Naples--Bristol Hotel--Via Roma--King Bomba's time--Deterioration of the
Neapolitans--Museum--Churches--The Opera-house--English and Italian
beauty--Aquarium--Vesuvius--Excursion to Pompeii--Portici--A novel mode
of grooming--The entombed city--Its disinterment--Museum, streets, and
buildings--Remarks--A cold drive.
The first thing we experienced on reaching Naples was the inveterate
habit of begging and cheating among the lower classes. Our
carriage-driver began by asking three times the amount of the usual fare
for driving us to our hotel, and the whole of the way along never once
desisted from trying to persuade us that we must pay what he had asked,
and perhaps a little more. There was another fellow seated by him on the
box, evidently a "hanger-on" and friend of his, who had come with the
hopes that we should believe he had carried our luggage to the carriage,
and was therefore entitled to something. These Neapolitan beggars are as
importunate and persistent as a swarm of gnats, and it is almost
impossible to get rid of them; however, on reaching the hotel, I
requested our landlord to pay the driver the right fare, and so got quit
of the nuisance for that time at least. It is a good plan, as a rule,
for travellers to let the landlord of the hotel arrange for their
carriage hire.
We found "the Bristol" a very comfortable hotel, and happily secured a
room on the third floor, with a verandah. The situation being on high
ground above the town, on the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele, we had a fine
view of the whole of the city and harbour below, the glorious bay
beyond, and the great smoking Vesuvius on our left. There were several
other hotels on the same heights, and also a comfortable pension
establishment kept by a Scotch lady. I believe this is considered the
healthiest part of Naples.
The weather opened finely the next morning; the sky a pretty pale blue,
and the sea calm and beautiful. The bay stretching boldly round on
either side; the city clustering on the shores and up the slopes of the
hills, the busy harbour lying in the foreground, terraced gardens all
around;--
"And yonder, see! as if in throes of death,--
Vesuvius wreaths her foul Plutonic breath."
Yet I must confess that on the whole I was disappointed. I thought of
the lovely coast scenery around Monaco and Monte Carlo, and felt that
they exceeded in beauty the famous bay before me. The fact is, some
people rave about certain places without exactly knowing the reason why,
simply because it happens to be the correct thing to do so. "See Naples
and then die," is a common saying: we felt quite contented to "see
Naples" and go on living. I cannot but think the place has been
overrated, though I will admit that we did not see it at its best, and
that perhaps in the full glow of a summer sun it may equal the rapturous
descriptions that have been given of it. Certainly the beauties of
Nature are not appreciated by all alike, mind and sentiment influencing
us differently.
The English church was a few hundred feet below us, across the road,
through the hotel gardens. This road is a new one, and extends some
miles along the slope of the hills overlooking the town, and leads from
the extreme end of the city right round to the other side of the coast
promenade. The principal street is the Via Roma, where there are some
fairly good shops. I should say that lambskin gloves, which seem a
speciality, cameos, and corals are the only things worth buying here.
Some of the cameos cut on the natural shell are very beautiful and
unique.
Naples was an exceedingly gay city in the time of King Bomba, and as
long as it was the seat of government. It is still said to be the gayest
city in Italy, and there certainly seems to be a great pursuit after
pleasure. Excepting with those who have business to look after, life
scarcely begins till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when the
carriages roll about, up the Via Roma, and along the Riviera di Chiaja,
by the sea, which is the Rotten Row of Naples. In the time of Bomba's
despotism the people really had little else to do than to amuse
themselves, for they had then practically no voice or interest in the
government of the two Sicilies, and so became careless, luxurious, and
indolent--content to live idly on their hereditary means, smoke, gossip,
sip their chocolate, eat their macaroni, roll about in their carriages,
and wind up their monotonous and useless day at their earthly paradise,
the opera, where they gossiped and flirted to their hearts' content. In
consequence of this manner of life, the men have become effeminate, and
the women have little left of that characteristic grace and beauty that
once so distinguished the Neapolitans.
