_NAPLES, POMPEII, SORRENTO._
IT proved a very wet morning in Rome on the day we had settled to go
to Naples (for it can rain in Rome remarkably well); but we had taken
our rooms at a hotel in Naples, and were packed and ready to go, and
accordingly left, arriving at the station at half–past eight for the
train leaving at 9.20, and were not a bit too soon. The traveller has
to hang on for his turn to get his luggage weighed and to purchase his
railway tickets; and after these operations were accomplished, and
admission was at last accorded to the _salle–d’attente_ (for none,
according to the evil custom which keeps ladies hanging about on their
feet, can enter previously), we had but a few minutes to wait in that
apartment until the doors were opened and announcement made that
passengers might now hurry to the train.
* * * * *
For a considerable part of the way the rain fell and heavy clouds hung
upon the mountains, so that little could be seen of the scenery in
the early part of the journey, which is the most interesting, as the
line commands in many parts historical ground. We passed the Alban and
Volscian Mountains; the town of Capua, where are interesting Roman
remains; Caserta, where there is an immense royal palace; and many
curious old towns resting upon the hills which the railway skirted. It
would have been well worth while to have stayed at Capua and Caserta
to have seen them, but it is difficult to arrange for doing so without
spending a night by the way, or continuing the journey by a night
train, because trains do not suit. This being the 26th of March,
vegetation was in a very backward state, the trees just beginning
to show symptoms of being about to throw out their buds, so that
everything looked somewhat dreary. At last we arrived in Naples, after
a seven hours’ ride, just in time to settle down before dinner.
* * * * *
The following morning we took a cab to drive through and see the town,
and, looking to select a good one, I was beset by a host of cabmen,
all wanting to be engaged, even after I had engaged one, and told them
so positively. There is very little choice among them. The vehicles
are all equally shabby, and the drivers all equally dirty. Their fares
are very low, which may account for the disreputable appearance of the
men and cabs, which are as numerous as bees in a hive. The coachmen
will take any amount of trouble to get a hire. If, upon going to a
place, say the Museum, they be dismissed, they will hang about for
an hour, hoping to get the return fare. But driving is really the
only way by which one can see some parts of Naples. The town swarms
with people to an extent which, unless seen, can hardly be either
realized or credited. In England, every rod may maintain its man, but
in Naples, and even all about the Bay of Naples, it would seem as if
not merely every square yard, but almost every square foot maintained
its man, woman, or child. But how they all live, or even where they
all sleep, is a mystery. The main street, the Toledo, a mile long, is
so crowded, that one wonders how the carriages can possibly penetrate;
and the people are such notorious thieves and such adroit pickpockets,
that it is dangerous to attempt to walk on foot. Even in driving,
the passenger must be very careful, as a thief will think nothing of
abstracting loose articles, even in his very sight. At the railway
station the traveller should keep a sharp look–out that the very porter
who is taking his portmanteau to a carriage does not quietly run off
with it. Knowing these habits, we left the most of our luggage at Rome,
and only took with us what was indispensable, as every additional
package is in such a case an additional anxiety.
* * * * *
The Bay of Naples is naturally the first point of attraction. One hears
so much of its transcendent beauty that expectation is highly raised. I
thought the accounts of it exaggerated; but then it was not summer, and
therefore we could not see it in perfection; while we had just recently
come from Mentone, where we had been living for months in sight of
lovely bays. The blue waters of the Mediterranean in brilliant sunshine
are always charming, and here they are enclosed in a very large bay—for
it is about twenty miles each way—with one long arm stretching away and
terminated by the island of Ischia, and the other long arm stretching
away and terminated by the island of Capri; the outlines of all being
picturesque, and all sides being dotted with villages. In the centre
of the landward side Vesuvius boldly rises (the eruptions from time
to time causing variations in its height, which, however, averages
about 4000 feet), with a stream of smoke, betokening its character,
constantly ascending from the summit as if from some colossal chimney;
while below, a line of houses stretches continuously from Naples,
probably fifteen miles, or perhaps even more, indicating how populous
is this part of Italy. In the distance, behind Naples and Vesuvius, a
range of the Apennines lies.
