Capri.--Dread of Earthquakes.--Cruise to Pompeii.--The
Sarno.--Approaching Squall.--Sorrentine Boatmen.--Siroccos.--Public
Works.--Camaldoli Convents.--Islands of the Syrens.--A Sabbath
Walk.--Monasteries on Hills.--Creature-Comforts.
To Capri we went in the six-oared pinnace. This island, which, as you
know, stands sentinel at one side of the bay, as Ischia does at the
other, seen at Naples appears to lie in its mouth. This is owing to
the position of Naples itself, which is placed at the northern corner
of the gulph; Vesuvius, as you have been already told, occupying the
bottom. I repeat these things, for my own notions having been all wrong
about them, I have fancied yours might be so too.
Capri is divided into two mountains by a deep gorge, or valley, in
which stands the town. The southern mountain is the highest, and is
truly a noble object, as one approaches the spot. It rises almost
to a peak which is, probably, two thousand feet high; and the ruins
that crown it are said to have belonged to a castle of Frederick
Barbarossa, and to stand on the site of a villa of Tiberius! There is
a tradition that Tiberius had many villas on this remarkable little
island; which may be true as there are numberless remains. At all
events, the place was in favour among the Romans, Augustus passing much
of his time here, towards the end of his career.
The lowest of the mountains is called Ana Capri, and can only be
reached by actually ascending a flight of steps cut in the rocks, of
half a mile in length, which ascend by a zigzag. P---- was mounted on a
donkey; and, making a line of pocket-handkerchiefs, which I fastened to
the girth, the ladies were greatly aided in this fatiguing ascent. The
picturesque seems exhausted in such beautiful spots. Here we had the
bay; the teeming and magnificent coast for leagues; the path itself a
curiosity, with a little chapel, at which the devout were kneeling as
we passed. A thousand recollections crowded on the mind. Among other
beautiful objects, were the different crafts, of which a fleet lay
becalmed under Vesuvius.
The English seized Capri, and held it for some time, while Murat was
king. Several unsuccessful attempts were made to re-take it, and one
finally succeeded, under Lamarque. That officer surprised the place by
scaling the rocks of Ana Capri, in the night; and, once in possession
of this elevated plain, he was in possession of the entire island.
We found Ana Capri a hamlet of cottages. Every building had the low
circular roof of cement; and, as is the case with most of the houses
of this region, those in the towns and the villas excepted, they were
all of one story, like the buildings of Pompeii. A dread of earthquakes
has probably introduced this style; though Naples has unusually high
houses. Several streets of the capital, however, at this very moment,
have beams between the buildings which are said to be departing from
the perpendicular, in consequence of the working of the fires beneath.
One of these fine mornings, the whole of this “little bit of heaven
fallen upon earth” will probably fall into the cauldron beneath it;
and then travellers will come to see it as an object of frightful
desolation! Such was probably the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. I wonder
if New York will ever experience a similar calamity.
Besides the cruise to Capri, we have made two to Pompeii, the first
of which was attempted in a fresh breeze and a heavy sea. When we had
got half way, W----, who, though a very bad sailor, swims like a fish,
began to make some inquiries about the probability of his arts being
required in landing; when we learned from the boatmen that any attempt
to approach the shore would most likely put us all in the water. I
had been told we might ascend the Sarno, about a mile, to the ruins
of the town, and, quite like a mariner as I contend, had presumed on
smooth water in port. It appeared, however, on inquiry, that there
is a bar at the mouth, and that in a flat calm the rollers sometimes
make crossing it hazardous. Nothing remained but to down-helm, and haul
up again for the Marina Grande. We were rewarded for the excursion,
notwithstanding, by enjoying the bay in a tumult. The heavy seas that
set into it, are not unlike those of the ocean in moderate weather;
and, since the season has advanced into October, we have witnessed the
waves dashing against our cliffs in a manner to send the spray upon the
terrace.
The next expedition was better timed, and we reached the mouth of the
river in good season. Here we found so little water, that the boat
grounded a cable’s length from the shore, and the only way to enter was
for the crew to jump into the water when, by watching the roll of the
ground-swell, and lifting, they succeeded in forcing us over the bar.
The Sarno is about as wide as the Bronx at West-Farms, and much such
a river. Like the Bronx, it meanders through low meadows, all of
which have probably been formed since the destruction of Pompeii. We
could not get quite up to the town, as it was; but, leaving the boat,
we walked, by a footpath, to the highway, entering the ruins on the
side of the tombs. In this visit we examined the walls, and entered
more into details than at the former. The progress of the workmen
had been slow; but an entire house, and that of some importance, had
been opened in the interval. I endeavoured to find some traces of
the port, unsuccessfully; but, judging from the present appearance of
the country, I think there can be little question that the town stood
on a low promontory, and that the haven lay considerably below it.
