Naples--A pious piper--The chestnut man--The segretario--The money
changer--The small commission--The fish broiler--The porters--
Maccaroni--The Toledo--Lotteries--The Sicilians--Neapolitan reforms--
Resistance--The Museum--Return home--Expenses of my journey.
♦ NAPLES ♦
I regretted being obliged to leave Rome on the feast of the Epiphany
(6th of January), as on that day masses were celebrated in the church
of the Propaganda, by clergymen from every quarter of the globe--the
most extraordinary as well as the most interesting exhibition which one
could wish to witness. But there is no regular diligence--strange to
say--between Rome and Naples; the only expeditious mode of travelling
that route for those who have not their own vehicle, is by Angrisani’s
post carriage, which goes as often as he can find passengers enough to
fill it. It was engaged by three of my countrymen for this day, and I
deemed myself fortunate in being able to secure the fourth place. The
following evening I was established at the Albergo delle Crocelle,
which I found a very comfortable hotel, though rather remote from the
principal point of attraction in Naples--the Museum.
The great street of the Toledo presented to me the next day the
most diversified and amusing scene I ever witnessed. Every body
had a costume peculiar to itself, as if attending a carnival or
a fancy ball. The sun, blazing in a cloudless sky, flung bright
lights here and there, while the lofty houses cast their shadows in
other quarters, as if to prepare a suitable stage for this national
exhibition of character and occupation. A merry fellow, with a dozen
tambourines ingeniously arranged and perched on his head, while he
played on another he held in his hand, dressed in a cloth cap, a
round jacket, a silk handkerchief neatly tied round his open shirt
collar, a blue waistcoat, and red striped trowsers, invited the world
to buy a charming beguiler of tears for the bambino at home. Next a
green-grocery-man caught the eye: his donkey is laden with a mat sack,
nicely balanced on both sides, having a large mouth, where cabbages,
cauliflowers, salads, and celery, are heaped in verdant abundance. A
sugar-loafed hat, flatted however at the top, is on his head over a
worsted cap; his swarthy face and bare neck defy the sun; a pipe in his
mouth, and a red waistcoat, a small pouch in front for his money, and
short calico breeches, complete his apparel. No stockings hath he, nor
shoe, nor sandal. He and his donkey seem to be real brothers.
♦ A PIOUS PIPER ♦
A pious piper, who lives on charity, begins the labours of the day
before some shrine of the Virgin, where a lamp is perpetually burning.
His instrument, composed of three tubes, with trumpet extremities,
derive their melody from a bag of wind which he fills from the proper
wind of his own lungs. His pointed hat is clapped on the top of his bag
while he is playing his propitiating prayer for success. His night-cap
is displayed on his innocent cerebellum, his curly long hair flowing
beneath it, and shewing off his ruddy distended cheek. His green coat,
sleeveless mantle of goat-skin, and ash-coloured breeches, a piece of
linen wrapped round his legs for stockings, and kept there by leathern
thongs, which also secure his sandals, shew that he has not been
blowing to the shrine in vain. In fact, he looks a very respectable
tradesman in his way. No man need be ashamed to beg after such a
fashion as that.
♦ THE CHESTNUT MAN ♦
Vendors of roast smoking chestnuts are a numerous tribe in the Toledo.
They have prescriptive stations, where they fix their stalls, within
which a small charcoal fire is always burning, and communicates its
heat to a basket filled with the fruit, placed on the top, and covered
with a blanket to keep the nuts quite hot. Whether men or women, these
people seem to be a thrifty set, and well-dressed. The man has a gay
red worsted cap, a silk handkerchief tied tightly round his neck, a
fine yellow waistcoat, a green round jacket, blue inexpressibles, clean
white stockings, neat shoes, a stool to stand upon, and a stool to sit
upon, as business or relaxation may require. He cries out his wares
at the very pitch of his voice, holding his left hand to his cheek to
render it louder.
But have you seen the melon-man? There is a picture of independence.
A ragged suit of loose short trowsers, a tolerably good waistcoat,
yellow or sky-blue, as the case may happen to be, and some fragments
of a shirt, are all he requires in the way of wardrobe. A long board
is balanced on his head, displaying the blushing fruit nicely sliced,
and on the palm of his left hand, equally well poised, a shorter board
exhibiting another sample of his merchandize, whilst in his right hand
he gracefully waves a sprig of myrtle.