* * * * *
Naples itself, the largest and most populous city in Italy, is, from
a little distance, picturesque, resting, somewhat like Genoa, on a
half–circle of sloping heights, with a broad margin to the shore, the
houses towards which are lofty, many being five and even six storeys
high. In the central and denser parts of the town they are even higher,
while in these portions the streets are mere lanes, 15 to 20 feet
wide, and irregular; and if they be not absolutely unsafe to visit,
must form a very labyrinth of perplexity to the stranger. In the newer
parts of the city the streets are spacious and elegant. Every here and
there, a jutting prominence or a bold height crowned with some peculiar
structure gives character to the scene. The Chiaja is a long strip of
land turned into a public garden or park lying in or towards the north
end of the town, and fronting the sea. A broad street, the Riviera di
Chiaja, flanks it, lined by the trees of the park on the one side, and
by hotels and other buildings on the other, and terminated at the north
end by Posilipo, a hill perforated by the famous grotto of that name,
or tunnel, I presume half natural and half excavated, which affords
an access to the other side. Up from the Chiaja, on a height, the
Castle of St. Elmo stands, the interior of which our limited time did
not afford us opportunity of seeing. Leaving the Chiaja by a handsome
drive which has been formed by the shore, we pass the Castel del Ovo,
which stands out into the sea, cresting a large rock or small island
connected with the land by a mole or breakwater. It is ugly and old,
but can scarcely, because it is so, be called picturesque, though at
least it is striking or prominent; and I suppose it does or can, with
other fortifications, offer some protection to the port; but it was,
and perhaps still is, used as a prison, and, in spite of sunshine, is
gloomy enough for that. From this point southward, commencing with the
broad Strada San Lucia, the harbour lies, in which there is a moderate
amount of shipping, but small as compared with that of Genoa. Life
abounds about this harbour and the adjoining quays, along which broad
streets run, filled with sellers of fish and other commodities, and
with crowds of pedestrians and carriages. The road turns up from S.
Lucia into the large open space called the Piazza del Plebiscito—one
side occupied by a handsome semicircular colonnade, and the other by
the royal palace, where the king was at the time of our visit residing,
two equestrian statues in the centre of the piazza contributing to
its adornment. The Toledo or High Street of Naples issues out of it.
Proceeding farther along the harbour, and at its extreme south, we come
to the Castel del Carmine, also forming a feature in the landscape, and
from it a road leads up to the railway station, which is just outside
the inhabited part of Naples. From the harbour, or any point which
commands a view, the town looks bright and picturesque, and in rather
striking contrast with its dirty population. Ascent of the lighthouse
for the sake of the view is recommended.
* * * * *
The only church in Naples which we thought at all comparable to those
in Rome was the cathedral, which is a large and handsome building. One
of its side chapels is that of the famous St. Januarius, where the
blood and other relics of the martyr are preserved.
The hotels are situated principally on the line of buildings facing the
sea from the Chiaja southward to S. Lucia. But some new hotels have
been opened on the high ground near the Castle of St. Elmo, thought to
be a more healthy locality. This may or may not be, but one requires
to be careful as to where he lives in Naples. In fact, the natural air
of Naples must be extremely salubrious, to counteract, as it seems
to a large extent to do, the evil influences arising from so large a
population living upon so comparatively small a portion of the tideless
Mediterranean. Were it otherwise, fever would be constantly raging, and
Naples depopulated.
* * * * *
We spent the forenoon of the following day in the Museum. This is an
immense collection of antiquities, principally from Pompeii, and is
well worthy of several visits, without which, in fact, it cannot be
properly studied. Illustrated catalogues can be procured, which are
no doubt useful, but are expensive. Our time would only allow of a
general examination. The Museum contains thousands of articles of great
interest, and very many which show to what a state of perfection art
had arrived at the time Pompeii was destroyed. The sculptures of all
descriptions and pictures are very numerous, and among many others
deserving of special note was the grand group called the Toro Farnese,
of masterly power. It is composed of five graceful and pleasing human
figures, besides the bull rampant and a dog, and other sculpture, and
if cut out of one block of marble, would seem to be a miracle of art.
Why it should have been removed from Rome to Naples I am not aware.
