The morning of the day we left our fair Parthenope was passed in
recollecting her various charms: every one who leaves her carries off the
same sensations. I have asked several inhabitants of other Italian States
what they liked best in Italy except home; it was Naples always, dear
delightful Naples! When I say this, I mean always to exclude those whose
particular pursuits lead them to cities which contain the prize they
press for. English people when unprejudiced express the like preference.
Attachments formed by love or friendship, though they give charms to
every place, cannot be admitted as a reason for commending any one above
the rest. A traveller without candour it is vain to read; one might as
well hope to get a just view of nature by looking through a coloured
glass, as to gain a true account of foreign countries, by turning over
pages dictated by prejudice.
With the nobility of Naples I had no acquaintance, and can of course
say nothing of their manners. Those of the middling people seem to be
behind-hand with their neighbours; it is so odd that they should never
yet have arrived at calling their money by other names than those of the
weights, an _ounce_ and a _grain_; the coins however are not ugly.
The evening of the day we left this surprising city was spent out of its
king’s dominions, at Terracina, which now affords one of the best inns in
Italy; it is kept by a Frenchman, whose price, though high, is regulated,
whose behaviour is agreeable, and whose suppers and beds are delightful.
Near the spot where his house now stands, there was in ancient Pagan
days a temple, erected to the memory of the beardless Jupiter called
Anxurus, of which Pausanias, and I believe Scaliger too, take notice;
though the medal of Pansa is _imago barbata, sed intonsa_, they tell
me; and Statius extends himself in describing the innocence of Jupiter
and Juno’s conversation and connection in their early youth. Both of
them had statues of particular magnificence venerated with very peculiar
ceremonies, erected for them in this town, however, _ut Anxur fuit quæ
nunc Terracinæ sunt_[8]. The tenth Thebaid too speaks much _de templo
sacro et Junoni puellæ, Jovis Axuro_[9]; and who knows after all whether
these odd circumstances might not be the original reason of Anxur’s
grammatical peculiarity, well known to all from the line in old _Propria
que maribus_,
Et genus Anxur quod dat utrumque?
This place was founded and colonised by Æmilius Mamercus and Lucius
Plautus, Anno Mundi 3725 I think; they took the town of Priverna, and
sent each three hundred citizens to settle this new city, where Jupiter
Anxurus was worshipped, as Virgil among so many other writers bears
testimony:
Circeumque jugum, queis Jupiter Anxuris arvis
Præsidet[10].
7th ÆNEID.
Æmilius Mamercus was a very pious consul, and when he served before with
Genutius his colleague, made himself famous for driving the nail into
Minerva’s temple to stop the progress of the plague; he was therefore
likely enough to encourage this superstitious worship of the beardless
Jupiter.
Some books of geography, very old ones, had given me reason to make
enquiry after a poisonous fountain in the rocks near Terracina. My
enquiries were not vain. The fountain still exists, and whoever drinks it
dies; though Martial says,
Sive salutiferis candidus Anxur acquis[11].
The place is now cruelly unwholesome however; so much so, that our French
landlord protests he is obliged to leave it all the summer months,
at least the very hot season, and retire with his family to Molo di
Gaeta. He told us with rational delight enough of a visit the Pope had
made to those places some few years ago; and that he had been heard
to say to some of his attendants how there was no _mal aria_ at all
thereabouts in past days: an observation which had much amazed them. It
was equally their wonder how his Holiness went o’walking about with a
book in his hand or pocket, repeating verses by the sea-side. One of them
had asked the name of the book, but nobody could remember it. “Was it
_Virgil_?” said one of our company. “_Eh mon Dieu, Madame, vous l’avez
divinée_[12],” replied the man. But, O dear (thought I), how would these
poor people have stared, if their amiable sovereign, enlightened and
elegant as his mind is, had happened to talk more in their presence of
what he had been reading on the sea shore, _Virgil_ or _Homer_; had he
chanced to mention that _Molo di Gaeta_ was in ancient times the seat of
the Lestrygones, and inhabited by canibals, men who eat one another! and
surely it is scarcely less comical than curious, to recollect how Ulysses
expresses his sensations on first landing just by this now lovely and
highly-cultivated spot, when he pathetically exclaims,
----Upon what coast,
On what _new_ region is Ulysses tost?
Possest by wild barbarians fierce in arms,
Or men whose bosoms tender pity warms?