♦ THE SEGRETARIO ♦
Who is he with that snug capote and hood, and some pretty little
baskets piled one on another under his arm, running along bare-legged?
A fisherman, who sells the most delicate fresh herrings in the world,
just taken out of the neighbouring bay! The bottle-vender, whom he has
almost knocked down in his haste, is a still greater curiosity. Long
wooden pins are stuck all round in the edge of his basket, on which
pins very thin flasks for oil or wine, with long necks, are fixed.
He looks to be one of the high priests of Bacchus, with his merry
face--always sure of a market, for the flasks are so speedily broken
that he can scarcely supply all his customers.
The segretario is a perfect picture. Seated at his table in a quiet
entry, in a retired corner of a street, with a wise-looking old hat
shading his grey locks, spectacles perched on his nose, paper, and
well-mended pens, and ink-bottle, sand and wafers arranged in due order
before him, he waits to indite a petition, or a love-letter, or a
letter from a sailor to his mother, or from a creditor to a debtor, or
to translate from Italian into French, or from French into Italian, or
a law paper, or a memorandum of accounts,--he is prompt at all things,
methodical, confidential, a clear-headed clean writer--a very valuable
sort of person in his way, who always attracted my particular respect
on account of the unwearied patience with which he waited for his
customers, who were too “few and far between.”
♦ THE MONEY CHANGER ♦
♦ THE SMALL COMMISSION ♦
The pride of the Toledo are assuredly the money changers--at least
in their own opinion. They are almost universally females, and it is
a part of their trade to display their riches in the ornaments on
their persons. The hair, carefully braided, is tied under a dashing
silk handkerchief, knotted in front in a somewhat coquettish style.
The broad forehead, and sharp well-practised eye, and intelligent
face, pretty well shew that if her ladyship make any mistake in
the reckoning, it will not be on the wrong side. There she sits on
a chair before her strong box, on the top of which little baskets
overfilled with silver or copper coins, are arranged. A pair of massive
gold--_real_ gold rings and large pendants dangle from her ears. Her
open neck displays a coral or pearl necklace, and an embroidered
kerchief. A velvet or gros de Naples spencer, a chintz gown, a handsome
silk apron, fingers covered all over with rings set with precious
stones--sometimes even with diamonds--attract customers on all sides.
The itinerant trader who disposes of all his stock early, and is
laden with copper pence, realizes his gains in silver at her table,
on which she receives her small commission. The housekeeper, who is
passing by, and wants to buy some trifling things, gets change in
copper for silver, on which the small commission is freely paid. The
neighbouring shops that want accommodation in either way, copper for
silver, silver for copper, copper and silver for gold, or gold for
silver in any quantity, are sure of finding all they want at the money
changer’s stall. A most smiling, happy, unspeculative tribe of bankers
are they. If you look at one of them, she will expect you to pay her a
small commission--which small commission in time accumulates to a very
handsome fortune, to go down, always augmenting, from generation to
generation. An umbrella fixed on her counter forms a canopy over her
head, to protect her highness from the sun.
♦ THE FISH BROILER ♦
Not quite so opulent, but much more captivating, are these female
venders of fried fish--magnificent-looking women fresh from the
seaside, whence they have come in the early morning. You may know them
by their yellow-plaided neck-kerchiefs, their gipsey-looking faces,
their snow-white linen sleeves tucked up to the bend of the beautiful
arm, their red-striped aprons and blue gowns. Of these syrens let the
fish-hater beware. With her earthen pan, in which a charcoal fire
is kept alive by a fan of rushes, her soles or herrings smoking and
browning on the said fire, the basket of dried flags covered with fresh
green flags by her side filled with “live” fish, cooling in beds of
fresh rushes--her bonny figure seated on a stool, and her well-dressed
dangerous feet peeping out beneath her long petticoat, St. Antony
himself could scarcely refuse to take a fry or two from those clean
taper fingers. She holds the fish on a skewer, and turns the little
martyr round and round, until he is done to a turn, the mouth watering
while the fragrant odour breathes around!
♦ THE PORTERS ♦
The egg-woman is a more quiet kind of body, though she too seems to be
sitting for her picture, dressed in her tidy green apron, her russet
gown and linen sleeves, her ruby kerchief negligently flung over her
head, and flowing over her shoulders behind. Next comes shouting his
“oil to sell,” a great farmer’s-boy-looking sort of a fellow, in a gay
straw hat. A goat-skin sack of oil is tied round his left shoulder,
through the tail of which he admits the smooth liquid to descend into
brass pint or half-pint, or smaller measure, for the customers whom he
has the happiness to serve.