So far as I have seen, in France, Italy, and elsewhere, I am proud of my
own countrywomen. In grace, dignity, purity, and beauty, they are
pre-eminent, morally, mentally, and physically: an Englishwoman only
fulfils my idea of--
"A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light."
It was, therefore, with surprise that I gazed upon the canvases and
statues of the old masters, and wondered where they obtained their
exquisitely lovely models. From history we know that the women of Greece
and Rome were noble specimens of their sex, and worthy of imitation; but
if in later times, Correggio, Titian, and Fra Angelico, took their
models from among their own countrywomen, how lamentably the present
race must have deteriorated since their time!
The Museum of Naples is a very interesting one, and well repays a
careful examination of its contents. Unfortunately it closes at four,
but whenever we had an hour to spare during the day, we felt there could
be no mistake in repairing thither. I believe it has not its equal in
the world. Perhaps in statuary and painting the Vatican carries off the
palm, but scarcely, I think, in other treasures. "Here are united the
older and more recent collections belonging to the Crown; the Farnese
collection from Rome and Parma; those of Portici and Capodimonte; and
the excavated treasures of Herculaneum, Pompeii, Stabiæ, and Cumæ. These
united collections now form one of the finest in the world: the
Pompeiian antiquities and objects of art in particular, as well as the
bronzes from Herculaneum, are unrivalled."
Here we saw the _Farnese Bull_ group, the largest ancient piece of
sculpture in Italy. We saw also the _Farnese Hercules_, a magnificent
figure, and the _Gladiatorial Prize-fighters_; both groups are wonderful
portrayals of animal strength and manly courage. The mosaics and
frescoes are very beautiful; and there are some wonderfully preserved
Egyptian mummies, which, in their double casings or coffins, after two
thousand years, still defy the ravages of time, the teeth and nails in
many cases being quite perfect. The Pompeiian collection was especially
interesting to us, perhaps because, although so ancient, their discovery
has been of such comparatively recent date. Many of the bodies of those
who perished have been wonderfully recovered and preserved in the very
posture in which death so suddenly overtook and entombed them some
eighteen centuries ago. Every little detail of dress and drapery has
been preserved in a really wonderful manner by Florelli's process of
pouring liquid plaster into the mould formed by the lava in which the
body was encased, and which had retained every line and fold of face and
drapery; as soon as the plaster hardened, the mould was lifted off with
the greatest precaution, and on the lava and ashes being removed, a
perfect cast of the living figure it had once contained appeared.
We regarded these painful figures with deep and mournful interest. There
was one of a woman, apparently of the poorer classes, who had been
overtaken by the deadly shower while endeavouring to save a young girl,
probably her daughter; the coarse texture of their raiment is distinctly
visible, and the smooth, rounded arms of the little maid may be
discerned through the rent sleeves. Another stately figure, evidently a
Roman matron, has gathered together her little treasures, with which she
hopes to escape; her draperies, disordered and caught up at one side,
display limbs of sculptured beauty. An aged man--apparently an invalid
from the thin and shrunken extremities--rests with his head leaning on
his hand exactly as he was overtaken by the fearful storm of pumice and
lava. These and many others were buried while yet alive, their features
plainly telling of the agonizing thoughts that flashed across their
minds at the moment of death, and every detail about them telling of
the hurriedness of their attempted flight.
The collection of old coins in this Museum, is, I believe, the finest in
the world, and the cabinets of ancient gems and crystals are exceedingly
beautiful. Then there is the library of papyri--rolls found at
Herculaneum, and a perfect model of the city of Pompeii. There are also
many other rooms full of interesting relics of the two unfortunate
cities--wonderful works of art in crystal, stone, and bronze, much of
which cannot even be imitated in the present day. Altogether this Museum
is a very temple of ancient treasure, and should make us humble in the
knowledge that we now possess.
