These four plaster ghosts were the last sights seen by us in Pompeii. For by this time we had walked and ridden three hours, and those three the most fervent of the day, beginning soon after noon. The heat was cruel and intense, but we had not given ourselves time to think of it. The umbrella and portantina helped us as they could, but the feeling that the work had to be done now or never helped us most of all. Our vexation against our guides had long ago cooled into a quiet good will. Relinquishing the fiery journey, which might have been prolonged some hours further, we paid the rather heavy fee. The second carrier of the litter demanded a few extra pence, reminding us that at our first arrival he had brushed the dust from our dresses with a zeal which then appeared mysterious, but whose object was now clear. Parting from these, we passed into the little inn, quite bare and dirty, whose coolness seemed delicious. We here ordered an afternoon déjeûner, and ate, drank, and rested.
THE CAPUCHIN.
While we waited for our dinner, a Capuchin at another table enjoyed a moderate repast. Bologna sausage, cheese, fruit, and wine of two sorts contented him. His robust countenance beamed with health, his eyes were intelligent. This was one of the personalities of which the little shown makes one desirous to know more. His refreshment consumed and paid for, he began a rambling conversation with the garçon who attended us, as well as with the proprietor of the locanda in which we were. Capuchin and Garçon mutually deplored the poverty of the poor in Naples. Capuchin showed two blue silk handkerchiefs which he had been forced to purchase, for compassion, of a poor woman. Both obviously considered the new state of things as partly accountable for this poverty, which is, on the contrary, as old as the monastic orders. The Capuchin had been preaching Lenten sermons in Greece, and had been well received. Garçon rejoined that there were good Catholics in Greece, agreeing harmoniously with the man in brown. But at this juncture another face looks in at the door. "That is the man who plagues me to give him lucky numbers for play," says the frate. Here I can keep out of the company no longer. "What does he play at—cards or dice?" I ask. "Neither, madam; that man ruins himself with playing at the lottery." Capuchin continues: "If I had the gift of fortunate numbers, I would not withhold them. I should wish to benefit my fellow-creatures in this way, if I were able to do so. But I have it not, this gift of prophecy." And if you had it, thought I, I am not so sure of the ultimate benefit of gambling to your fellow-creatures, even were they to win, instead of losing.
The Capuchin and I, however, talk of other things—of monasteries, and rich libraries, closed to women. "So, father, you consider us the allies of the devil." "No, signora; the inhibition is mutual: we may not enter any nunnery." The padrone of the inn here breaks in with the robust suggestion that these restrictions ought to be removed, and that monks and nuns should have liberty to visit each the establishments of the other. While this talk proceeds, I occasionally glance into the smoky depths of the kitchen opposite, where a mysterious figure, in whose cleanliness I desire to believe, wafts a frying-pan across a dull fire, which he stimulates by fanning with a turkey's wing. After each of his gymnastics, a dish is brought out, and set upon our table—first fish, then omelet, then cutlet; and we discover that the Capuchin and ourselves have a mutual friend at Fuligno, the good, intelligent, accomplished Count ——, in whose praises each of us is eloquent. We part, exchanging names and addresses. Our Pompeian guide urges us to return and make the ascent of Vesuvius under his care. But we depart untrammelled. Every one was satisfied with us except the cripple who rolled himself in the dust, and the weird, white-haired women with spindles, who followed us shrieking for a largess. We gave nothing, and they commented upon us with a gravity of moral reprobation quite fit to make one's hair stand on end, even with New England versus beggar behind one. But the train came, and mercifully took us away; and whether in not giving we did well or ill, is a point upon which theorists will not agree; so we may be pardoned for giving ourselves the benefit of a doubt.
After Pompeii a little good fortune awaited us. As before said, we had encountered an American of the right sort,—kindly, sincere, and of adequate education. Joining forces with him, we no longer shivered before the hackman, nor shrank from the valet de place. We at once engaged the latter functionary, ordered the remise of the hotel to wait for us, and started upon two days of eager but weary sight-seeing. Our first joint act was to scale again the height of San Martino, this time to enter the church and convent, and view their boasted riches. A pleasant court, with a well in the centre of it; a church whose chapels and altars were gorgeous with lapis lazuli, jasper, agate, and all precious marbles; a row of seats in wooden mosaic, executed by a monk of the Cistercian order, vowed to silence; cloisters as spacious and luxurious as can well be imagined; a great array of relics in golden boxes, shielded from dust and common sight by rich curtains of heavy silk and gold—this is all of the establishment that remains in our recollection. The present government has dismissed the saintly idlers of the monasteries, saying, perhaps, in the style of Henry VIII., "Go plough, you drones, go plough." But in what field and for what wages they henceforth labor is not known to me.
Hence to the Grotto of Siana, half a mile long, and some eight feet wide. The chill of this long, damp passage, in contrast with the high temperature from which we entered it, so alarmed us that we turned back at half the distance, and gave up seeing the den or cave that lay beyond. At Pozzuoli we view Caligula's Bridge, of which but a few large stones remain: the guide points out the place at which Paul and Peter landed. Here are the ruins of a fine amphitheatre. The underground arrangements still show us the pits in which the wild beasts and the gladiators were kept. Square openings at the top ventilated each of these, and a long, open space in the middle separated the cells of the beasts from those of the gladiators. On public occasions all of these openings were closed by heavy plates of metal, so as to present the solid surface desired for the combats.
"Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!"
In this neighborhood we visited what is left of the temple of Jupiter Serapis. The salt water formerly covered its columns to such a height as to corrode them badly. The smell caused by the evaporation of the sea-water in the hot sun was so offensive that the government found it necessary to apply a thorough drain. These time and tide worn marbles were of the choicest kinds—African marble, rosso antico, and so on. Their former beauty little avails them now. We drive further to the cavern with the stratum of carbonic acid gas, and see the dog victimized, which cruel folly costs us two francs. And then we visit the sulphur vapor baths, whose fiery, volcanic breath frightens us. These are near the Lake of Agnano, an ancient volcanic crater. In its neighborhood are the royal game preserves, in which fratricidal V. E. hunts and slays the wild boar. Returning, we climb to Virgil's tomb, a small, empty enclosure, with a stone and inscription dating from 1840.
"Cecini pascua, rura, duces,"
says the poet, through his commemorator. Item, this steep journey under a scorching sun did not pay very well. Yet, having ascended the fiery stair, and stood in the small, dark enclosure, and read the tolerable inscription, I felt that I had done what I could to honor the great Mantuan: so, with a good conscience, I returned through cool, ill-smelling Posilippo, to the hotel, dinner, and the afternoon meditation.