September, and we all needed change after the long nursing and watching.
All our friends in Rome were most anxious we should get off; affairs
were rapidly coming to a crisis in Italy and it was evident that the
days of the temporal power of the Pope were numbered. At any moment the
Italians under Garibaldi might appear at the gates of Rome and it was
not considered safe for women and foreigners to remain there. No one
thought or talked of anything else, and though we were absorbed by
father's illness and the numerous duties that a sick room entails we
were quite as excited as all our friends. Of course we heard the two
sides--the liberals who had high hopes of liberty and "Italia Unita" and
the "papalini" who were convinced that the Italians would only enter
Rome over the bodies of the faithful. Our young imaginations pictured
anything, everything; the Garibaldians penetrating quite to the Court of
the Vatican, the Swiss Guard, Charette and his Zouaves, massacred;
priests flying in every direction pursued by a crowd of soldiers and
infuriated populace. Good old Dr. Valery, who knew his countrymen better
than we did, assured us there was no danger. When resistance was
perfectly useless it would be wicked to shed blood, and Pio Nono himself
would be the first to advise submission to the inevitable. We couldn't
believe that such a tremendous change and uprooting of the traditions of
centuries could be accomplished so quietly. We stayed two days only in
Rome after leaving Frascati. We laid father at rest in the little
English churchyard just by the San Paolo gate. There was a mortuary
chapel where he could stay till he was taken home to the old family
churchyard at Jamaica where Grandpapa King and a long line of children
and grandchildren are buried. We had to see about our mourning and were
finally hustled out of Rome the third day, Mr. Hooker (the American
banker), our great friend, fairly standing over us while the trunks were
being packed. He was quite right. We took the last train that went
through to Naples, carrying with us a number of letters which our
liberal friends had asked us to mail as soon as we crossed the
frontier,--they naturally being unwilling to trust them to the Roman
post-office. Rome looked deserted, very few people about, some of the
shops and hotels still closed, but one felt a suppressed excitement in
the air. Some of our friends, jubilant, came to see us off at "Termine"
and promised to send us a telegram at Naples if anything happened. Mr.
Hooker was rather anxious. He too thought the Papal court wouldn't make
any resistance if the Italians came, or rather when the Italians came,
as they were marching on Rome; but he thought there might be trouble in
the streets. He had his large American flag ready to protect the bank.
We of course made our journey very quietly and comfortably, as Garibaldi
and his men were not on that road. I was rather disappointed, I should
have liked to have had a glimpse of the famous revolutionary leader in
his classic red shirt. We found Naples just the same, very full, people
everywhere, in the Via Toledo, on the quays, etc. There wasn't much
apparent excitement, all the red-capped, bare-legged fishermen were
lounging about on the quays or in the numberless little boats of all
descriptions flying about in every direction. The same songs, "Julia
Gentil," "La Luissella," "La Bella Sorrentina," were sung under our
windows every night with an accompaniment of mandolins and a sort of
tambourine. From time to time the voices would cease and then there
would be a most lively dance--tarantella, saltarella--all the dancers
moving lightly and quickly and always in perfect time. The nights were
beautiful--warm and clear--the whole population lived in the streets and
we were always on the balcony. The islands, Ischia and Capri, took such
beautiful colours, at sunset; seemed almost like painted islands rising
straight up out of a perfectly blue sea. Vesuvius, too, was most
interesting. Savants were prophesying an eruption and every now and
then faint, very faint curls of smoke came out of the crater. We knew
nothing of what was going on; had no communication with Rome, and were
entirely dependent for news on the landlord, whose information was
certainly fantastic; also the little Naples paper, the "Pungolo," which
made marvellous statements every morning--the streets of Rome running
with blood, etc. Finally came the first news--the battle of "Monte
Rotondo," Garibaldi and his men victorious. From Paris we heard that the
French troops had started and were at Civita Vecchia, but there were so
many conflicting stories that we really didn't know how much to believe.