But the Museum at Naples is very spacious and extensive, and may have
afforded better accommodation than any place in Rome. Some of the
rooms are filled with articles of domestic use recovered from the
ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii; and, what is very curious, in one
room loaves of bread, grain of various sorts, dates, and other edibles
1800 years old are exhibited. Many of the curious frescoes found upon
the walls of Pompeii have been removed to the Museum and built bodily
into its walls. The colours of these frescoes are considerably faded,
but copying them seems to afford employment to a number of artists,
who, however, impart to their copies the supposed original brightness
of the pictures, and one seldom sees an original Pompeian fresco
possessing that vividness of colouring which representations of them
usually manifest. One room is fitted up as a reproduction of a Pompeian
bedroom, and gives a greater idea of luxurious comfort than one would
imagine possible from the appearance of the rooms, now in ruins, which
we afterwards saw in Pompeii itself.
* * * * *
The afternoon is the time for seeing the Chiaja, for then all the
private carriages of Naples may be witnessed driving about; and on one
occasion we had the good fortune to pass the Princess Margherita, now
the Queen of Italy. Girls are on the watch to sell large and beautiful
bouquets of flowers at marvellously cheap prices. An aquarium has been
built near the centre of the Chiaja gardens, which we visited the
morning of the day following, before going to Castellamare. It is not
nearly so large as that at Brighton, but it is interesting enough.
It contained, _inter alia_, a good many octopi, which repulsive fish
is said to be sold and eaten in Naples, and, in all probability,
occasionally appears under some disguised name at the hotel dinners.
* * * * *
Naples is a great place for the sale of photographs and articles of
bijouterie in lava, and of coral and tortoiseshell. At Mr. Sommer’s
Fine Art Establishment near the Chiaja, a large collection of beautiful
photographs of almost all places in Italy is to be found. These are
very moderate in price—the cheapest in Italy—as well as good, and in
number exceed five thousand. I laid in a good stock, and only wish I
had taken more. Any of them can be at once procured by reference to the
number they bear. They are best kept flat, but if rolling be preferred,
they should always be rolled up with the photograph side outwards.
Why it is that photographs of a size which cost a shilling at Naples
should be charged five shillings or six shillings, or even more, at
home, I don’t know. But the consequence is that people buy the Italian
photographs by the hundred, whereas at home, if they buy at all, it is
by the unit. Our dealers plainly miss the market by their high prices.
Mr. Sommer might do well to extend his operations to the towns of
France and to Switzerland, where photographs are expensive.
Among other shops we also visited Squadrilli’s, which is recommended in
Bædeker. Here we found a well–stocked store of articles in lava and
coral, but owing, I suppose, to the thieving which exists in Naples,
and from which, no doubt, they have sometimes suffered, we were rather
unpleasantly watched by three persons, a circumstance of which others
who had been there also complained. The articles, however, seemed to
be good, while the prices are fixed, though a discount of five per
cent, was allowed for cash. The gold used in Naples for bijouterie
is considered to be inferior to the standard quality of England,
and even of Rome, which professes to be, like England, of eighteen
carats. Squadrilli allowed that their gold was only fourteen carats,
and perhaps his estimate might not apply to all his articles. There
are many imitations, however, even of this inferior gold, and some
articles, possibly ‘job lots,’ are sold in Naples at astonishingly low
prices. The articles supposed to be of lava are, I believe, in reality
cut out of the limestone rocks of Somma, one of the peaks of Vesuvius.
