Not many days after, we heard that two or three foreign gentlemen, making the same ascent as ourselves, had been attacked and robbed by these most obnoxious donkey-men. I am afraid the observance of law and the moral condition generally of little, out-of-the-way villages like Antignano, in the vicinity of Naples, is as bad as it well can be at the present time.
When we reached the summit, on which stands the monastery, we went at once to the ridge of the hill to see the view; and I have seldom been more struck by anything of the kind. Naples lay before us, about fifteen hundred feet below; but what was so unexpected was the aspect of Mount Vesuvius, right in front of us, and that of the Monte Somma and a series of other mountainous heights of volcanic origin; and far away to the Apennines, with the wide plains and cities lying in the bright sunshine, Caserta, Capua, and all the Campania Felix. On the spot where we stood a line straight from the eye would have hit about one-third of the height of Mount Vesuvius. To the right we could see all the range of mountains to Salerno and Amalfi. On the other side were Pozzuoli, Nisita, Ischia, and Baiæ. I will not multiply names, nor will I heap up epithets in the attempt to describe what words cannot tell. In short, I forgot all I had said in favor of the position formerly occupied by the Carthusians at San Martino in my enthusiasm for the superior view once enjoyed by the Camaldoli; and had the question been open to me, I believe my vocation to the latter order would have been decided on the spot.
My donkey-boy had sobered down [pg 163] by the time I had again to trust myself and my steed to his tender mercies, and nothing occurred to mar the enjoyment of our long but interesting excursion. It must, however, have been a far more beautiful place before the present government of Italy, by permitting the wholesale destruction of the magnificent trees which formerly clothed the mountain's sides, had done so much to impair the climate as well as to destroy the beauty of the country. It is a fact in natural history that trees emit warmth in winter as they produce coolness in summer; and consequently that in a latitude like that of Italy they are specially beneficial, as tending to equalize the temperature. It is notorious that the climate of Italy has become hotter in the summer, while it is colder in the winter than was the case formerly. The country has also been subject to terrible ravages from mountain torrents, the downward course of which was formerly intercepted by the grand old trees of immense forests. Their impetuosity was broken and their waters partially absorbed. Now they tear down the barren sides of the mountains unchecked, and devastate the plains below, to the ruin of the crops and consequent impoverishment of the country. It is the short-sighted custom of the government to let whole tracts of mountainous forest-lands, leaving the lessee the liberty of cutting down as it may seem good to him; and generally he is a greedy man, in a hurry to make a fortune before the present régime shall have come to an end, as it must do some day.
I must not leave my readers to suppose that all our excursions and daily drives were on the grandly æsthetic plan of those I have described. We were not always mythological, classical, or even early-Christian in our researches, our walks or drives. We went shopping about the streets of Naples in a thoroughly womanly fashion, and condescended to red and pink coral, amber and tortoise-shell ornaments, with a full appreciation of their prettiness. The bracelets, earrings, and brooches made out of lava never appeared to me otherwise than as remains of barbarism. Much of the coral-work, though very ingenious, is also in bad taste. But a string of pink coral beads is always a beautiful ornament, and also always an expensive one. Amber abounds, not of course as a native product, but imported from the East. The tortoise-shell is very delicately carved, and inlaid with gold, and some of it is extremely pretty. There is also a great deal of alabaster-work in figures and vases, white and colored. Neither Mary nor I could bear it, though we did our best to try and be tempted by a shop in the Toledo[47] which was filled with it. It is always connected in my mind with shell ornaments and wool mats. They are things that generally seem to go together, and equally impress me with their uselessness and ugliness. I must include in my list of horrors the lava and even the terracotta figures of lazzaroni and Neapolitan peasants. Mary was rather disappointed at not finding shops of old furniture and rococo. She had collected a variety of pretty and even valuable objects when she was here many years ago; but now she was told by the Neapolitans that the English and Americans had bought up all there was to be had of that nature. No doubt, however, we might still have found treasures [pg 164] had we known where to look for them. But the days are over when bargains could be picked up in Continental towns. All those things have now a real marketable value, and no vendors are ignorant of what that value is. Of course there are occasional exceptions.
