Cava the whip-cracking was resumed with renewed vigor, bringing the
citizens to their doors and windows. Some of them, indeed, followed the
carriage, crying out, "Prima donna! Prima donna!"
"What can they mean?" asked Mrs. Coxe, looking as though she expected
to be attacked by a furious mob. Zelphine reminded her that as we drove
by the theatre in the morning we had noticed a poster announcing that
a grand opera was to be given in Cava that evening. In our gay morning
spirits we had even thought that it might be pleasant to assist at the
function. Now the most that we dared to hope was that we might reach
the hotel in safety. Troops of children ran after us, repeating the
shout of "Prima donna! Prima donna!"
"We are honored by being mistaken for a part of the opera troupe," said
Zelphine, laughing, "and Angela is evidently the leading lady, as they
are all looking at her."
Angela, sitting erect on the back seat, her costume as crisp and
immaculate as if she were on her way to a horse-show, her jaunty hat at
the most stylish angle even if the crown was off color, looked indeed
like a leading lady, albeit a trifle pale and in need of the aid of the
rouge-pot of the greenroom.
When we reached our hotel we were all exhausted by the fatigue of the
day and the long strain of the afternoon; but Mrs. Coxe showed herself
the thorough-going traveller that she is by stopping not for rest or
refreshment until she had laid a detailed account of our experiences
before the proprietor.
He came to us later, after a visit to the driver's home, and reported
him as covered with confusion and filled with remorse. "_Ecco, ecco_,
he is the penitent one now!" exclaimed the _padrone_. "His parents have
scolded him soundly, and have threatened to beat him with a stick. He
is in tears, the sorrowful one! It is the first time, and it will never
happen again!"
"All of which would not mend our bones if they had been broken!" said
Mrs. Coxe, stoutly. "It is your duty to give your patrons good, safe
drivers."
The _padrone_ then called upon the saints to witness to the fact that
he had never known an accident to befall any of his patrons, repeating
that this was Antonio's first offence, and that he must have been
drinking some bad stuff at the tavern, as good wine would never so
set the brain on fire. The proprietor has a frank manner that gives
one the impression that he is speaking the truth; we are inclined
to believe him, although we have been warned not to allow ourselves
to be deceived by appearances in this land of ready eloquence. Our
valiant countrywoman having made her protest for the party, and this
disagreeable duty having been taken off our shoulders, we went into
dinner with high spirits and famous appetites.
Zelphine and I are so wide awake after our exciting drive that we
are devoting the evening to letter-writing, both of us being sadly in
arrears. The other guests of the Hotel S. have betaken themselves to
their slumbers, and we enjoy undisturbed possession of the only warm
room in the house. A wood fire blazes on the hearth, and as we bask
in its genial warmth we shiver at the thought of our rooms upstairs,
which, with their stone floors, are of about the temperature of
refrigerators.
SORRENTO, March 11th.
We left Cava on Wednesday, and made the tour from there to Amalfi in
the brilliant morning sunshine. This is another "Cornice Drive," and
far finer, I think, than that along the Riviera. The road winds above,
beneath, and beside rugged cliffs of great height, always with the
sea in full view. Often from airy summits we looked down upon fishing
villages and towns built around bays and inlets, as Cetara and Atrani,
while upon projecting headlands are many watch-towers, now used chiefly
as dwellings.
We needed not to be told that the making of macaroni is one of the
chief industries of Amalfi. As we drew near the town many yards of it
were to be seen hanging upon lines like a wash or spread upon the grass
to dry.
Amalfi is charmingly situated at the entrance to a deep ravine,
surrounded by mountains and rocks of the most picturesque forms.
We climbed up the sixty steps of the Cathedral of St. Andrew. Mrs.
Coxe and some of her party were carried up in chairs by two stout
Calabrians, but we preferred to walk, turning every now and then to
gaze upon the enchanting view spread before us. At the top of the slope
is a spacious garden terrace full of flowers, with roses climbing all
over its walls.