* * * * *
We were anxious to make our stay in Naples as short as possible, as so
much is heard of its insalubrity. After the general survey we had thus
made of it, we took train to Castellamare, the railway passing Mount
Vesuvius on the one side and the coast on the other, so that we were
in view of the bay nearly all the way. Castellamare is a convenient
halting–place for seeing Pompeii, which, however, may be visited from
Naples itself, either by hiring a carriage from Naples,—making a
pretty long drive, and, I believe, of little interest, the road being
a continuous street of houses,—or by taking the train as far as Torre
dell’ Annunciata, and a carriage thence to Pompeii, which is not two
miles off. Castellamare is one of those populous unclean towns which
lie upon the bay. Friends had said it was a remarkably nice place to
stop at, and the Hotel Quisisana, on the height above the town, is
a fairly comfortable one, commanding a splendid view of the bay, of
Vesuvius, and of Naples beyond. Perhaps we did not remain long enough
to acquire a knowledge of its beauties, but we were not taken with the
dirty town; while the garden of the hotel, which might have been laid
out to great advantage, and thus have helped to reconcile us to the
place, was no better than such Italian gardens usually are. I suppose
that Nature has been so lavish of her bounties when the sun shines,
that the Italians think it unnecessary to supplement her labours. Yet
I have sometimes thought that the time of waiters, who between meals
in foreign places have often little to do, might, not unprofitably
to the hotels, and with some advantage in health to themselves, be
occupied in trimming the hotel gardens. Our bedrooms looked towards
the bay, and therefore were, I presume, considered more choice; but
being a northern or north–western exposure, we found them extremely
cold at night. It was, however, intensely interesting to look across to
Vesuvius, which I had seen emitting a red light on our second evening
at Naples, without being aware, unfortunately, till afterwards that
this light was unusual, and that had I watched it for half an hour
longer I should have seen it become more intensely bright. People were
then in full expectation of an eruption, and even the very day had been
predicted, although the premonitory symptoms of streams drying up had
not appeared; but expectation was not gratified.
* * * * *
We arranged the following morning to drive to Pompeii, which is about
three miles distant.
Pompeii on being approached seems like a huge mound, somewhat akin
in the distance to a fortified place. The excavated town itself is
not visible from the road. The visitor is deposited at the door of
what appears to be a sort of tavern or place of refreshment, through
which, threading one’s way among tables, entrance is had to the
excavations. We found the tavern filled with people taking an early
dinner, or rather breakfast, rendering the access by no means an
agreeable one. Here leaving with the _cameriere_ our wraps,—not without
some misgivings, fortunately not realized, that we should never see
them again,—we passed up a stair, and through a magazine for sale of
lava ornaments, etc., the prices asked for which, as usual in show
places, were exorbitantly and forbiddingly high. Outside the magazine
we paid two francs each for admission and for the assistance of a
guide (children being charged only a half–franc each), and procured
a little French–speaking guide in smart uniform and side arms, whom
we found very obliging and attentive. These guides are necessary,
and must be taken, though sometimes respectable people who have been
there before are allowed to go without them; perhaps not always with
advantage to the ruins, as it is a very common trick with people who
should know better, and who might not be expected to do such a thing,
to pocket stones which can be of no use whatever to themselves, but
the abstraction of which is detrimental to the place whence they are
taken. On one occasion in Italy, a lady of a party in which I was—who
acknowledged to being in the habit of bringing away a stone from every
place to which she had been—quietly pocketed a piece of marble lying
on the ground, when the custodier, who was keeping a sharp look–out,
went up to her and desired her to replace it. It was a numbered piece,
and he would, he said, be responsible for it to the authorities. The
practice of chipping stones from a building of note, or taking up loose
pieces, cannot be too severely reprehended, and ought sometimes to be
punished. The guides at Pompeii are not allowed to receive any gratuity
from the visitors, but they make a little by an accorded permission to
sell photographs of the ruins.
Passing through an old gateway, we were ushered into a museum, the
contents of which are not numerous, as the bulk of the articles found
is sent to the large Museum of Naples. It contains, however, some
things of great interest, particularly the casts of men and women
found in Pompeii who had perished in the great overthrow, and whose
bodies had been so curiously enveloped with the scoriæ as to form a
close–fitting, indurated mould, and a cast from it, when the dust
is blown out, reproduces every line of the body or of the clothing
of the suffocated person. Some of the casts so taken give a clear
representation of the form of the features; and I noticed that the
dress of the men seemed to be very similar to what is still worn by
those in the vicinity, particularly in the tight–fitting, wrought
woollen jacket covering the body. If I was right in this supposition,
it is another instance of the manner in which the people cling to
ancient habits and modes of dress.
We were then taken to the excavations which are being systematically
carried on, and our examination commenced with the forum, a large
open space, containing the remains of the pillars by which it was
surrounded. From these remains and the remains of other public
buildings, it is evident that Pompeii was a very elegantly adorned
city. It had temples, no less than nine being marked upon the plan,
but they are all in ruins; only fragments exist, the pillars and
superincumbent building having been almost everywhere thrown down.