Then came Mentana--the Garibaldians driven back by the Papal and French
troops; the Pope still supreme in Rome. We had a telegram from one of
our liberal friends, "Le malade va bien," which meant that the Pope had
conquered, and Rome was not yet the capital of "Italia Unita." There was
no fighting at all in the streets of Rome; a great deal of patriotic
talk among the young liberals, but I don't think any of them absolutely
enrolled themselves in Garibaldi's band. It wouldn't have made any
difference--they could do nothing against the combined Papal and French
troops--but it might have been a personal satisfaction to have struck a
blow for the liberal cause. There again the common sense of the Italians
showed itself--there was no resisting "le fait accompli," they had only
to bide their time. We had lovely days at Naples, making all sorts of
excursions--Posilippo, Capo di Monte, Camaldoli, etc. Every morning we
went to the Museum; I was madly interested in the Pompeian relics,
particularly the mummies. It seemed impossible to believe that those
little black bundles had once been human beings feeling and living as
keenly as we do now. We always kept our eyes on Vesuvius as it really
did seem as if something was going on. The column of smoke looked
thicker and we could quite well see little jets of sand or small stones
thrown up from the crater. One afternoon when we came in from driving
everybody in the street was looking hard at the mountain and the padrone
informed us that the eruption had begun. We didn't see anything, but
after dinner when we were standing on the balcony suddenly we saw a
great tongue of flame leap out from the crater and a stream of fire
running down the side of the mountain. The flame disappeared almost
immediately; came back three or four times in the course of the evening,
but didn't gain very much in height or intensity. The next day, however,
it had increased considerably and was a fine sight at dark, every few
moments a great tongue of fire with quantities of stones and gravel
thrown high in the air. We almost fancied we heard the noise of thunder,
but I don't think we did. People were flocking into Naples, and we of
course, like all the rest, were most anxious to make the ascent. The
landlord told us there was no danger; that the authorities never
permitted an ascent if there was danger, and no guides would go, as they
are very prudent. One would go up on one side (the only thing to avoid
was the stream of red-hot lava). Mother was rather unwilling,
particularly as we were to go at night (and at night from our balcony
the mountain did look rather a formidable thing to tackle). We waited
still another day and then when we had seen some English people--two
ladies and a youth who had made the excursion and said it was not at all
alarming and most interesting--she agreed to let us go. Anne stayed with
her, she doesn't like donkey riding under any circumstances, and a
donkey at night on the slopes of Vesuvius in eruption, with a stream of
red-hot lava running alongside, didn't strike her absolutely as a
pleasant performance. We started about 7 o'clock, William, Henrietta,
Gertrude, and I. The drive out all the way to Resina was most amusing.
Quantities of people, the famous Naples "cariole" crammed with peasants
and children, and all eyes turned to the mountain. Our landlord had made
all the arrangements for us, secured the best guides, donkeys, etc., and
we were in great spirits. The mountain looked forbidding; as we came
nearer we heard the noise, rumbling and thunder--the thunder always
preceding a great burst of flames and showers of stones thrown up very
high and falling one didn't know exactly where. I didn't say anything as
I was very anxious to make the ascent, but I did wonder where these red
stones fell and how one could know exactly beforehand. We drove as far
as we could and then arrived at the Hermitage and Observatory, where
there was a very primitive sort of wooden house, half tavern, half inn.
