Unprecedented cold of 1883—Departure from Naples—Virgil's Tomb—Journey to Messina—Italy's future—Scylla and Charybdis—Beautiful Messina—The Electrico—Malta—Knight Crusaders—Maltese society—An uncommon fish—An earthquake at sea—Journey to Palermo—Picturesque scenery—Etna—Among the mountains—The lights of Palermo.
There seems to have been quite an unprecedented winter in the Mediterranean this year (1883). Marseilles, Cannes, Nice, Mentone, Genoa, and other places, were all affected by the extreme and unusual cold—Stromboli, and even Etna, were quite capped with snow, while in the north of Europe the weather was comparatively mild. It was rather unfortunate for us that it should have been so; having travelled to escape the cold in our own island home, we had certainly not bargained for it pursuing us wherever we went. The residents, more particularly the poor of these semi-tropical places, were much to be pitied for the uncommon severity with which these bleak and cutting winds visited them. As a rule, Naples is considered tonic and bracing, not unlike Brighton, and is exceedingly pleasant in late summer and autumn, but in the early part of the year is trying to delicate persons. I do not think it is a healthy place for continual residence, for the sewerage and water supply are both very defective, and the place is over-crowded by a population anything but clean in its habits. This, and the begging, cheating propensities of the lower classes, go very far to counterbalance its natural beauty of situation, and I was obliged to confess myself decidedly disappointed in the Naples of which I had heard and expected so much.
The hotel expenses are much the same as at Rome, and no matter how you try to economize and cut down expenditure, you will find, when you arrive home and tot up the figures, that the average amount per day, travelling included, is no less than £1 for each person. You may of course forego wines, etc., but in so doing you take your chance of being poisoned with the water, which is very bad here, and which no one seems to think of filtering or improving in any way. This is a great pity, and it is to be hoped that the matter will soon receive a due amount of attention, and that means will be taken to secure an adequate supply of pure water, without which no place can really be considered healthy.
We remained at Naples in all five days, and on January 25th left for Messina, from whence my wife was to make her journey to Malta, and remain with her sister, awaiting my return to the south, for I found my presence was required in London for a short time.
We felt genuine regret and compunction at being obliged to leave the "Queen of the summer sea" without paying our devoirs at the tomb of Virgil, father of Latin poets. The last resting-place of the "dead king of melody"—he who, in his own words, "sung of shepherds, fields, and heroes' deeds" (cecini pascua, rura, duces)—lies "shadowed by the wild ivy," in the road leading from Naples to Puteoli:
"Ivy and flowers have half o'ergrown
And veiled his low sepulchral stone:
Yet still the spot is holy still,
Celestial footsteps mount the hill."
We had unfortunately been unable to make any excursions in this direction, owing to our limited time.
The railway journey to Messina is both tedious and expensive, we therefore secured berths in one of the Florio line of steamers. The day of our departure was enjoyably warm and sunny—though perhaps a little too warm to be pleasant in the dirty and crowded harbour of Naples, which is the chief lounging-place of all the idlers and beggars of the city; yet under this burst of summer sunshine Naples was in smiles again, and we saw something of her natural beauty.
By the time the crowds of boatmen had done quarrelling with one another to secure our fare, we were glad to get away from their Babel, and get on board the vessel—the boatman, of course, doing all in his power to charge us treble fare! There were some half-dozen passengers in the saloon, travellers like ourselves. Our departure was somewhat delayed by the steamer having to carry a regiment of soldiers to Sicily, and we got off at six o'clock in the evening—only about an hour after the time of starting, which was very punctual for Italians.
Naples, illuminated, and gradually enfolded in the gathering shadows of night, is in truth a beautiful sight, and the occasional bursts of bright flame from Vesuvius added a touch of imposing grandeur to the scene we viewed from the deck, as we steamed away for the Straits of Messina.