In some of them, such as the temple of Venus and temple of Isis, a
few columns, with their entablature, stand, to indicate the beauty
of their construction. Besides temples there have been excavated two
theatres and a large amphitheatre, in excellent preservation, capable
of accommodating 20,000 persons, and nearly, in length and breadth, as
large as that at Nismes; also, as usual in Roman towns, baths, besides
other public buildings. But probably the greatest interest attaches to
the remains of the private dwellings. It is rarely that private houses
exhibit, after a lapse of nearly 2000 years, even in ruins, what they
were when in occupation. Here, however, the lava or scoriæ or dust of
Vesuvius by hermetical seal closed up these houses, in order that they
might be seen by the people of a long–distant age. Many of the houses
in Pompeii belonged to men of wealth, and they are all laid out, in the
better class at least, upon much the same plan, entering upon a square
court, open in the centre to the outer air, in the middle of which a
marble fountain played. The rooms were built around or beyond, the
principal or public rooms being to the back—a mode of design probably
suitable to the climate, at least in summer, and admitting, no doubt,
of great elegance of arrangement and design, and of which such houses
as those of Marcus Holconius, of the Faun, of Sallust, of the poet,
of Meleager, and of Cornelius Rufus afford examples,—all containing
beautiful fluted pillars and other decorations, sometimes in marble,
still standing, while the walls were tastefully decorated with that
peculiar description of painting well known as Pompeian. Some of the
houses appear to be only one storey high, but stairs indicate a second
storey, and it is even supposed that in some cases there may have been
a third. But they had no appearance to the street, while the streets
themselves are narrow, so much so that it is impossible to see how in
many of them even the smallest carriages could pass each other without
encroaching on the equally narrow footway or _trottoir_ (discovery of
the remains of it here revealing its use in ancient times); but the
large stones or slabs forming the street pavement are in some places
marked with a deep rut, indicating a good deal of carriage traffic.
The shops on the streets are small, and are sometimes built into the
dwellings, so that shop floors then were probably as remunerative as
they seem to be now with ourselves, although persons now in similar
rank of life in Great Britain would little like to allow a portion
of their mansions to be so occupied. As, however, the streets were
so confined, there could have been no view from the house itself
upon the front facing the street; yet, no doubt, from some windows
in the upper apartments behind there might be fine glimpses of the
bay and of Vesuvius, as well as of the surrounding country. At all
events, we obtained excellent views from the ruins, especially from
the walls. Vesuvius appears close at hand, and one feels astonished
at the foolhardiness of people building towns and houses so close
under the fiery mountain after the tremendous warnings received in the
destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum. We were shown at one place in
the ‘House of Diomede’ a long vault or cellar, in which the remains
were found of seventeen unfortunate persons who had taken refuge there
during the awful time when they knew not where to flee, and supposed
that the walls of the house would cover them from calamity. We could
not look upon such places without thinking what an appalling time it
must have been, and what heartrending agonies must then have been
endured. Notwithstanding all the elegance of the public portions of the
houses, and perhaps even of the private chambers, it seemed as if the
actual comfort of the inhabitants could not be great, and especially in
the matter of bedroom accommodation, for I imagine the sleeping–rooms
were of the smallest dimensions—mere closets, not such as people of the
present day in good circumstances would approve.
* * * * *
It would, however, be impossible, in small compass, to give any
adequate idea of these houses or of their decorations. Books have
been written upon the subject, and an excellent recent account of
Pompeii, its history, buildings, and antiquities, containing nearly
300 illustrations, has been written by Dr. Thomas H. Dyer. Nothing,
indeed, but a visit to Pompeii itself can convey a sufficient idea of
the resuscitated city; but a study of Mr. Dyer’s book before going, as
well as after a visit, will help materially to an understanding of it.
Pompeii is a place of engrossing interest entirely unique, and in some
respects it offers, I think, more attractions to a visitor than any
other in Italy, and well merits more than one visit. The excavations
are still proceeding, and it will probably be many years before they
are completed, as there is still a large piece of ground, probably as
much again as has already been opened, on which to operate.