Here donkeys and guides (very voluble) were waiting, and we started. It
had begun to rain a little, but the guides assured us that it would not
last and we should soon be above the clouds. It was almost dark--not
quite--and everything looked weird, even the faces of the guides seemed
to me to have a curious expression; they looked fierce and wild. We went
on quietly at first though the rumblings under our feet and sudden light
as the flames burst out were unpleasant. When we began the last steep
ascent I had got very nervous. I was the last of the party, and when the
donkey-boy (an infant) took a short cut, when the path was steep,
calling out cheerfully "Coraggio Signorina," and left me and the donkey
alone to clamber over the great slippery blocks of lava, I was
frightened and felt I should never get up to the top. It was really
terrifying--the rain and mist had increased very much, it was pitch
dark, rumbling and thunder all the time, and such noises under our feet
that I was sure a great hole would open and we should all be swallowed
up. I didn't like the dark, but I certainly didn't like the light
either, when a great tongue of flame would spring out of the crater
spreading out like a fan and throwing a mass of stones and gravel high
in the air which all fell somewhere on the mountain. The red stream of
lava looked wider and seemed to me to be coming nearer. I called out to
William, who was far ahead and looked gigantic in the mist where he was
crossing some great rocks of lava (quite black and shiny when they are
old), and told him I was too frightened, that I should go back to the
Hermitage and wait there. He was much disgusted--said there was no
possible danger. All the guides and donkey-boys repeated the same thing,
but it was no use, I was thoroughly unnerved and couldn't make up my
mind to go on. We had a consultation with the guides as he didn't like
the idea of my going back alone to the inn, but they told him it was all
right, that the padrone was a "brav'uomo" and would take care of me
until they came back; so most reluctantly they went on, and I turned my
face homeward, always with my minute attendant whom I would gladly have
shaken as he was laughing and chattering and repeating twenty times,
"non c'e pericolo." I think the going down was rather worse; I had the
rain in my face, heard all the same unearthly noises around me, and from
time to time had glimpses of the whole country-side--Naples, the little
villages, the islands, the bay standing out well in the red light thrown
on them by the flames from the crater; then absolute darkness and
stillness, nothing apparently on the mountain but me and the donkey
scrambling and stumbling over the wet, slippery stones. How we ever got
down to the inn I don't know, but both boy and donkey seemed to know the
road. I was thankful when we emerged on a sort of terrace and saw a
faint light, which meant the little inn. The boy helped me off (it was
pouring), called out something at the door, told me to go in and go
upstairs, then disappeared around the corner with the donkey. I
called--no one answered--so I went upstairs, just seeing my way by the
light of a little dull, smoky lamp put in a niche of the wall. I saw two
doors when I got up to the top of the stairs, both shut, so I called
again, knocked; a man's voice said something which I supposed to be
"entrate" and I walked in. I found myself in a big room hardly
lighted--a small lamp on a table, a fire of a sort of peat and wood, a
bed in one corner on which was stretched a big man with a black beard
and red shirt; another man not quite so big, but also in a red shirt and
a hat on his head, got up when I came in, from a chair where he had been
sitting by the fire. He said something I couldn't understand, first to
me and then to his companion on the bed, who answered I thought rather
gruffly (they both spoke Neapolitan "patois" which I couldn't understand
at first). I didn't feel very comfortable (still I liked even that room
with those two brigand-looking men better than the mountain-side with
the flames and the lava), but I tried to explain, took off my wet cloak
which spoke for itself, and went toward the fire. My friend with the hat
always keeping up a running conversation with the man on the bed,
brought up a chair, then a sort of stand over which he hung my cloak,
and proceeded to take a bottle out of a cupboard which I supposed was
their famous wine (lacrima Christi) which one always drinks at Naples.
However that I declined and established myself on the chair by the fire.
He took the other one, and when I looked at him I saw that he had
rather a nice face; so I took courage. He pointed to my shoes, which
were wet as we had walked a little, and wanted to talk. After a little
while I began to understand him, and he me; and we had quite a friendly
conversation. He looked at my shoes, asked me where they were made, and
when I said in Rome was madly interested; he had a brother in Rome, a
shoemaker, perhaps I knew him "Giuseppe Ricci," he might have made those
very shoes--instantly confided that interesting piece of information to
the gentleman on the bed. He told me they were three brothers, the
eldest was the shoemaker, then came he the padrone of the osteria, and
the other one "there on the bed" had vines and made very good wine. He
asked me if I had ever seen the Pope, or Garibaldi (there was a picture
of Garibaldi framed on the wall), and when I said I had often seen the
former, and that he had a good, kind face, he again conversed amicably
with the gentleman on the bed, who first raised himself into a sitting
posture, and finally got up altogether and came over to the fire,
evidently rather anxious to take part in the conversation. He was an
enormous man and didn't look as nice as the "padrone." He rather
startled me when he bent down, took my foot in his hand and inspected
the shoe which he pronounced well made. We must have sat there fully
half an hour talking--they were perfectly easy, but not familiar, and
wanted to hear anything I would tell them about Rome. Every now and then
they dropped off into some side talk in their "patois," and I looked at
the fire and thought what an extraordinary experience it was, sitting
alone with such odd-looking companions in that big, bare room on the top