The porters are now the only remaining representatives of the Lazzaroni
to be seen at Naples. They form a kingdom within themselves, of
which every individual is monarch “of all he surveys.” One of these
putting down his oblong square flag basket on its end, dressed in his
shirt open half way down his sunburnt hairy breast, where also the
scapular--his amulet--makes its appearance, and further decked out
in his loose cotton trowsers that scarcely descend below the knee,
bound tight at the waist by a red cotton handkerchief, his blue jacket
suspended on the very end of his shoulder, his face and huge whiskers
crowned by a red cap, his long pipe in his mouth supported by his left
hand, his right holding his well-worn cords resting on the other end of
his perpendicular basket, while his brawny naked legs and feet betray
his occupation, stands looking at the passing scene with an air of
ineffable contempt. When he has done smoking, and imagines that he has
sufficiently vindicated his dignity by attitudinizing, he will place
his basket flat on the ground, and go to sleep in it until a job comes
to summon him from his slumbers.
♦ MACCARONI ♦
At every corner of every street there is a stall for maccaroni, where it
may be seen served out from morning to night in all sorts of ways--hot
or cold, in its own plain soup, or in savoury soup, or mingled with a
little stew, or simply boiled, or baked, or in cakes, or in elongated
ropes of about a mile in length. When graced by the savoury soup, it
seems to be most popular. It is handed out smoking hot to the ragged
customer, in an earthen dish; he, without any ceremony, takes up the
maccaroni in his hand, and introducing the extremities of three or four
ropes at once into his thorax, lifts his hands high in air, and the
whole dishful vanishes in a trice. The soup is drank at discretion,
either with a wooden spoon, or _ex abrupto_ out of the dish itself; the
latter more expeditious mode of proceeding being usually preferred.
♦ THE TOLEDO ♦
The water-vender is met with every where, and at all hours of the
day. The ice-man is more stationary, though equally persevering. Here
the female restorer of old chairs is busy with her rushes. There the
smirking milliner’s maid is tripping it on the fantastic toe with a
band box in her hand--she is wholly French--and out of keeping, in
her trim cap and ribbons, with such a scene. Every body lives in the
street. The baker’s shop is thrown so much open, that all the mysteries
of his art are conducted in public. It is the same with the tin-man,
whose hammer never ceases to hammer; the blacksmith, whose bellows
are perpetually blowing, whose fire, in the hottest day, still burns
on as fierce as ever, and whose anvil never gets a moment’s rest all
the day long. All the gay shops are in the Toledo. All the pretty
women of Naples show off in the Toledo. There the idler constantly
lounges--there the merchants meet on business--there the military men
are riding or walking up and down in their splendid uniforms.
♦ LOTTERIES ♦
The number of lottery-shops in the Toledo, and, indeed, in every street
of Naples, is surprising. There is a new lottery every fortnight, if
not every week; and the bureaus are so much frequented the whole of
the day, that a stranger would suppose the principal occupation of
Neapolitan life is speculation in lottery-tickets, or rather lottery
numbers, for the chances are created in this way: The buyer chooses
two, or three, or more numbers, according to the extent of his gambling
disposition, say 32, 87, 92, or any other series he likes best within
the range of 200 or 300, comprised in the adventure. Upon each of
the numbers which he selects he bets as much as he pleases, within
a limited sum, which he pays down. If any of his numbers be drawn a
prize, he receives three or four times the amount of his wager.
If I ever entertained any doubts as to the bad effect of lotteries,
especially on the less affluent orders of society, who seemed to
be the principal customers of the offices at Naples, the crowds of
disappointed mothers and fathers of wretched families, whom I have
seen returning from these _royal_ establishments on the days when the
prize-numbers were proclaimed, would have dissipated all such doubts
in a moment. These lottery schemes, I regret to add, seem to yield a
constantly increasing revenue to the crown; it is understood that the
king has already, since his accession, realized in this way upwards
of a million and a half of money, which, instead of being applied to
the public service, though it stands much in need of assistance, he
has deposited as his own private property in the funds of France and
England, in order to secure a safe retreat for himself in the event of
a revolution, of which he is extremely apprehensive.