* * * * *
Having seen Pompeii, we did not care to stay longer at Castellamare,
and next day, taking a carriage with three horses, the bells jingling
cheerily all the way, drove to Sorrento. The drive occupied an hour
and a half, and is considered to be one of the finest to be had in
Italy. The road borders the bay, and passes through several large
Italian villages most picturesquely situated, and across a deep ravine,
evidently the result of an earthquake, by a beautiful bridge. Sorrento
is a long town, and the road through its suburbs is shut in by lofty
and most objectionable garden walls. As we drove down the road towards
it, from the height to the eastward the place looked very charming,
surrounded by hills on every side except the north, which is open to
the sea. Turning down a long narrow lane, we arrived at the Tramontano
Hotel (kept by an Irish landlady, an active and most obliging woman),
where everything is remarkably comfortable, and the accommodation is
ample. It is situated on classic ground, Tasso having resided in a
house which, or its site, is now part of the hotel. A garden, where,
no doubt, Tasso often meditated, encloses the hotel upon the south,
while the north windows and terraces command magnificent views of the
bay, of the islands, of Naples lying opposite, and of Vesuvius, whose
smoke, always ascending, is an excellent indicator of the direction of
the wind. The garden extends away to the eastward, where a dependence
or additional house is kept for the accommodation of the guests. A
large public room, with windows to the bay, was being added to the
main house, so that now both _salon_ and _salle–à–manger_ are large
rooms. Having had experience of the cold of northerly chambers at
Castellamare, we chose cheerful rooms on the south side overlooking
the hotel yard, with all its enlivening bustle, and the garden and
green hills behind.
* * * * *
Sorrento lies upon a platform or broad level space of land, the seaward
side being high perpendicular cliffs, so that one looks sheer down from
the hotel windows on the north to the water far below, which is reached
from the hotel by a winding tunnel cut into the rock. It is placed,
like Mentone, under the guard of a semicircle of hills, although these
are both nearer and much lower than those at Mentone; but as the town
faces the north, instead of the south as at Mentone, it is rather a
summer than a winter residence. We had it very cold there during the
night, but in the glowing mid–day sun it was charming to look out
upon the water and land, and see everything bathed in an atmosphere
of light, while vegetation was now beginning to advance, lending an
additional charm to the landscape. We were not, however, altogether
without rain. One night was particularly stormy and wet.
* * * * *
There are excursions from Sorrento upon the hills which can be
accomplished by aid of donkeys, and it is also possible to cross over
the hills to Amalfi, though this was not reckoned altogether safe
from bandits. Boats can be had for boating, but the main excursions
are by steamboat to Capri, and driving to Massa, a picturesque town a
few miles westward; the road to it by the coast being a continuation
of that from Castellamare, and affording lovely views at every turn.
The excursion to Capri is made by steamboat, and every fine morning
two rival steamers (a paddle and a screw boat) from Naples approached
Sorrento to take excursionists to Capri and its blue grotto. In
addition to the fare there and back of 5 francs, innumerable other
little charges for boats, etc. make the expense up to 8 francs each.
When the sea is stormy, the boats do not go, as it is impossible to
enter the grotto when there is the least swell upon the water. This is
annoying to unlucky persons who are left on the island, as it sometimes
happens in consequence that the boats may not leave Naples for weeks
together. I met on board the steamer two American friends who had come
from Naples, were to sleep a night at Capri and return the next day,
having taken their passage for the day following in a steamer for
Genoa. The next day, however, proved stormy, and the steamboats did
not make their appearance for several days afterwards, so that our
friends must have been kept prisoners on the island and lost their
passage besides. We had, however, a very beautiful day for the trip,
the steamboat taking about two hours to reach Capri from Sorrento, and
it was most enjoyable. The views from the deck are enchanting. When we
arrived off the grotto, the vessel was surrounded by a multitude of
little boats; and as three persons only are allowed to each, it took a
long time for all the visitors to get off. The sea where the steamer
stopped was of a most lovely blue colour, perhaps due to some great
local saltness of the ocean. On approaching the entrance to the grotto,
all were desired to lie down on the bottom of the boat, otherwise, by
catching the crest of a wave, we might have broken our heads against
the rocks of the entrance, which is very low,—although it might, one
would think, be enlarged,—while the boatmen carefully pushed the boat
inside. Once we were in, however, there was space enough for several
boats to paddle about. We found everything bathed in the blue light of
the sea reflected on the walls of the cavern. It is this which gives
the name to the grotto. The rocks themselves are just ordinary colour,
and do not, as might from the name be supposed, consist, like those of
the blue John Cavern of Derbyshire, of actual blue spar.