of Mount Vesuvius. The fire had almost died out, the miserable little
lamp gave a faint flickering light that only made everything look more
uncanny, and every now and then the whole room would be flooded with a
red lurid light (heralded always by a violent explosion which made the
crazy little house shake) which threw out the figures of the two men
sitting with their long legs stretched out to the fire, and keeping up a
steady talk in a low voice. Still I wasn't afraid; I was quite sure they
would be respectful, and do all they could to help me. They had a sort
of native politeness, too, for they stopped their talk occasionally and
made conversation for me; one looked out of the window and said the rain
had stopped, but that the night was "brutta" and they referred to other
eruptions and told me stories of accidents that had happened to
people--two young men, "Inglesi," who were killed because they would go
on their own way and not listen to the guides, consequently were knocked
on the head by some huge stones; always assuring me that this eruption
was nothing. However I was getting tired, and found the time long, when
suddenly we heard the noise of a party arriving, and for a moment I
thought it was my people; but no, they were coming the other way, up the
mountain. There was a great commotion and talking, lanterns flashing
backward and forward, donkeys being led out and all preparations made
for the ascent--but there seemed a hitch of some kind and I heard a
woman's voice speaking English. The "padrone" had rushed downstairs as
soon as he heard the party arriving, and presently he reappeared talking
very hard to a lady and two gentlemen who were coming upstairs behind
him and evidently wanting something which they couldn't make him
understand. He was telling them to have patience, that there was an
"Inglese" upstairs who would talk to them. They were so astounded when
they saw me that they were speechless--il y avait de quoi--seeing a
girl established there in rather a dishevelled condition, her hat off,
wet cloak hanging over the chair, and entirely alone with those
"Neapolitan brigands"--but one man ventured to ask timidly "did I speak
English." Oh yes--Italian, too--what could I do for them. They explained
that the lady was tired, cold and wet (she looked miserable, poor thing)
and wanted a hot drink--brandy, anything she could get. She didn't look
as if she could go on, but she said she would be all right if she could
have something hot, and that nothing would induce her to give up the
excursion, having come so far; so a fresh piece of wood, or peat rather
of some kind (it looked quite black), was put on the fire, also water in
a most primitive pot. I suggested that she should take off her cloak and
let it dry a little. The men brought in some more chairs and then the
new comers began to wonder who I was and what I was doing there alone at
that hour of the night. They were Americans, told me their name, but I
have forgotten it, it is so long ago. I told them my experience--that I
was absolutely unnerved, in a dead funk, and would have done anything
rather than go on toward that horrible crater. They couldn't understand
that I wasn't much more afraid of spending two hours in that lonely
little house in such company, and begged me to try again--there was
really no danger, people were going up all the time, etc. The older man
was very earnest--said they couldn't leave a compatriot in such
straits--he would give me his donkey if another one couldn't be procured
and would walk--how could my brother have permitted me to come back
alone, etc. However I reassured him as well as I could--told them I was
perfectly accustomed to Italians and knew the language well (which was a
great help to me, I don't know what I should have done if I hadn't been
able to talk and understand them). They stayed about 20 minutes--the
lady said her drink was very nasty, but hot, and she looked better for
the rest and partial drying. She wasn't as wet as I was, the rain had
stopped when they were half-way up. I told them who I was and begged
them to say, if they met my people coming down, a gentleman and two
ladies, that they had seen me, and that I was quite dry and comfortable.
They went away most reluctantly, were half inclined to stay until the
others should come back, but the guides were anxious to be off. Even at
the last moment when they had got downstairs, the older man came back
and begged me to come with them--"I assure you, my dear young lady, you
don't know in what a dangerous position you are; if I had any authority
over you I should insist, etc." He was very nice, and left all sorts of
recommendations in English and a very good fee to the padrone, who of
course didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but seemed to
divine in some mysterious way. He looked smilingly at me, told me to
cheer up ("Coraggio" is their way of saying it) and told the American,
in Italian, that he would take good care of me. He was very sorry to go
and leave me, said he had never done anything he liked so little. As
soon as the excitement of their departure was over the two men came
back. The "vigneron" went back to his bed, from where he conversed with
us occasionally, and the other one settled down in his chair, and seemed
half asleep. It wasn't very long before my party came back. The men
heard them before I did, and told me they were arriving. I must say I
was glad to see them. They had had a splendid time, seen everything
beautifully, gone quite up to the stream of red-hot lava, put umbrellas
and canes into it (the ends were quite black and burnt)--they were not
in the least nervous, and jibed well at me. William said he had rather
an uncomfortable feeling at first when he saw me and my very small
attendant depart, but he forgot it in the excitement and novelty of
their excursion. He thanked the padrone for taking such good care of me,
proposed a hot drink (very bad it was) all round, and we took quite a
friendly leave of the two gentlemen. I promised to try and find the
brother shoemaker. They had crossed my American friends on the way
back--William said they were just starting down when they saw another
party appearing and he heard a gentleman say, "I think this must be Mr.
