OFF TO NAPLES.
I left off my last letter opposite Corsica. Since then—and this is the
charm of coming to Naples in the _Midnight Sun_—we have passed quite a
cluster of isles more or less renowned in history—such as Caprera, the
rocky home of the great Italian, Garibaldi—of which, alas! we see
nothing. In old times Caprera derived its name from the wild goats, its
original inhabitants. Later on it was colonized by monks. ‘The whole
island,’ says a contemporary writer quoted by Gibbon, ‘is filled, or,
rather, defiled by men, who fly from the light. They call themselves
monks, or solitaries, because they choose to live alone, without any
witnesses of their actions. They fear the gifts of fortune from the
apprehension of losing them, and, lest they should be miserable, they
embrace a life of voluntary wretchedness.’ Elba, however, is visible,
which the wiseacres whom Providence, for mysterious reasons of its own,
at one time permitted to rule over European affairs, fixed on as the
residence of the Corsican adventurer, in the childish belief that he who
had aimed almost at universal empire, and had in vain attempted to
grapple with and overthrow the pride and power of England, would be
content to remain on that puny isle, within a hop, step and jump of
France, as it were, and almost within speaking distance of the legions
whom he had led to glory. Then we sailed past Monte Cristo, the scene of
Dumas’ celebrated romance of that name. Mostly, at a distance, the isles
look bare of life and vegetation, rocks rising out of the blue waves; and
yet we know it to be otherwise. At best, however, they must be poor
places to live in, far from the great battle of life, and out of touch
with human progress. We pass Sardinia, but see little of it. This is
Sunday, and to-day the Church clergy, who are numerous, seem to have had
a good innings. Unfortunately, I came into collision with one of them.
As I entered the smoking-room after breakfast, I saw there had been held
there an early Communion, and the implements utilized on such occasions
were lying about. In a light and flippant tone I asked whether this was
High Church or Low Church or Broad Church. A little oily parson, who was
apparently guarding the vessels, angrily exclaimed, ‘Sir, it is the
_Church_!’ ‘Thank you,’ I said; ‘I only wanted to know. To me it is a
matter of indifference.’ ‘That was very naughty of you,’ said a mild,
gentlemanly young man at my side. Let everyone worship God, or what he
takes to be God, as best he may. I scorn not the savage who bows down to
idols of wood and stone. To him they represent a Divine presence and
power. I claim a similar liberty for the High Churchman, who sees sacred
emblems in vessels of human device to be bought in the shops, or wrought
by devout females; but let him give me the same freedom, and not denounce
me as little better than one of the wicked, as void of Christian faith,
because I turn from man’s devices to cry out of the aching heart to the
living God, if haply I may find Him.
But I am digressing; for the fact is that I always see more of
sacerdotalism afloat than I do on land. We are getting on pleasantly as
regards social companionship. It was very cold in the train to Dover,
and I felt inclined to take rather a gloomy view of the situation. It
was worse on board the Dover and Calais packet, where the whole of the
deck was set apart for first-class passengers, while we unfortunate
second-class men were sent down below to see what we could out of the
cabin windows. But once in the French second-class carriages, really
much nicer than our own, reserve was broken, the tongue began to wag, and
all went merry as a marriage-bell. I was much pleased with my
neighbour—a Yorkshireman, I think, who had brought with him a bag of new
farthings to be utilized for backsheesh. He offered me some, but I
refused. At my time of life I should not like to be caught by a wild
Arab of the desert to whom I had offered a new farthing for the familiar
sovereign, the use of which is known from China to Peru. The pompous
elderly first-class passenger amuses me. He has got his English paper,
and he carries it with him everywhere, in spite of the fact that its news
is some days old. One of my fellow-passengers had bought himself at
Marseilles a small footstool to keep his feet dry—a needless precaution,
as all the seats are built with a view to protect the passengers from the
damp of the decks, always rather moist after the early morning scrub and
scour. The daily bath is in much request. The young Englishman must
have his morning bath—a favourable sign, if it be true that cleanliness
is next to godliness. We are rather a miscellaneous lot—there are
Scotchmen, whose sweet Doric I fail to understand, and Cockneys, who
ignore the letter _h_; but some of the ladies are charming, and that is
saying a good deal.
Long before we reach Naples the awnings are put up and we rejoice in all
the warmth of an English summer; and never did the far-famed bay look
more beautiful, and the towns and castles and convents that line the
cliffs in every direction for miles look more bright. The usual babel of
sounds reigned in the bay as singers and divers and dealers in fruit and
other articles of Neapolitan production were clamorous to sell them. The
worst feature of the Neapolitan petty dealer is that he is too anxious to
kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. I know of many English who
stay in Rome merely because the people deal fairer with the stranger
within its gates. It is quite otherwise in Naples. The native pays
fourpence for his two pounds of bread; the Englishman always has to pay
fivepence. It is in vain you go to another baker. For a week he will
charge you fourpence, and then he raises his price. One peculiarity of
the Naples tradesman is that men of the same trade always stick together;
and he does not spread out his business like the English shopkeeper of
to-day. For instance, if he is a baker he does not deal in pastry, and
the pastrycook does not interfere with him. But away from the trading
classes the poverty of the people is really awful. You see men very
lightly dressed sleeping on the broad pavement at all hours; and yet they
adore their King, and are now building him a grand new monument just in
front of the Royal Palace. Naples still needs better drainage; and the
substitution of current money in gold or silver for its copper coinage
would be a great improvement. Personally, this time I had no reason to
find fault with the people. I found an honest boatman who rowed me to
the ship for half a franc.
The one redeeming point in Naples is the untiring efforts of the
Protestant ministers of all denominations—Church, Baptist, Presbyterian,
and Wesleyan, the latter especially active and doing a good work in the
way of schools. I called in at the Sailors’ Rest, an awful climb to get
to, but a real rest when you get there. The present missionary is Mr.
Burrowes, and his wife, the latter a genuine Scotchwoman of the better
sort. They deal in the institution and on board ships with other
peoples, with other religions and political opinions, and the result is
very satisfactory. The number of destitute persons who have been
relieved is as large as ever. Seamen are relieved and weaned from drink.
Almost every evening there is something going on bright and cheerful at
the Rest. The Sunday evening services have been found especially useful.
After the evening service of a Sunday a large number of men stop to sing
their favourite hymns, and the number of interesting temperance and
religious works circulated is very large. The English colporteur, Mr.
Copley, has given away 1,000 copies of the New Testament during the year,
and he is aided by a band of foreign colporteurs quite as active as
himself. It is work that ought to be more liberally supported by
Christians at home. The good it does is great; its needs are pressing.
I hope I may not appeal for the Sailors’ Home of Rest at Naples in vain.
During the year 1895, 176 persons stayed in the Home, including those
sent there by the British and foreign consuls, passing travellers from
ships. Many stayed only one night, such as seamen from warships. About
140 persons got free teas, not including the relief given to destitute
people. It is a pity that such a real good work should languish for want
of popular support amongst the wealthy English residents at Naples and at
home.