[Illustration: SORRENTO FROM THE WEST.]
When all had seen the grotto, the steamboats took us to the town of
Capri, which, with another on the hill, is picturesque. There are good
hotels near the landing–place. A long ascent leads to the high town,
near which the palace of Tiberius once stood. From the height I had
a view of the southern coast of Italy; but the day was hot, and the
atmosphere therefore hazy, so that we could not see far. We returned to
Sorrento in the afternoon.
* * * * *
Sorrento is a great place—in fact, the chief place—for the manufacture
of articles of inlaid wood. It is the industry of the town, and
everywhere we found workshops for its manufacture, having attached
to them shops for its sale, although, I presume, the larger part of
the manufacture is for export or transmission elsewhere. As may be
supposed, there is considerable diversity of skill among the workmen,
and many articles exhibit inferiority; but I soon found out in which
shops the best workmanship prevailed, and in particular considered
the articles manufactured by M. Grandville were both well finished
and wrought in good taste. Garguilo also, who has a more imposing
establishment, had some very fine specimens of work. Every visitor buys
more or less, principally, doubtless, to take home as gifts to friends,
and I did not escape the contagion. Some of the articles are extremely
beautiful; and one I secured, which seemed to be one of the finest
examples, was so delicately inlaid that at first sight it seemed as if
it were a painting on the wood. I saw, however, the process by which
the inlaying is effected, which satisfied me with the reality of the
inlaying. A picture is drawn on paper, and little pieces, corresponding
in colour to the pattern, are cut out of larger coloured pieces with
an extremely slender steel saw—almost a thread for fineness. These are
glued down upon the pattern so closely that the joinings are invisible,
and it is in the comparative skill with which this nice operation is
conducted I presume the difference of quality and effect is mainly
found. In purchasing these articles, however, one has not to lose
sight of the fact that the transaction is taking place in the South
of Italy, and sometimes a considerably higher price is asked than the
seller is prepared to take. I had the specimens purchased put in a
box, carefully packed, to send from Naples home by sea, and found on
entering Naples that _octroi_ duty upon it was exacted, and this not
according to value, but to weight. The wood shops are among the best in
Sorrento, but I was struck with the marvellous likeness there was, in
size at least, in the common small shops of Sorrento to what had been
shops in Pompeii.
* * * * *
We led a quiet life very pleasantly among friends and acquaintances at
the hotel in Sorrento for about a fortnight, glad of rest after so much
previous sight–seeing; but the hotel was always full, and the constant
jingling of horses’ bells, denoting the arrival or departure of
carriages, kept it lively, while, among other diversions, we witnessed
the Tarantala dancing entertainment, to which I have elsewhere alluded
(p. 72). We had at first thought of going to Cava, with a view to
taking trips thence to Amalfi and Pæstum; but preferring rest, left
that, like many other excursions, to another opportunity, which might
never come. We returned to Naples on 11th April, having a glorious day
for the return drive to Castellamare. The trees were only budding, so
that we did not see things in perfection. As we drove out of the hotel
yard, a man, neither clothed in plush and fine linen nor recently
washed, jumped up and sat on the luggage behind, an undesirable–looking
and unengaged lackey. The driver explained it was to guard the luggage,
which sometimes, I believe, is, by the nimble–fingered inhabitants of
the bay, quietly abstracted if not well roped. It was only, however, a
genteel method of begging for 30 centimes, with which at Castellamare
he was well satisfied. The beggars of Sorrento are certainly
industrious in their calling. I stayed a few minutes at one place to
make a little sketch, and was immediately surrounded by half–a–dozen
women, and at least as many children, all wanting copper. One regular
beggar, a man, old to appearance, who was constantly sauntering about,
stick in hand, amused me much. His address was, as you approached him,
arrestively and decisively, ‘Signor!’ You proceeded a yard farther, and
it was more decisively, or rather imperatively, ‘Signor!’ You passed
him, and it was ‘Signor! Signor!’ (weepingly) ‘povero vecc. he he per
amor di Dio,’ a phrase generally employed by the Italian beggars. It
is, however, but fair to add, that begging in Italy is not nearly so
bad as it once was, for the authorities are setting their face against
it. Still, in some places, it is a great annoyance that one cannot walk
along the streets of a small town like Sorrento without being assailed
by the same everlasting beggar, giving to whom only encourages to ask
again.