We stopped overnight at the old Capuchin monastery, which is now fitted
up as a hotel, and yesterday drove here, the greater part of the way
beside terraces of lemon-trees covered with ripening fruit--enough
lemons to make lemonade for the whole world, one would think. As we
drew near Sorrento orange-trees took the place of lemon-trees, groves
and groves of them, with their dark, shining leaves and brilliantly
colored fruit. Peasants brought oranges to the carriage for sale,
clusters of them, with fruit and blossoms growing together, which they
were glad to give us for a few soldi.
This morning we spent in the shops buying wood-carvings and silk, which
is made here, and is consequently astonishingly cheap. We found Mr.
Crawford's charming villa, and, to Zelphine's great delight, the house
of Tasso's sister on the Strada San Nicola. Tasso's birthplace and the
rock upon which the house stood have both been swallowed up by the sea;
but the house of his sister Cornelia, to which the great Tasso came in
1592 disguised as a shepherd, is still standing, and there is a statue
of Torquato Tasso in the chief square of Sorrento.
[Illustration: An Amazonian Tribute, Capri]
I am writing on a fine terrace overlooking the sea, where stone benches
and tables are conveniently arranged for our use. The sun is like
that of June, and roses such as belong to that month are blooming all
over the wall beside me. The concierge has just brought me a handful
of them, charming pink and white ones. We are equipped for a drive to
the Deserto, which Mrs. Coxe, who visited the place forty years ago,
tells us is most interesting. Within a few years the monastery has
been suppressed, and the building is now used as a home for destitute
children.
We should like to spend a week in Sorrento, which is so beautiful
itself and from which so many excursions are to be made; but Capri
beckons to us from across the bay and our time is limited, as Zelphine
has promised to meet some cousins in Naples.
CAPRI, March 13th.
Our reception on the island of the Blue Grotto was sufficiently novel
to please the most blasé traveller. As our boat drew near the rocky
shore dozens of women, most of them young and handsome, hurried down to
the wharf and seized our luggage, which they bore on their heads easily
and lightly up the steep path to the hotel. It seemed strange enough
to have women carry our dress-suit-cases and bags, but on our way to
the hotel we saw a much more unusual sight--three women carrying two
trunks and a valise, while a man, evidently the owner of the trunks,
was walking quite at his ease beside them. He was, we were told later,
a Caprian peasant on his way to America, and this delicate attention
was a final act of devotion on the part of his Amazonian countrywomen.
Capri has not been as kind to us as other towns of Southern Italy. The
mountains have had their heads buried in clouds all the morning, and
when the donkeys arrived which we had ordered for a ride up to the
Villa of Tiberius, a fine rain was falling, which prevented us from
making the excursion. We sent the donkeys and their women drivers home,
much to the disappointment of the latter.
"Women seem to do everything here!" said Angela. "Where are the men?"
"Gone to America," replied Mrs. Coxe, quickly. "The women ship them
off, bag and baggage, and then have everything their own way."
Fortune favored us later in the day, as the clouds rolled off the
mountains before noon, and the _padrone_ informed us that the wind
was in the right quarter for a visit to the Blue Grotto. We made our
expedition satisfactorily, although the sea was high and we literally
rode the waves in our small boats. The grotto is quite as blue as any
picture of it that I have ever seen, and with an exquisite, luminous
transparency that no brush or pencil can portray. When we were in
the midst of the silvery blueness, watching with some apprehension a
small boy who dives into the water to show off its wonderful color,
our boatman suddenly became loquacious, and told us thrilling tales
of unfortunate visitors to the grotto who had been walled in by the
sea and were obliged to spend days and even weeks in this drear abode,
living upon supplies which daring sailors, who contrived to get their
boats near to the mouth of the grotto, handed in to them. The smallness
of the opening of the grotto gave a semblance of reality to these
Münchausen tales. Mrs. Coxe, who was in the boat with me, became very
much alarmed and insisted upon leaving at once, calling to the other
members of the party to follow. We were splashed a little by the spray
as we emerged from the grotto, and those in the other boats were quite
wet; but as we rowed away the mouth of the fairy cave was almost hidden
by the waves. It seemed indeed as if there might be a grain of truth
in the boatman's tales, which the _padrone_ corroborated, adding, "But
it does not often happen that travellers are shut up for any time in
the Grotta Azzurra; we are very careful." "Not very often indeed! As
if once would not be enough!" exclaimed Mrs. Coxe, who had interrogated
the _padrone_ after her straightforward fashion of getting at the truth
of the matter.