Excavations in the right spot would very probably bring to light a mole.
We left Pompeii, on this occasion, an hour sooner then we should
otherwise have done, on account of an approaching gust. For nearly
two months, and this in August and September, we had seen nothing
resembling a storm in the bay, and scarcely any rain. Indeed, I can
safely say; after having now passed near a twelvemonth on this side the
Alps, that I have witnessed neither thunder nor lightning that would
attract any attention in America. This may have been a peculiar season;
but, after all I had been told, especially by the English, I had
expected something of the sort particularly awful. While we were among
the ruins, however, there was every symptom of something better than
common in this way, or certainly better than anything we had yet seen;
and fearing a swell would get up on the bar, I hurried the party off to
the boat.
We got out of the Sarno better than we had come into it, and were soon
in the bay. The wind was light at the north-west, and as we stretched
over, under the promontory of Vico, the heavens in the direction of
Pausilippo became lowering and grand. A polacre was beating out of
the bight of Castle-a-mare, and was tacking, about half a league to
windward of us. Just as she filled, with her head to the northward,
I observed that she was starting her tacks and sheets, or whatever
else these nondescript craft term their gear. I ordered our own luggs
to betaken in, and the oars shipped. It was a grand moment, for I
scarcely remember a more beautiful opening of a gust, and the effect
was greatly increased by the sublimity of the surrounding land. As for
the bay itself, it reminded me of a beauty covered with frowns. The
water curled and foamed, but retained its limped blue; and there were
openings between the lurid and wheeling clouds through which the void
of heaven gleamed brightly, and of its deepest tint, giving one the
idea of nature in a mask.
The stroke-oarsman of the boat advised me to pull in under the
promontory, as near we could go. I hesitated about complying, for the
sea was getting up fast, and if we found it irresistible, there was no
alternative but drowning; for the rocks impended over the water almost
to the height of a thousand feet. This noble pile is, in truth, one
of the finest objects in its way that I know on any coast. The man,
however, explained himself. He said, that the squall would not blow
“home,” against the rocks, and that, contrary to the general rule, we
should find smoother water, and less wind, by running to leeward. As
this was plausible, and matters were becoming awkward where we were,
I followed his direction, and in a few minutes we were as close under
the beetling precipice as we could conveniently go. I confess I had
doubts of the experiment; but it succeeded perfectly. We got ahead
with tolerable speed, had no other than a fair rolling sea, and came
out handsomely into the bay of Sorrento within half an hour. I was not
sorry, notwithstanding, when I again saw the polacre showing his light
sails to windward.
With similar symptoms we should have been deluged with rain in America,
and yet we were barely sprinkled. The wind was fresh inshore, and
violent a league or two in the offing; for the polacre bore up before
it, until she had run a mile or more; and yet we did not ship a gallon
of water, or “catch crabs” with a single oar. These Sorrentines are
noble boatmen, as bold and as skilful as any I have ever met with;
athletic, active and steady, while they understand their waters
perfectly. Much as I have boated with them, and on two or three
occasions I have seen them in serious weather, I have never seen
any praying to saints, or a disposition to do anything unworthy of
mariners. I consider the common population of this country, by nature,
one of the finest I know.
The weather, soon after this excursion, changed and interrupted our
boating. The siroccos set in, in earnest, and for two or three weeks
we had a continuation of strong south winds, occasionally accompanied
by rain. The influence of these winds is one of the great drawbacks
on an Italian residence. I can tell in my bed if there is a shift of
wind to the westward, and no language can describe the cheering effect
the changes produce on my feelings. We have had one or two days, in
which the house has actually appeared to roll with me, like a ship
at sea; and the depression of the spirits, at such times, is really
awful--second only to a London November-day.
This is the season in which the vessels arrive from Sicily, and the
other southern ports, with wheat. For a fortnight there was scarcely
a day in which a dozen, and sometimes twenty sail, did pass directly
before us; for they haul close round the Cape of Campanella, and run
into Castle-a-mare, where the great warehouses of the kingdom are
placed. Some of the public works of this nature are on a scale that
is vast for the extent and commerce of the nation. There is a single
storehouse on the bay, by the side of the road that leads from Naples
to Portici, designed to be used in cases of quarantine, I believe, that
is one of the largest constructions I have ever seen. Its length cannot
be much less than half a mile. I counted the windows, and, estimating
the distance between them, made it out to be considerably more than
two thousand feet. But Europe is full of buildings that to us appear
marvellous by their magnitude and riches, and Italy, in particular,
before all other parts of it.