King." He was very much surprised to hear his name, but rode up to the
speaker, to see who he was, and then the gentleman told him of his
amazement at meeting his sister in that wretched little shanty and how
miserable he had felt at leaving me there alone, with two Neapolitan
brigands, but that I had assured him I was quite safe and not at all
afraid of the two black giants--but he begged William to hurry on, as it
was not really the place to leave a girl--even an American who would
know how to take care of herself. We made our journey down quite easily.
It was still pitch dark, except when the fire of the mountain lighted up
everything, but there was neither rain nor wind, the air was soft, and
the little outlying villages looked quite quiet and peaceable, as if no
great mountain was throwing up masses of ashes and stones just over
their heads, which might after all destroy them entirely. There must
always be a beginning, and I suppose in the old days of Pompeii and
Herculaneum the beginning was just what we have seen--first columns of
smoke, then the lava stream and showers of red-hot stones, and none of
the people frightened at first. We found Mother and Anne waiting for us
with supper. They had been a little anxious, particularly as the weather
was so bad, and they evidently had had more of a tempest than we had.
They were of course madly interested in our expedition and were
astounded that I was the coward. They wouldn't have been at all
surprised if it had been Gert. It is true she is nearly always timid,
and we used to play all sorts of tricks on her when we were children at
Cherry Lawn, beguile her up into the big cherry tree, then take the
ladder away and tell her to climb down; or take the peg out of the boat,
let in a little water and pretend it was sinking--so she was triumphant
this time. I can't understand why I was so frightened. I am not usually
afraid of anything, but that time no reasoning would have been of the
least use, and nothing would have made me go on to the crater. Mother
was rather like the American--she wouldn't have liked the flames and the
awful rumbling noises any more than I did, but she would have been much
more afraid of the lonely house and long wait on the mountain in that
wretched little inn with those two big, black-bearded Neapolitans.
Le monde est petit--years afterward my brother William was travelling in
America, and in the smoking-room all the men were telling their
experiences either at home or abroad--many strange adventures. One
gentleman said he had never forgotten a curious scene on the top of
Mount Vesuvius in eruption, when he had met an American girl, quite
alone, at night, in the dark and rain, in a miserable little shanty with
two great, big Neapolitans "looking like brigands" (he evidently always
retained that first impression of my companions). He told all the story,
giving my name, which excited much comment; some of the listeners
evidently thought it was a traveller's tale, arranged on some slight
foundation of truth--however, when he had finished William said: "That
story is perfectly true. The young lady is my sister, and I am the Mr.
King to whom you spoke that night on the mountain, in the dark, begging
me to hurry down, and not leave my sister any longer alone in such
company." They naturally didn't recognise each other, having merely met
for a moment in the dark, both wrapped up in cloaks and under umbrellas.
They had quite a talk, and the gentleman was very anxious to know how
they found me--whether I wasn't really more uncomfortable than I
allowed, and what had become of me.