We went once to a flower-show held in the Villa Reale, the beautiful public promenade which runs by the sea-shore and the Chiaia. I believe it was the first of the kind which had been attempted, and as such was worthy of all praise. But, apart from that consideration, it was inferior to most of the numerous flower-shows held in the rural districts of England. We often drove up and down the Chiaia, which is the name of the fashionable street of Naples, and along which there is a tan road for the sake of horsemen, who ride backwards and forwards at a furious rate. It is neither very long nor very broad; but the gentlemen who frequent it are evidently greatly impressed with their manly bearing and distinguished horsemanship. For my own part, I prefer a Neapolitan on the driving-box to one in the saddle. They are excellent coachmen and but indifferent horsemen, as all men must be who are deficient in phlegm and in external calm. The horse is a dignified animal, and demands corresponding dignity in his rider. We used often to stop at the caffe in the Via Reale, and refresh ourselves with “granite”—that is, a glass of snow sweetened, and with the juice of fresh lemons squeezed into it.
As a rule, I cannot say that the shops in Naples are particularly good, and certainly they are very dear. The same may be said of provisions. And as the taxes are every year on the increase, this misfortune is not likely to be remedied. I frequently used to walk through the generally narrow and always crowded streets of Naples accompanied by Frank, and as often Emidio, who had arranged some point of meeting with my brother, would come down from the heights of Capo di Monte, where his lovely villa stood, and join us in our saunter through the busy city. I have seen him stop where a piece of rope was hung near a tobacconist's shop-door, or at the corner of the street, and light his cigar from the smouldering end which had been set fire to for that purpose. I have never seen a burning rope in the streets in England or in France for the accommodation of smokers.
We visited most of the churches, but they were as nothing to me after the churches in Rome. The flower-boys soon got to know us as we walked and drove about, and the most lovely roses and bunches of orange-blossoms would be pressed upon us for a few pence. The boys would sometimes cling to the carriage-door with one hand, while the horses were going fast, imploring us to buy the bouquets they held in the other, till I used to think they must fall and be run over. But they are so lithe and supple, and they seemed to bound about so much as if they were made of india-rubber, that at last I got hardened, and would stand to my bargain half-way down a street without any apprehension for the safety of my dark-eyed, jabbering flower-boys. They generally addressed us in a jargon of Italian, French, and English, and as generally sold their flowers for half the price first named.
I greatly enjoyed the freedom and absence of restraint in these our rambles; for, having my brother with me, I was not afraid of [pg 165] gratifying my curiosity about the manners and customs of the humbler classes. I frequently stood by the fountains in the streets, where the women washed the linen, and entered into conversation with them; or I would buy fritture of various kinds (which is, in fact, fried batter, sometimes sweet, sometimes savory). I did not find it always to my taste, because it was made with rancid olive-oil quite as often as with fat. But the piles of light-brown fritters lying on the little tables in the open streets, or being tossed about, smoking hot, in iron pans, had a very inviting appearance. Then I would get Frank to let me have a glass of lemonade from the pretty little booths that are so numerous for the sale of that delightful beverage, with festoons of fresh lemons hanging from the gayly-painted poles. I delighted all the more in my freedom that I knew, when I should be Emidio's wife, and drive about Naples as the Contessa Gandolfi, I could no longer expect to enjoy these privileges. I said so one day to Emidio, when I was taking my second glass of lemonade in a peculiarly dingy and out-of-the-way street in Naples. He laughed at the assertion, though he did not for a moment attempt to deny it; and meanwhile he enjoyed as much as I did the absence of all form and ceremony, which as foreigners we could allow ourselves. It was then that jestingly he asked me whether it should be put in my marriage-settlements that he was to take me, at least once, to the Festa di Monte Vergine. I could not understand what he could possibly mean, until he explained that so much is thought of this feast by the Neapolitan peasantry that if a girl has a good dot, it is generally inserted in the marriage-deeds that her husband is bound to give her this gratification. The feast takes place on Whit-Monday, and Emidio assured me that my marriage-portion was enough to entitle me to more than one excursion to the sanctuary of the Madonna, if such was my desire. It is held at Monte Vergine, near Avellino; and as we had not been able to attend it during our stay at Posilippo, I declared that I should expect to be taken some day, though I declined to puzzle our family lawyer by the introduction of so strange an article in my marriage-settlements.