The passage of these vessels gave an entirely new appearance to our
side of the bay; and the daily arrival of our own little fleet, which
sometimes comes staggering along half under water, adds to the
interest. Roberto went to Naples a few days since, on business of
his own, and he became so thoroughly frightened by the fury of our
lovely bay, that the poor fellow, in preference to running the same
risk over again, actually made a _détour_ of forty miles, by the way
of Castel-a-mare, and the mountains, in order to get back again to
his duty. But the _Bella Genovese_ can testify that he is a miserable
sailor.
Our siroccos have not been perpetual, but some glorious autumnal
days succeeded the equinox. We have profited by them to explore the
interior of the peninsula on which we live, for the heat can now be
borne even at noon-day. You would laugh to see us start on one of these
excursions. Half a dozen little donkeys are paraded at the gate, with
two or three swarthy drivers. As soon as the ladies are seated on their
beasts, in a species of pack-saddle, W---- and I mount, with our feet
just clear of the ground, and away we go, by dint of kicks, thumps, and
applications on the flanks from the drivers. Once in motion, we are by
no means certain of the direction; for if urged beyond their humours,
the little long-eared gentry will put their noses down, and carry one
of the ladies just where he pleases. Cries of distress are constantly
made; one being run into a church door, another into the window of a
hovel, or a third is scampering down the road at a “will ye nill ye”
pace. We have a good deal of this amusement for the first mile or two,
after which we commonly get on better. No one thinks of laughing at
our appearance; for it is as much expected that one should ride on a
donkey here, as that one should ride on a horse with us.
We have been on all the heights in this manner. One of our visits was
to a ruined convent, a _Camaldoli_, on the mountain that separates the
_piano_ of Sorrento from that of Vico. These _Camaldoli_ are always
placed on heights; St. Bruno, the founder of the order, being directed
by a dream, or a vision, I believe, to adopt the plan. The effect is
poetical and good; for I cannot imagine a finer stimulant for religious
meditation, than a broad view of the glories of the earth; and this
the more especially, if it be chastened by a knowledge of the things
practised on it. One gets, in this way, an idea of what things might
be without sin, to contrast with one’s knowledge of what things are.
In boyhood, my feeling on such places, was ever to fly, in order to
cull the beauties by again approaching them; but, as life glides
away, I find the desire to recede increase, as if I would reduce the
whole earth to a picture in a camera obscura, in which the outlines
and general beauties are embraced, while the disgusting details are
diminished to atoms.
The view from the eminence north of the _piano_, like every other
view in this region, is magnificent; but one cannot go amiss, in this
respect, in a country in which rocks, plains, water, mountains, and
life, are blended in the affluence that distinguishes Naples. The
convent buildings are chiefly destroyed, for there has been a great
suppression of monastic orders in this country; but the chapel still
stands. It is used as a barn, and was half full of hay. Still the
altar-piece, a very good picture, remains!
There is a seat on the verge of the cliff, that overlooks the plain of
Sorrento, as one would overlook a garden from the Belvedere of a house,
or a ship’s decks from her mizen top. Here we were particularly struck
with the resemblance of the houses to those of Pompeii, all the roofs
being low, with the species of dome-like curvature, to turn the water,
that has been before mentioned.
An excursion in the opposite direction proved to be still finer.
We went up the heights, behind Sorrento, by a Swissish road, half
stairs, half path, until we gained a country that had a more pastoral
character than usual. A hamlet on the summit, that overlooked the
Mediterranean towards the south, and at an elevation of near, if not
quite, a thousand feet, is called St. Agata. Some small rocky islets,
at no great distance from the coast, and around which the sleeping
billows, in their incessant rolling, just raised a circle of white, are
called the Islands of the Syrens; it being assumed that these are the
Islands where Ulysses encountered those sea ladies; and one of them is
said to contain the ruins of a temple. They are mere rocks, not larger
than that on which we landed near Piombino. Can these ruins once have
been the abode of nymphs, who seduced the wanderer from his path, on
anchoring accidentally near them?
There is another _Camaldoli_ on the summit of the land, between St.