We visited the Aquarium, which is quite unique in its way, and one of
the finest in the world. Here, in a series of great glass tanks, we saw
collected all the marvellous wonder and beauty of the great deep, every
branch and species of sea creature from the coral and the sponge to the
highest form of marine life. The most wonderful thing of all, we
thought, and certainly the most novel to us, was a kind of animated
purple thread, which spun itself out to such an extent that there was
only a long cobweb left perceptible; this, floating about, after a time
showed extraordinary muscular strength and energy, gathering itself
together into a compact purple tassell or worm. The jelly-fish were also
remarkably beautiful, with their graceful movements and purple glancing
hues. This Aquarium certainly gave us a little comprehension of the
marvellous beauty of oceanic life.
Of the 250 churches at Naples, few possess a great amount of interest,
though some of them are well worth visiting. The Duomo San Gennaro, in
the Strada del Duomo, is a large and handsome Cathedral. It is built on
the sites of the temples of Neptune and Apollo, and contains several
tombs of great men. It is here that the supposed miracle of the
liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius is "performed" twice or
thrice a year.
One evening we went to the grand Teatro Reale di San Carlo, paying
sixteen shillings for a couple of _Pit_ tickets. It is an immense house,
supposed to be the largest in the world, gorgeously decorated, with six
tiers of boxes, and capable of holding several thousand people. There
was not a large audience, however, and as I looked round, eager to
discover some of the living ideals of Italian loveliness, I was
disappointed to find that but few of the Neapolitan ladies possessed any
commanding grace or beauty, neither did their dress betoken much
refinement of taste. As the theatre is the time and place for the fair
sex to shine its brightest, I took this as a convincing proof that my
previous strictures on Italian beauty were not unjust or uncharitable.
The opera, which chanced to be "Lucia di Lammermoor," was very good,
both vocally and instrumentally, and the dancing was clever and
graceful, but to our English eye bordering on the immodest; the
spectators, however, greatly applauded it, and probably they were the
best judges.
Vesuvius smoked continually during the day, and occasionally shot forth
lurid flames into the darkness of the night. We had a capital view of
his volcanic performances from our hotel windows, and found it
interesting to watch his eccentric ebullitions. Most of our
fellow-travellers made the ascent, but as we did not intend to make any
stay in Naples--my wife being anxious to pay a long-promised visit to
her sister in Malta--we decided to defer the expedition to some future
occasion, particularly as we wished to make an excursion to Pompeii, the
collection at the museum having greatly interested us and aroused our
curiosity. Nowadays the ascent of Vesuvius is no great climb; its four
thousand feet are quickly traversed by the funicular railway, which
takes visitors nearly the entire distance.
Up to this time the weather had been just comfortably warm, but suddenly
the wind shifted to the north-east, and blew bitterly cold.
Unfortunately, it was the very day of our proposed visit to Pompeii, and
as it was our last day in Naples, we were unable to defer it for more
favourable weather.
The drive is some eighteen miles, and no amount of rugs and wraps seemed
to protect us from the piercing wintry wind, and keep us warm.
Circling round the southern part of the bay, which is very crowded and
somewhat dirty, the sloping shores being lined with macaroni
manufactories, we soon passed through the ancient town of Portici,
which was once a place of considerable importance, and possesses a royal
palace built by Charles III., and adorned with pictures and frescoes
from Pompeii, and a museum of statues, arms, bronzes, and furniture
taken from the buried city. We next passed Herculaneum, and the town of
Resina, which is built over it; Vesuvius and the hilly country on our
left, and handsome suburban villas built on lava beds sloping down to
the sea on our right. The road, being cut through the original stream of
lava, was covered by the traffic with a thick white dust, which did not
by any means conduce to our comfort, for the nipping wind blew it up
into our faces in clouds, and the glare, caused by the occasional bursts
of sunshine, was exceedingly trying to the eyes. We were not sorry to
come to the end of our cold, two hours' journey, and find a cheerful
wood fire blazing in the little Pompeiian restaurant by which to warm
our half-frozen feet, and also something welcome in the way of
refreshment. Our little wiry horse had certainly done his duty, and
deserved our gratitude. We found the town pretty full of visitors who
had driven up, and there were continual fresh arrivals. Therefore, we
soon moved away to secure a guide to the erst entombed city. We had been
much amused, watching the novel mode of refreshment indulged in by the
active little animal that had so speedily brought us on our journey. He
had been unharnessed and taken to a bare spot thickly covered with dark
lava sand. This he seemed greatly to appreciate, for, after pawing the
ground gratefully for a few moments, down he went, and commenced rolling
himself over and over with great energy; by-and-by he rose like a giant
refreshed, and fell to on his provender most voraciously. This scene
reminded me of one I had often witnessed at the Cape of Good Hope, where
sand is often similarly used as an excellent and economical substitute
for grooming--the sand absorbs the perspiration, and is most refreshing
to the poor beasts.