* * * * *
We were anxious upon our return to Naples to have ascended Vesuvius,
at least as far as the Observatory, but unfortunately a heavy cloud
hung over the mountain, and reluctantly we had to give it up. Instead,
we took a drive to Puteoli, or, as it is now called, Pozzuoli, about
two hours distant. Our way lay through the grotto of Posilipo, which
is lighted up with gas, and is about a third of a mile long, about 21
feet wide, and varies in height from 70 to 25 feet; thence along an
uninteresting road till again we reached the sea, when the islands
and Puteoli looked very picturesque. One could hardly imagine from
its appearance that it was formerly a great Roman port; but it has
been subjected to many changes, and bears evidence of the forces
below agitating the ground, by which some parts have been alternately
submerged and upheaved, and the recurrence of such events would be
sufficient of themselves to account for its desertion. Here we drove
over the southern termination of the Appian Way, paved with the large
old Roman stones; and our coachman pointed out the part of the old
Roman pier (now in fragments, like a row of giant stepping–stones
lifting their heads above water) at which he alleged the Apostle
Paul had landed. There are some ruined temples in Puteoli and its
neighbourhood, and the ruins of a large amphitheatre, which the guide
said had held 45,000, but, as is more credibly stated by others, 25,000
spectators, for it is not so large or so imposing as that at Nismes,
while the measurements are considerably less,—Nismes exceeding it in
length by 75 feet, and in breadth by 120 feet. Chambers underneath were
discovered in 1838, and are very interesting. They contained dens for
the confinement of the wild beasts, and rooms where the gladiators were
trained to fight. We had, previous to entering Puteoli, taken a side
road to Solfatara. This is a scarcely extinct crater, supposed to have
a direct communication underground with Vesuvius, twelve miles distant.
However, there has been no eruption since 1198, when it sent forth a
current of lava. A man who appeared as guide threw a heavy stone upon
the probably thin crust of sulphurous matter constituting the ground
over which we were treading; the reverberation from the fall indicated
that it was hollow below, and in all likelihood a slender protection
from a fiery furnace which it might not be safe to expose to the air
and light of day. And as Solfatara is quiescent when Vesuvius is
active, and active when Vesuvius is quiescent, which it then was, the
thought, as we were intruding upon the domains of these angry forces of
nature, that some sudden impulse might burst the earthy covering and
blow us all up into the air, like Paul Pry peering about the steamboat
when the boiler burst, was not comfortable. The guide took us to a hole
from which sulphurous fumes were issuing, and for a few coppers entered
it at some risk of suffocation, and by means of a long stick pulled
out some pieces of hot sulphur from the boiling natural caldron, which
we carried off as souvenirs of our visit to a place which some day may
become the scene of a terrible disaster.
Taking a different route on returning, we passed the supposed tomb
of Virgil; and crossing over the hill, came again in sight at some
distance of Naples, and the continuous stretch of houses along the
coast to the southward. Altogether it was a very interesting drive. Had
we had time for it, we should have gone farther, as far as to Baiæ,
which is a few miles beyond Puteoli.
* * * * *
As illustrative of the method of selling and clutching at a profit,
however small, I may here mention that, going out with a friend from
the hotel, we were waylaid by boys offering walking–sticks for sale.
The first boy asked 2 francs for a cane, my friend offered 1 franc,
and it was at once taken. Thereupon another with much better canes
came up. My friend picked out five of the best, for which he was asked
15 francs, and they were really very cheap at the money. He offered
5 francs and then 6, and to throw in the stick he had just bought of
the other boy. The offer was at once closed with, so that he got for 7
francs five beautiful canes, which, judging from prices asked in the
shops, were worth 20 francs at least.
* * * * *
We had still a good deal to see in Naples; but, not feeling very well,
we were anxious to leave a place the reputation of which for salubrity
is by no means assuring, and departed for Rome by a morning train,
leaving at 7 o’clock and arriving before 2 P.M.