We decided to move on to Sorrento and settle ourselves there for some
time. We also wanted to go to Capri, but the steamers had stopped
running, and we could only get over in a sailboat. The man of the hotel
advised us to go from Sorrento, it was shorter and a charming sail on a
bright day. The drive from Castellamare was beautiful; divine views of
the sea all the time and equally lovely when we came down upon Sorrento,
which seemed to stand in the midst of orange groves and vineyards. The
Hotel Sirena is perched on the top of a high cliff rising up straight
from the sea. We had charming rooms with a nice broad balcony, and at
our feet a little sheltered cove and beach of golden sand. There were
very few people in the hotel--the one or two English spinsters of a
certain age whom one always meets travelling, and two artists. We were
only about twelve people at table-d'hote; and as we were six that didn't
leave many outsiders. It was before the days of restaurants and small
tables. There was one long, narrow table--the padrone carved himself at
a smaller one, and talked to us occasionally. There was too much wind
the first days to think of attempting Capri, so we drove all over the
country, walked about in the orange groves and up and down the steep
hills, through lovely little paths that wound in and out of olive woods
along the side of the mountain, sometimes clambering up a bit of
straight rock, that seemed a wall impossible to get over--when it was
too stiff there would be steps cut out in the earth on one side, half
hidden by the long grass and weeds.
Henrietta and I had discovered a pony trap with a pair of sturdy little
mountain ponies, quite black, and we drove ourselves all over. Mother
wouldn't let us go alone, so the stableman sent his son with us, aged 12
years. He wasn't much of a protector! but he knew the ponies, and the
country, and everybody we met. He was a pretty little fellow--not at all
the dark Italian type, rather fair, with blue eyes, but always the olive
skin of the South. He invariably got off the little seat behind and took
a short cut up the hills when the road was very steep, though I don't
think his weight made any perceptible difference.
The evenings were delicious. We sat almost always on the
balcony--sometimes with a light wrap when the breeze from the sea
freshened about 9 o'clock. How beautiful it was; the sea deep blue, the
islands changing from pink to purple, and as soon as it was dark
Vesuvius sending up its pyramid of fire. It looked magnificent, but very
formidable. Almost every morning we saw a party come and bathe in the
little cove at the foot of the cliff--a pretty little boat came around
the point with a family party on board--two ladies, one man and three
children. I think they were English, their installation was so
practical. They had a small tent, camp-stools, and table, also two toy
sailboats which were a source of much pleasure and tribulation, as they
frequently got jammed in between the rocks, or caught in the thick
seaweed, and there was great excitement until they were started afresh.
We made great friends with the sister of the man at the hotel. She was a
nun, such a gentle, good face--she came every morning to get flowers
for the little chapel of Maria--Stella del Mare--which was near the
house, standing high on the hill and easily seen from the sea. One day
she seemed very busy and anxious about her flowers, so we asked what was
happening, and she said it was their great fete, and they were going to
decorate the chapel and dress the Virgin--"should we like to see it?"
The Virgin had a beautiful dress--white satin with silver embroidery and
some fine jewels which some rich forestieri had given. We were delighted
to go, and went with her to the little chapel, which looked very pretty
filled with flowers and greens, one beautiful dark, shiny leaf which
made much effect. The Virgin was removed from her niche--her vestments
brought in with great care, wrapped in soft paper, and the good sister
most reverently and happily began the toilet. The dress was very
elaborate, had been the wedding dress of an Italian Principessa, and
there were some handsome pins and rings--a gold chain on her neck with a
pearl ornament. She was rather lamenting over the cessation of
gifts--when I suddenly remembered my ring--quite a plain gold one with
the cross (pax) one always sees in Rome, which had been blessed by the
Pope. I put it on with three or four other little ornaments one day when
we had an audience. I took it off, explained to her what it was, that it
had been blessed by the Saint Pere and that I should like very much to
give it to the Virgin, if she wasn't afraid of accepting anything from a
heretic. She was a little doubtful, but the fact of its having had the
Pope's blessing outweighed other considerations, and the ring was
instantly put on the Virgin's hand. She told us afterward that she had
told it to the priest, and he said she was quite right to accept it, it
might be the means of bringing me to the "true church." We grew really
quite fond of her. It was such a simple, childish faith, her whole life
was given up to her little chapel, cleaning and decorating it on feast
days. All the children in the country brought flowers and leaves, one
little boy came once, she told us, with a dead bird with bright feathers
that he found, quite beautiful.
We made friends with the people at the table-d'hote and they were very
anxious we should come down to the reading-room at night and make
music--but our mourning of course prevented that. We used to hear the
piano sometimes and a man's voice singing, not too badly.