A DAY IN POMPEII.
A VISIT TO POMPEII.—NEAPOLITAN HACKMEN.—AN INTERESTING ADVENTURE.—HOW TO AVOID A QUARREL.—BEGGARS.—BEGGARY AS A FINE ART.—A PICTURESQUE SCENE.—MAKING MACARONI.—TRICKS OF AN OLD ROOSTER.—POMPEII.—ITS HISTORY.—DISCOVERY OF THE BURIED CITY.—A SCENE IN THE STREETS.—AN ANCIENT BAKERY.—HOW THE MILLS WERE TURNED.—INVESTIGATING AN OVEN.—A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY.—PRESENT CONDITION OF THE HOUSES.—ADVERTISING IN OLD TIMES.—POMPEIIAN PERSONALS.—A PICTURE OF THE DESTRUCTION.—OBSCENE OBJECTS IN THE CITY.
On a pleasant spring morning several years ago, I started from Naples to pay a visit to the ruins of Pompeii. Our party consisted of four persons; and our first work was to engage a carriage, as we thought the carriage road would be preferable to the railway. Engaging a carriage in Naples is a tax upon the patience equal to some of the trials which were visited upon Job. I am not quite certain that Job would have remained patient after a contest with Neapolitan hackmen. Boils would be nothing compared to it.
One of the school-books that I studied in my younger days made the assertion, “A horse is a noble animal.” I do not question the nobility of the horse, and his possession of blue blood; but of one thing I am certain, and that is, a great majority of those who associate with him are the reverse of noble. Hackmen, all the world over, are proverbial for dishonesty. Horse-jockeys are never mentioned as types of human perfection; and the history of the race-track is the history of a great deal of fraud. If the horse is a noble beast, it must be that his nobility and excellence of character develop the opposite qualities among his human intimates.
A PICTURESQUE HACKMAN.
Hackmen are bad enough everywhere; but I think the perfection of badness is to be found among the hackmen of Naples. They will lie with the most unblushing impudence; and if they receive any future punishment for telling untruths, their roasting will be perpetual. The day before our journey to Pompeii, we had chartered a carriage to take us to the Sibyl’s Cave, and the other curiosities in the neighborhood of Pozzuoli. We made a positive bargain with the driver, including the amount which he was to receive as drink money. I believe we were to pay twenty francs for the carriage, and two francs for drink money. When we returned and were settling the bill, he swore by all the saints in the calendar,—and he named every one of them,—that we agreed to pay thirty francs for the carriage, and ten francs for drink money. He took his hat from his head in his rage, and threw it upon the ground, pulled his hair, and made things in general very unpleasant. He called several unwashed Neapolitans to witness that no carriage was ever hired at a lower rate than the one which he insisted was our contract price.
We found that we could not reason with him; and so we lighted our cigars, and waited for his paroxysm of rage to come to an end. We finally compromised the matter by paying twenty-five francs for the whole business; that is, we compromised by handing him the money, and walking away. He followed us two or three blocks; in fact, he stuck to us until we entered our hotel, and there we lost sight of him.
The hackman who was to take us to the buried city might have been useful, but certainly he was not ornamental. He was covered with dust, so that he resembled a walking ash-heap; and as for washing, I do not think he had ever experienced its terrors. Judging by the odor which arose from his skin, he had been put through some embalming process, in which garlic was the preservative substance. He resembled a sponge which has been dipped in garlic water, and kept without squeezing. His clothing was of all sizes except his own. His trousers were made for a man twice as large as he; and his coat for one of about half his dimensions. His face was as prepossessing as a basket of old bottles; and as for his manners, he did not appear to have any to boast of.
I spoke to him in French, which he pretended to understand, but could not comprehend. He answered in a mingled patoisof French and Italian, in which there was no French to speak of, and very little Italian. I forget the exact sum we agreed to pay, but think it was altogether about twenty-five francs.