HOTEL B., NAPLES, March 15th.
We are glad to be in Naples again, and in this homelike hotel. Zelphine
has met her cousins, and has been making some excursions with them,
taking the famous drive to the monastery of Camaldoli and to the
Solfatara, a half-extinct volcano which, she says, gives one an even
more impressive idea of the Inferno than the Doré illustrations of
Dante. Angela corroborated Zelphine's report, saying that it was quite
the most unpleasant place she had ever seen, especially as they dropped
a poor dog into the crater to try the effects of the sulphur upon his
constitution. They pulled him out before he was quite dead; but who
except these cruel Neapolitans would so persecute a helpless animal?
I, with my old habit of clinging to the skirts of the things I already
know, declined to take that excursion, for the greater pleasure of
spending a morning in the National Museum among the Pompeian treasures
and another whole day among the ruins of the buried city. It is really
much more interesting to examine the relics from Pompeii after one
has been there, as one naturally fits the frescoes, furniture, and
ornaments into just such rooms as one has seen. Some of the furniture
was strangely modern; I noticed a red and gilt bedstead that looked
as if it might have belonged to the First French Empire, rather than
to the first century A.D. Among the kitchen furnishings were just such
colanders, saucepans, and skillets as we use to-day--is there anything
really new under this shining sun? The surgical and dental instruments
exhibited in one of the cases caused me a genuine thrill of sympathy
for those unhappy Pompeians; to have been smothered with hot ashes
might really have been more endurable than to have lived at the mercy
of those primitive dentists and surgeons!
We leave Naples to-morrow with regret, as we have grown very fond of
this beautiful city. I wrote a week since to Ludovico Baldini, and
also to the proprietor of a hotel that he recommended to me; but I have
heard from neither. Ludovico may be in Florence on some army business,
but it is very stupid of the proprietor of the Hotel L. not to answer
my letter. We have telegraphed for rooms in a pension on the Via
Sistina, which Mrs. Coxe tells us is delightful, and we are thankful
to know that they will accommodate us, as Rome is full to overflowing
now, all the world going up thither for Easter. When I told my maid
that we were going to Rome to-morrow, she clasped her hands in ecstasy,
exclaiming, "Bella Roma! Bella Roma!" These Italians have a natural
instinct for beauty and a genuine pride in the wonders of their own
country, both of which help them to endure the poverty and hardness
of their lives, just as some people of your acquaintance and mine are
supported through many trials by the uplifting sense of having been
born in the purple.
V
BELLA ROMA
VIA SISTINA, ROME, March 16th.
We felt as if we had accomplished a day's work before we left Naples,
this morning, the getting away from these places is so laborious. After
our trunks were strapped and ready for the _facchini_ and porters,
the feeing of the servants had to be attended to. This was Angela's
especial task. She had managed the financial part of our six days'
trip so admirably that Zelphine and I have honored her by electing her
bursar for the party. She does not seem fully to appreciate the honor
we have conferred upon her, but with her usual amiability she is quite
willing to do the work.
When the servants all lined up in the dining-room, they made a
formidable array. I did not wonder that Angela looked as if she would
rather be somewhere else. She was getting through the ordeal very
creditably, however, when the _padrone_ appeared upon the scene;
very indelicate of him, was it not, to come in just then? This so
embarrassed Angela that she was very near giving him the generous tip
that she had dedicated to the head waiter. Would he have taken it,
think you? Zelphine says that he certainly would, as no hotel-keeper
in Italy can withstand the glint of silver. Be this as it may, we are
glad that Angela did not persist in her indiscriminate generosity,
as our purses are already seriously depleted by the demands made upon
them by chambermaids, _facchini_, head porter, sub-porter, concierge,
head waiter and his troop of underlings, each one with an empty hand
and an expectant eye. There is, we have learned, a long step between
the _facchini_ and the porter, and still another social gradation
between the porter and the concierge. The latter is quite an important
personage, in a fine uniform, who usually speaks excellent English,
French, and often several other languages.