Agata and Massa, or about mid-way between the Gulf of Salerno and
that of Naples. I passed a morning lately in a memorable manner, in
exploring it on foot, and alone. The day was fine, it was the Sabbath,
the air from the west, invigorating, just cool enough to be agreeable,
and full of life. The ruins command a noble view, as usual; but so
does every eminence around us. One looks abroad here, in the full
security of beholding objects that are either sublime or beautiful,
and commonly both, for the two are so blended as to render it doubtful
which most prevails. I cannot describe to you the precise nature of
the sensations with which I passed this morning. It was the Sabbath of
man, and it appeared to be also the Sabbath of nature; one of those
holy calms that sleep on the earth, as if the vegetable world united
with the animal to worship the great Source of all. As I flung myself
carelessly from height to height, and across downish uplands, every
new point that presented itself exhibited the great temple in a new
and lovelier aspect; and as I descended from the glorious solitude,
(for the only habitations are in the hamlets, or on the plains,) I
felt as if I could almost become a monk, in order to remain there for
life. The conventual buildings were, as usual, vast, and much of them
still remains. Had it been my fortune to suppress monasteries, I should
certainly have commenced the work in the cities and on the plains, and
have left those on the hill-tops to the last; for I have a difficulty
in believing that the tenants of such abodes can do any thing but adore
God. At least, this is the passing feeling; though I dare say one gets
to be _blasé_ as respects a fine view, as well as a fine sentiment.
At all events, we are pretty certain the devil can climb, as well
as crawl: though most of our American devils, I believe, are of the
_genus_ demon, _species_ reptile.
We never ramble in this manner without exclaiming against those who
visit Naples, perhaps in the bad season, pass a rainy week or two
in sight-seeing, fagged and even fatigued with wonders, and then go
away and pretend to describe its nature, its variety, its purity of
atmosphere, its pearly lustre of sky, and all its other glorious
peculiarities. The environs of Naples are quite another region to-day,
than on that on which we arrived; though they have always been lovely.
Even a sirocco cannot spoil their charms; for while, like other
beauties, they have their good and bad-looking days, the last are
merely the bad looks of a Venus. I have never seen the bay when it did
not present an object of admiration and rare perfection.
You will be surprised to learn that we also riot here in the good
things of this world, in the shape of creature-comforts. The liquor
of the country is good, the lachrima christi of Vesuvius being really
a choice wine. Then the beccafichi are delicious, and plenty at this
season, Sorrento being the very nucleus of their sports: they cost a
grano apiece! The quails, too, just now, are as good as can be, very
plenty, and quite cheap. They are caught in nets extended among the
trees, flying in large flocks. By some caprice in the bird, Capri is
a favourite stopping-place with them, and thousands are sent weekly
to the market of Naples. By a caprice of man, these birds compose a
material part of the revenues of the bishop,--at least so I hear;
though I find it odd that so small an island should have a bishop at
all. But Sorrento is an archbishopric; its diocesan is a learned man;
and they tell me there are near a dozen bishops in the capital, and in
its immediate neighbourhood.
While on this subject, I will mention that we have lately had a
religious procession, in which an image of the Virgin has been made
to take a more prominent part than I have ever before witnessed. She
has gone from altar to altar, followed by half the pious of the town,
among whom have figured nearly the whole of my corps of gaberlunzies.
There are so many churches and convents in this small town, that an
inhabitant whom I questioned lately had no idea of their numbers.
“There might be twenty, there might be fifty.”
While walking on the terrace a few days since, I saw a priest coming up
the road from the Marina Grande. He was accompanied by an ecclesiastic,
who was chanting in concert with the father. A little distance behind
these, came one of the swarthy bare-legged fishermen of the place,
carrying on his head the usual flat willow basket, on which it is
common to display the fish, and on which, it appeared to me, he then
had his game. As he kept a short distance in the rear, I supposed he
did not like to pass the others, who were engaged in some religious
office. Curiosity induced me to watch the party, and, as it drew near,
I discovered the chant was that of the dead. When near enough to be
distinguished, I saw on the basket the body of a little girl about six
years old. It was dressed in white, with gay ribands; and across its
mouth lay an oblong nosegay, or what was more probably an imitation of
a nosegay. The flowers contrasted strangely with the pallid colour of
death. I called to me a Sorrentine servant, and asked an explanation.
The girl was the daughter of the fisherman, and this was literally _le
convoi du pauvre_. It was even worse than the interment of the Isle of
Wight, though the manner of the priest was more reverent. I was told
the body would be taken to a church, stripped of its attire, and cast
into a hole, in common with all who are interred in the same manner.