We had reserved Pompeii for the close of our stay at Naples, because from thence we meant to go on to Sorrento. We entered Pompeii by the “Sea Gate,” having left our travelling-bags and shawls at the little hotel Diomède—such a grand name for such a mean, vulgar little place! How full of flies it was! How bad was the food! How miserable the accommodations, with advertisements of Bass' pale ale adorning the walls! Nothing, however, of the kind could diminish the interest with which we were about to enter the dead city of the dead. Mary remembered having come to this same little public-house five-and-twenty years before. It has been added to since then. At that time it afforded very little refreshment for either man or beast. She had taken some tea with her, and they accommodated her with hot water. Milk was not to be had, so she floated a slice of lemon in the tea-cup, after the Russian fashion. And all the time a handsome youth, indifferently clad, and with the red Phrygian cap covering his crisp black curls, sang a native song to the accompaniment of a small guitar, and danced the while. The cotton-plants were ready to give up [pg 166] their bursting pods of snow-white fluff in the fields around, and the heat was extreme. The scene had been much less invaded in those days by ordinary sight-seers; but also, it must be owned, there was less to see, as many of the most important excavations have been made since that date. As the heat was very great, and as, even without seeing anything like all that is worth seeing, we could not possibly devote less than two or three hours to walking in those shadeless streets, it was decided Mary and I should be carried by the guides in open sedan-chairs. The guides are appointed by government, and are thoroughly well informed on the subject, and are able to answer most questions.
We first visited the Forum. It is, even in its utter ruin, very imposing, for it stands on rising ground, and all the principal streets lead to it. Several Doric columns, arches or gateways, and the pedestals which formerly supported statues, remain. The Temple of Venus is close to the Forum; the entrance steps are intact, and the altar stands in front of them. Words fail me to express the intense melancholy of the scene, as we wandered from Temple to Baths, and from house to house, down the narrow streets—for all the streets are narrow—whose flag-stones are dented by the wheels of the chariots, and have a raised path for foot-passengers, so high that there are stones placed at intervals to enable one to step across the road, with a space left for the wheels of the chariot to pass between. This was to keep the passengers from having to step into the water which in rainy weather must have poured down these gutterless streets. From the houses being now all reduced to the ground floor, with the exception of a few in which the stairs leading to the first story and some portions of the wall remain, it cannot be said that any of the streets produce at all an imposing effect. Perhaps the absence of this, except in the ruins of the temples and public buildings, rather adds to the pathetic sadness of the scene, by bringing all the more vividly before us the fact of the utter and sudden destruction which swept away a vast city of crowded human beings, leading the daily life of all of us, in a few short hours! We saw the casts of several dead bodies that had been found—one, of a man making his escape with a sack of money; another, of a matron with her young daughter. What masses of hair, what round and slender limbs, what beautiful teeth! It is ghastly, and yet fascinating; for it seems to bridge over so wide a gulf of time, and by one touch of nature makes us akin to the ancient dead. I felt this specially as we went down the “Street of Abundance,” as it was named—mere dwelling-houses and shops on either side; a long, ordinary street, where men came and went in their round of every-day life, buying and selling and paying visits. The green lizards ran over the whitened walls and the small, brown-red bricks. The sun poured down his relentless rays from a perfectly cloudless sky. Except ourselves and the guides, no footsteps were heard, no sound broke the death-like silence. And at the far end of the “Street of Abundance,” just beyond the limits of the doomed city, a solitary pine-tree, looking like a black spot in the white shimmer of the mid-day heat, alone indicated a world of nature and of life and growth beyond. Here is an oil-shop, full of [pg 167] the beautifully-shaped, huge jars in which the oil was kept. There, on that slab of marble, are the stains of wine. You see the oven, with what once was soft white bread—the real bread; and you feel that it might have happened a few years ago, and that somewhere or other, perhaps even at Naples, it might happen again to-morrow. And two thoughts rush in upon us, one full of yearning pity, and one of awful inquiry—they were our brethren, and where are they now?