At the station we had to undergo the weighing of our luggage, a
weariness to the flesh at all times, but especially trying to-day, as
all the world seemed to be _en route_ for Rome. We were detained so
long that we barely had time to catch our train. I sometimes wonder
if any one ever actually lost one of these slow-moving trains. We
travelled second class to-day, "for local color," as Zelphine says.
In point of comfort there seems to us little difference between
first and second class; the former have stuffy plush coverings on the
seats, instead of leather and reps, and somewhat more select company.
Our companions were two well-to-do young matrons, an old peasant
woman, and three children. The two younger women were inclined to
be sociable as far as our common vocabularies permitted, and plied
us with questions, which we answered with more or less accuracy
according to our ability--it is sometimes difficult to be entirely
truthful in a language one does not understand; but Zelphine did most
of the talking, having developed considerable facility in speaking
French with a fine Italian accent. Confusing as this mongrel dialect
might be to an educated Italian, it often stands us in good stead
with shopkeepers, maids, cabbies, and _facchini_, and to-day seemed
tolerably intelligible to our _compagnons de voyage_. Indeed, we became
so intimate that one of the women asked Zelphine for her vinaigrette
for the "bambino" to smell, the bambino having proved herself to be a
poor traveller.
Zelphine invariably carries a black satin bag, which we have dubbed
"Mrs. Lecks," because, like Frank Stockton's queen of emergencies, it
always provides what we need at any given moment, whether it happens
to be a shoe-button or a guide-book. The bambino was fascinated by
the smelling-bottle, and stretched out her hand for it as soon as
Zelphine took it from the depths of Mrs. Lecks and applied it to her
own patrician nostrils. As this is a country where bambinos seem to be
denied nothing, the mother's hand was also outstretched, and there was
nothing for Zelphine to do but to hand over her dainty vinaigrette to
that untidy-looking baby. Now was not that a trial of good nature?
Angela was much interested in a half-starved, ill-clad boy of ten or
twelve, who was, the old peasant informed us, an _orfano_ adopted by
her. We wondered how these people came to be travelling second class,
as everything about them indicated extreme poverty. The orphan's eyes
gleamed when Angela spread out her luncheon, and she made haste to
share her rolls and figs with him, while we offered our refreshments
to the other occupants of the carriage, having understood that
this is Italian etiquette. They, with many compliments, declined
the bounty--which may also be in accordance with good breeding in
Italy--all except the orphan, who fell upon Angela's stores with the
appetite of youth sharpened by a long fast from dainties. Upon this
the old woman, not to be outdone, drew forth from a stuff bag a loaf
of brown bread wrapped in a red kerchief such as she wore on her head,
and proceeded to cut off a goodly slice. Angela begged her for a small
piece, _piccolo_ being one of the words that she knows, and I came to
the rescue by handing her a bottle of wine and begging her to give the
old dame a generous glass of it. This libation proved so acceptable
that I really do not think that the woman knew whether or not Angela
had eaten that untempting bit of bread. She finally hid it under her
napkin, saying, "A bit of local color, Zelphine, that I will share with
you later."
We found little to interest us in this journey of more than five hours
over a level, sparsely wooded country, whose monotony was broken now
and again by an abrupt rise in the ground. These hills that have been
thrown up from the general flatness of the land by some internal
disturbance are generally crowned by a church and monastery, and
many of them by towns of some size. As they rise from the plain, gray
buildings upon gray rocks, standing out against the blue of the sky,
they perfectly fulfil one's idea of a fortress town of the middle ages.
The guide-books are all written for those who reach Rome from the
north, but however the Eternal City may appear from other approaches,
we felt that we were fortunate in our first view of her spires and
domes across the green and blossoming Campagna. Through a mist or
delicate veil of peach and almond blossoms we saw her seated upon
her seven hills, glorious, dominant, the mother of us all, drawing us
to her by the power of her great past and the charm of her beautiful
present. You probably remember that when Mrs. Browning visited Rome
as early as 1854, she found it to be disappointingly modern, "a
palimpsest Rome--a watering-place written over the antique." Zelphine
and I had heard somewhat the same criticism from so many intelligent
and conscientious travellers that we were prepared for disappointment.
