I hurried home, for fear of finding others who might not share the same opinion. My wife and little one were waiting for me to go to the theatre, and I remember that they were then giving 'Edmondo Dante, Count of Monte Cristo,' a monstrous production which lasted twelve hours—divided, however, into three evenings. My little box was on the first tier near the orchestra,—and such an orchestra! Two violins, one double-bass, a clarionet, and a flute, the music being pieces adapted from the 'Trovatore'; and such an adaptation! Good heavens! All this cost me—that is to say, cost the Grand Duke—four carlini, including "the bottle," for in Naples one must always pay for "the bottle" to every one. Really in that fortunate country one required to have a carlino always in hand. I don't know how it is now, but then every one was constantly drinking. Ushers, inspectors, custodi—all asked for "this bottle" with the utmost frankness and in perfect seriousness. I, who went often to the museum, wished to have my cane to lean on, as there were no chairs to sit down on; but "No, sir,"—the porter, with his great cocked-hat, came and took it away, having the right to do so, as it was against the regulations. When I left he gave it back to me, always saying, "Your Excellency, the bottle," pronouncing these words with such dignity that you would have thought they were part of the royal regulations; and I used to give it—that is to say, a half-carlino at every section. Pompeian paintings, statues and bronzes, Etruscan vases, Renaissance paintings and drawings—each had a custode, and all wanted a drink. Perhaps now they are no longer thirsty, which will be all the better for the poor visitor. I paid these half-bottles, or rather half-carlini, most unwillingly, for to be always paying out is in itself most tiresome; and I was more out of temper than really tired, not being able to find a seat anywhere. One day a painter who was copying there was moved to pity, and offered me his stool. It is not unnatural that a man who was both poor and unwell, should be unwilling to pay out money in gratuities, and should look upon that given to the porter as the hardest part of all, as it was to pay him merely for taking away the stick he had to lean on. The consequence was, that not being able to bear this lucro cessante and danno emergente, as they say in law, I made bold to say to this high personage (he was at least a palm taller than I), "Listen, signor; I will no longer give you the bottle."
FEES FOR ADMISSION TO THE GALLERIES.
"Why not, Excellency?"
"Because you take away my stick, which would be a comfort for me to lean on."
"Well, well," he answered, "keep your stick, Excellency; but remember the bottle."
"I understand, I quite understand—and add a little more to it."
And the eyes of that Argus brightened, although he was by way of shutting them as far as the regulations were concerned. The necessity for drinking, it seems, belongs to this people, and it must be on account of the hot air they breathe, all impregnated with the salt from the sea. Therefore I fancy this desire of theirs has not yet been allayed, for even I drank a great deal when I was there, only it was water, which is so good, so fresh, so light, that it is a pleasure to drink; but alas! so many prefer "the bottle." If, however, even against the natural order of the country, this has been suppressed amongst the subalterns, it has been adopted by the heads themselves, as the Minister of Public Instruction has decreed an entrance-tax for every one who wishes to see in our galleries the works of Raphael, Michael Angelo, or our other glorious fathers, who in their simplicity certainly never thought of being obliged to show themselves at so much a head like some wild beasts.
ADMISSION FEES TO THE PUBLIC GALLERIES.
It is a curious thing (which induces me to think that thirst must be in the air of Naples) that this bottle-tax was instituted by a Neapolitan, the Honourable Ruggero Bonghi, who, be it said with all due respect, seems to be less anxious for the decorum of art and the advantage of artists than for an economy which, to say the truth, is but a shabby one. I know quite well that artists are free from this tax, but they must be provided with a certificate, which is always a restriction; and it is also true that artists, and those who are not artists, can enjoy free entrance, but only on festa days. It comes to the same as if to one who said, "I am hungry," you answered, "You shall eat next week." Is it believed that only those students who are provided with certificates are to become artists? Art learns more from example than from precept, as it is with every other thing. I should be curious to know if Demosthenes and Cicero lived before or after the Treatise on Eloquence, or if Phidias studied at the Academy, and paid a tax for admission. Then, also, this is the common property of all, and therefore its advantages should not be restricted. The answer is, that the entrance-tax is used for the maintenance and decorum of the galleries themselves. The decorum and support of the public galleries never suffered from the want of this in bygone days; why should they feel the need of it to-day?