♦ THE SICILIANS ♦
Nevertheless I learned from well-informed quarters, that the Neapolitan
people, generally speaking, are not yet prepared for any violent
changes. They would be content, it is imagined, if the council of
ministers were so composed as to represent, in some degree, the new
ideas and wishes of the age, instead of prejudices now a century
old. Having been obliged to pay dearly to Austria, in the shape of
indemnities for the expenses of the revolution of 1821, they are not
disposed, it is thought, soon to try a similar experiment.
It is, however, very certain, that in Sicily serious discontent
prevails, and is very likely to explode in insurrection, unless the
grievances of the country be redressed, and that, too, with no niggard
hand. The Sicilians are still obliged to pay an amount of taxation
fixed in proportion to the price of corn in 1815-16, while the war
prices still existed. Nothing can be more unjustifiable than the
continuance of such a standard as that, inasmuch as, at the present
day, they do not receive for their wheat above one-third of the price
which they then obtained. The irritation arising out of this system of
impost is not a little aggravated by the traditionary odium, which has
always alienated the Sicilians from the Neapolitans.
♦ NEAPOLITAN REFORM ♦
♦ RESISTANCE ♦
The king, who by the way is said to have no hope of a family, has
moreover gained the reputation of being extremely avaricious. He is
governed by his uncle, Leopold, who is the viceroy of the Austrian
ambassador, and neither of these persons seems inclined to listen, for
a moment, to any proposition of a reforming tendency. A government
consisting of a few men of talent and moderation, acquainted with the
spirit of the times, might render great services to the two kingdoms.
Without touching fundamental institutions, they have abundance
of margin in these institutions, even as they now exist, for the
introduction of great and beneficial gradual improvements. The realm
of Naples has its Provincial Councils, which exercise some degree of
controul over the taxation of the country, at least so far as every
species of local expenditure is concerned. The remonstrances of these
Councils go direct to the king, without passing through the hands of
any minister, and are almost uniformly attended to. The Code Napoleon
prevails, and the influence of that body of civil law is every where
inclining towards democracy, on account of the perpetual division
and sub-division of property which it enjoins. The king, however,
checks that tendency as much as he can, by assuming to himself a
dispensing power, by which he renders the law inoperative in particular
cases. This usurpation meets with no resistance from the judicial
authorities; the number of judges and administrators of the law, in
various capacities, is enormous; they are all badly paid, and of
course submissive to the court, as well as venal to the people. In
the Neapolitan kingdom also, landed property is excessively taxed.
The palaces are vigilantly secured at all points by Swiss guards;
and a whole park of artillery is so arranged that it may be brought
to bear in a moment on any large masses of the people that could by
possibility be collected. All these things, taken in connection with
what has lately happened in Portugal and Spain, sufficiently indicate
an approaching crisis at Naples, for which, I suppose, with the usual
blindness of a court taken up more with its own heart-burnings and
intrigues than with the interests of the country, the authorities
will wait, when a sudden uncalculating and sanguinary commotion shall
probably rouse the whole kingdom from its lethargy.
♦ THE MUSEUM ♦
The Museum alone, with its matchless and almost countless statues taken
from the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii, and collected from other
sources; its halls replete with the ornaments and utensils of ancient
times gathered from those splendid cities embalmed through long ages
by the lava and the ashes of Vesuvius, as if purposely set apart for
the information of our age; its splendid galleries of paintings; its
marbles, and bronzes, and libraries, and scrolls, recovered from the
fires of two thousand years ago; these and an endless variety of other
objects well worth examination ought to detain the traveller, and keep
him constantly occupied for months in Naples; upon the whole the most
agreeable city I have ever visited. There is a festive cheerfulness
about the streets; a purity in the air, arising, doubtless, from the
proximity of the finest bay in the world open to the Mediterranean,
which I have not experienced elsewhere.
♦ RETURN HOME ♦
And, then, what still remains? Vesuvius--Herculaneum--Pompeii, the most
interesting objects, within view of each other, to be found on the
globe! When these scenes are well explored, there are still Pozzuoli,
Baiæ, Cuma, Castel-a-mare, Sorento, Salerno, Pœstum, the islands Capri,
Procida, and Ischia, to furnish days, almost years of amusement,
scarcely to be exhausted. I confined myself to those which I could
visit at my leisure--the volcano--its victims now unshrouded in their
tombs--the haunts of the old Romans, and the sacred abode of the sibyls.