I can truthfully say that despite the overlying modern characters the
ancient writing on the walls reveals itself so plainly that, even with
all this weight of authority against us, we are not disappointed. Mrs.
Browning's impressions of Rome were clouded, as she herself confesses,
by the sad death of Mr. Story's little boy, Penini's playmate, which
occurred soon after her arrival, and by her consequent anxiety about
her own child. Then, again, vast tracts of ancient Rome have been
unearthed since Mrs. Browning looked upon the Forum, which was then
level with the street, and overgrown with vines and gay with flowers.
Of course, railroad stations cannot fail to be modern, customs
officials are unpleasantly up-to-date in their ways, and it seems
strangely incongruous to find electric trams whirling around St.
Peter's, the Coliseum, and the Forum; but having once accepted these
innovations, we were pleased to find antiquity raising its hoary head
at every turn. Near the bustling railroad station are the great ruins
of the Baths of Diocletian, and driving from thence to the Via Sistina
we passed through a most interesting street named after the four
fountains that adorn it. The Via Sistina, where we are lodged, joins
the Via Gregoriana a few steps from our pension, and at the angle of
meeting is a quaint, picturesque house where the Zuccari, a family
of artists, once lived. A little further on is the ancient Church
of Trinità de' Monti, where one may hear the nuns sing their vesper
hymns on Sunday afternoons, and beyond the church the wide pergola of
ilex-trees, twisted and bent and clipped in a fashion known only to
Italian gardeners. This broad pergola shades the sunny street leading
to the Pincio, or "Hill of Gardens," as the ancients called it. Here we
found our way soon after our arrival, and sitting upon the stone wall
above the Piazza del Popolo we basked in the warm sunshine and read our
home letters, with Rome spread before us. St. Peter's, with the long
line of the Vatican buildings, a city in themselves, lies to the right,
and quite near on the Tiber is the Castle of St. Angelo, Hadrian's
tomb, with an angel on the summit sheathing his bloody sword, while
on the western horizon, as far as the eye can reach, is the Janiculum
Hill. We could faintly trace upon its crest the outline of the
equestrian statue of Garibaldi, which dominates all Rome, as indeed it
should. We strolled back through the blooming shrubbery and the pergola
to the Square of Trinità de' Monti, and down those Spanish Steps of
which we have read so much--great, wide steps, so many of them that we
have not the courage to count them, and of marble that is neither white
nor gray but of a warm yellow tone with a dash of pink in it, reminding
us of the soft shades of the gates of the Alhambra. To the left as one
goes down the steps is a square yellow house, where John Keats passed
the last suffering weeks of his life. This house was selected for Keats
by Dr. Clark because it was near his own. A square tablet marks the
building as the one from which this rare spirit "outsoared the shadow
of our night."
At the foot of the Spanish Steps are the vendors of flowers. Men and
women are always to be found here selling the most exquisite roses,
lilies, daffodils, frisias, anemones, giant mignonette of the most
fragrant kind, and long sprays of peach and almond blossoms. Fancy, if
you can, the steps, above them the Piazza of Santa Trinità de' Monti,
with its marble balustrades, and the Piazza di Spagna below, with its
sparkling fountain, all bathed in the most brilliant sunshine, and you
will believe that we are indeed well placed, living near so much that
is beautiful.
March 18th.
Although there were a thousand things to be seen in Rome, we turned our
backs upon them all and went to Tivoli yesterday, because a pleasant
party was going from here and the day was fine. We drove through
the newly built Veneto quarter, passing Queen Margherita's palace,
with its handsome broad façade, which is directly on the street.
The great gardens are behind, surrounded by high walls overtopped by
tall camellia-trees full of their red and white blossoms. We passed
through the Porta San Lorenzo, beyond which is the station for Tivoli.
The road passes near the Church of San Lorenzo, which is said to be
a perfect example of the basilica, as it rises in "its gray reverend
dignity" against the background of the Campagna and the blue mountains
of Tivoli. Inside of this church are the tombs of Pius IX. and several
other popes, and frescoes and mosaics, ancient and modern, of great
richness.