seldom on the street. The dresses of the men were of so many styles it would not pay to describe them, it is enough to say that it consisted of a many colors as Joseph’s coat, of some cotton or silk woof of all qualities.