_Cast_ was the word; but it is to be hoped it was lowered. I did not go
to see the process, for I particularly dislike obtruding the curiosity
of a stranger on the religious ceremonies of a strange people. The rude
and indifferent manner in which Protestants ordinarily violate the
sanctity of Catholic worship, does quite as much discredit to those who
practise, as to those who tolerate it; though, in the plenitude of
self-complacency, we followers of Luther are a little too apt to throw
all the blame on the latter. I believe pious Catholics are as much
shocked by the practise, as pious Protestants would be, were the case
reversed.
We have now followed this dreamy mode of life so many weeks, that,
coupled with the invigorating airs of October, the desire to enter
into a little more activity begins to beset us. Boating is a lazy
occupation, unless one handles the oar; and even sight-seeing, usually
an extremely laborious business, on the shores of this luxurious bay is
deprived of half its wear and tear.
I have forgotten to mention, by the way, that our own house is one of
the wonders of the district. Most travellers honour us with a call,
much to the advantage of Roberto’s pocket, for he acts as master of
ceremonies. Luckily, there is nothing to show but the _loggia_ and
the stairs, which one passes in entering, the great saloon, and the
terrace. The latter is worth the trouble of mounting a flight of steps
to see, and I believe most of the curious go away satisfied. There is,
however, a medallion in the great saloon that has the reputation of
being an Alexander the Great. It is an antique, I believe; but how far
it deserves to be called an Alexander, I cannot say. It is the head
of an enthusiast, rather than of a man of intellect; though I think
one rarely finds any of the very magnificent bumps and foreheads about
the truly distinguished. There are also a bust of Bernardo Tasso, the
father of Torquato, and a medallion of Julius Cæsar, representing him
as a youth. The Bernardo is probably authentic, as the family of the
duke is said to be connected with that of Tasso; but Roberto shows the
others, without remorse, as beyond cavil.
Of course we retire when the admirers of Tasso come to look at his
residence; but taking a peep the other day at a visitor, I recognized
a young Austrian, Baron ----, whom I had seen at Florence, and I went
out to speak to him. We chatted together half an hour; and I mention
the circumstance, because my companion betrayed a feeling that I find
is very prevalent here, on the subject of the recent accession of
General Jackson to the presidency. This feeling first discovered itself
by some questions relative to the age of the new president; for when
I mentioned that he was already an old man, I thought my acquaintance
was surprised, not to say disappointed. His expectation evidently
was that our democracies had taken the predicted course, and that we
were already tasting the sweets of a military despotism. A military
despotism, forsooth, in a country containing 2,000,000 square miles of
surface, and an army of 6,000 men!
I found that the exaggerated, electioneering trash of the opposition
prints at home had made an impression, and, as is usual with most
men, that which was ardently desired was readily believed. It is not
easy for one living in the retirement of America--for all America
is but a _villeggiatura_, and Wall Street worse than retirement, so
far as the great political questions and knowledge of the day are
concerned, compared with the activity, principles, and designs of
Europe;--it is therefore difficult for one dwelling in the retirement
of American life to form a correct notion of the opinions that float
about here in reference to ourselves. An eminent Neapolitan, a man of
singular shrewdness and of high political station, lately asked me
seriously, what was the object of the English in making their descent
on Washington in 1814. As I supposed a _coup de main_ of that nature,
under the peculiar circumstances, spoke for itself, I was as much
surprised at the question as he could possibly be with the answer;
for when I explained to him that Washington at that time was an open,
straggling village, of some eight or nine thousand souls, of whom a
good portion were black slaves,--that it covered a surface of nine or
ten square miles, without works and without a garrison,--and moreover
that its capture would have no more influence on the result of the war,
than the seizing and holding for twenty-four hours of any other inland
place of the same magnitude,--he expressed his astonishment. I was
given clearly to understand, that it was viewed differently in Europe;
and, owing to the influence of our enemy, I now believe the war of 1812
is better known here by this useless expedition than by anything else,
notwithstanding all our own notions of the matter.
You are to feel no surprise at this; for the influence of England,
at this very moment, singularly controls opinion in America itself,
of which I have just seen an absurd proof, connected with this very
subject. A New York journal, one of those patriotic organs of sentiment
which are constantly sneering at the institutions, reserving their
indignation and _energies_ for the defence of the illustrious cats and
dogs of the country, (which, by the way, are generally much inferior
to the cats and dogs of Europe,) has just been quoting the statements
of a British officer in relation to the campaigns of New Orleans and
Washington, as proof that some of our own previous notions in reference
to both were untrue. Now, this very officer who affirms he was at
Washington, calls it a place, apparently, of about sixty thousand
souls, and passes some architectural strictures on the wings and _main
body_ of the Capitol, the latter of which at that time had never been
erected! Some of our people will swallow an English camel, when they
strain at an American gnat.