I then (19th January, 1835), embarked in the bay on-board the _San
Francesco_ steamer, coasted along the shore of Italy to Genoa,
proceeded over Mount Cenis to Turin, thence to Geneva, Dijon, Paris,
and London, where, on the 5th of February, I felt myself once more in
the bosom of my family. I conclude this narrative of my journey on the
22d of July, exactly the day of the month on which, last year, I left
London for the Continent.
EXPENSES OF MY JOURNEY.
As some of my Readers might wish to make the same journey which I have
performed, and to know, before-hand, the road expenses they would be
likely to incur, I subjoin a note of these matters.
francs. cents.
Fare by Steam-boat to Boulogne 35 --
Do. to Paris by Diligence 50 --
Do. in Diligence to Strasbourg 85 25
Do. in Diligence to Baden 9 --
Do. from Baden to Carlsruhe 5 --
Do. from Carlsruhe to Ulm 30 --
Do. from Ulm to Munich 32 --
Do. from Munich to Vienna 70 --
Expenses of posting from Vienna to Pesth 108 --
Fare in Steam-boat from Pesth to Moldava 43 --
Do. in Fishing-boat to Orsova 4 --
Fare in Steam-boat from Gladova to Argulgradt 34 50
Do. in Zantiote-boat from Argulgradt to Rutschuk 10 --
Paid for horses from Rutschuk to Constantinople 604 --
Usual charge for Caique from Pera to Therapia 9 70
Do. from Therapia to Constantinople 9 70
Fare in Sailing-packet from Constantinople to Smyrna 80 --
Passed in Hinde Cutter, from Smyrna to Vourla -- --
Do. in H.M.S. Portland, from Vourla to Napoli -- --
Paid for Horses from Napoli to Epidaurus 9 --
Fare in Boat from Epidaurus to the Piræus 6 --
Paid for Horses from the Piræus to Athens 3 --
Do. from Athens to Corinth 20 --
Do. from Corinth to Patras 35 --
Fare in Austrian Packet from Patras to Corfu 57 --
Do. from Corfu to Trieste 118 --
Fare in Steam-boat from Trieste to Venice 25 --
Do. in Diligence from Venice to Ferrara 56 --
Do. from Ferrara to Bologna 8 --
Do. in Courier’s Carriage from Bologna to Rome 145 --
Do. in Angrisani’s carriage, from Rome to Naples 76 --
Do. in Steam-boat from Naples to Genoa 175 --
Do. in Diligence from Genoa to Turin 40 --
Do. in Courier’s Carriage from Turin to Geneva 131 --
Do. in Diligence from Geneva to Paris 78 --
Do. from Paris to Calais 63 --
Do. in Steam-boat from Calais to Dover 7 --
Do. in Mail from Dover to London 43 --
* * * * *
Twenty-five francs may be generally assumed as equivalent to a
sovereign. _Personal_ expenses will, of course, depend much on
circumstances. They may be set down at ten or twelve francs per day.
The expenses of passports, porterage, and of other small charges, may
be estimated, for the whole journey, at about 100 francs. The fare in
the Danube _steam-boat_, from Gladova to Galacz is about 50 francs, and
in a sailing packet, from Smyrna to the Piræus, about 40 francs.
THE END.
COX AND SONS, 75, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S-INN FIELDS.
TRANSCRIBERS’ NOTES
Page headings have been placed as sidenotes and enclosed in ‘♦’ symbols.
In this text version, text originally printed in italics is marked with
_underscores_ and small caps have been converted to ALL CAPITALS.
Original spellings have been kept as printed with the following
exceptions:
Page 20: “he” changed to “the” - “...term of years over which the
payments had been...”
Page 36: “and” added - “...provinces of Wallachia and Moldavia...”
Page 50: “Unrol” changed to “Unroll” - “Unroll the map of Asia...”
Page 94: “capsain’s” changed to “captain’s” - “...much against our
captain’s usual disposition...”
Page 95: “Ausstrian” changed to “Austrian” - “...including an Austrian
ship of war...”
Page 105: extraneous “)” removed - “...of his Majesty’s service, sat at
the foot...”
Page 124: “genenerally” changed to “generally” - “...prevailed
generally in Ancient Greece...”
Page 129: “Captian” changed to “Captain” - “...in the Madagascar with
Captain Lyons to Candia...”
Page 215: “spead” changed to “spread” - “A sprig of sea-weed is spread
between the scales...”
Page 282: “mulitude” changed to “multitude” - “...to the immense
multitude, called upon...”