Passing up the hillside through a little plantation at the back of the
restaurant, we soon came to the military station of specially selected
soldiers, who have the care of the ruins and at the same time act as
guides to the visitors. Fortunately, we chanced upon a very intelligent
and obliging fellow, who spoke English fluently--a sergeant, who,
without being loquacious, was sufficiently communicative to make an
agreeable companion and cicerone.
Paying an entrance-fee of two lire each, we passed through the
turnstile, and were soon quite absorbed in the ruins around us. The
Italian Government, bearing all the expense of disentombing Pompeii,
probably look to recoup themselves by the entrance-fees of the numerous
visitors who flock to see the long-buried city.
We saw gangs of men and boys clearing away great mounds of pumice and
dark lava mould from the ancient streets, which had not seen the light
for eighteen centuries, and over which the vine had been planted, and
the corn had waved through many generations. It has been demonstrated by
an examination of the older crater, that in the great eruption of
A.D. 79 Vesuvius first threw up its superficial contents--and,
in fact, the very crust of the mountain itself, which, being of a light
friable nature, blew over to the more distant city of Pompeii,
accompanied by showers of hot water--and it was after this first
outbreak that a flood of molten lava poured in a torrent over the nearer
city, and enfolded Herculaneum in a bed of rock. There is evidence that
Pompeii had been warned of the impending disaster by an earthquake; we
have no means yet of knowing whether Herculaneum received a similar
warning, but the probability is that it was overwhelmed with awful
suddenness.
Pompeii now reposes on an elevated grassy plain, partly encircled by
fine ranges of hills, which on the eastern side stretch out towards
Castellamare, and at the present time have one or two of their loftiest
summits topped with snow. It is now some two or three miles from the
sea, which is supposed to have receded at the time of the eruption, for
Pompeii, when entombed, was a fashionable watering-place. It was here
that Senator Livinius Regulus fixed his residence when banished from
Rome in 59; and we learn from Suetonius, that the emperor Claudius had a
villa here. He mentions it incidentally as the place where the Emperor's
little son died in a singular manner: the child threw a pear up in the
air, and caught it in his mouth, and, before any one could come to his
assistance, died from choking.
Pompeii was rediscovered in 1748, by Don Rocca Alcubura, Spanish Colonel
of Engineers. "Nearly seventeen centuries had rolled away when it was
disinterred from its silent tomb, all vivid with undimmed hues--its
walls fresh as if painted yesterday; scarcely a hue faded on the rich
mosaic of its floors. In its forum the half-finished columns as left by
the workman's hands, in its gardens the sacrificial tripod, in its halls
the chest of treasure, in its baths the strigil, in its theatres the
counter of admission, in its saloons the furniture and the lamp, in its
triclinia the fragments of the last feast, in its cubicula the perfumes
and the rouge of faded beauty--and everywhere the bones and skeletons of
those who once moved the springs of that minute yet gorgeous machine of
luxury and of life." The process of disentombment was not proceeded with
very rapidly at first; it lingered on, in not too skilful hands, till
Garibaldi appointed Alexandre Dumas as superintendent of the work in
1860. This, however, did not improve matters; the great novelist lived
at Naples in first-rate style on the liberal income allowed him, and
after one visit to the scene of operation, left the work to take care of
itself. All was changed, however, under the _régime_ of Signor Florelli,
who united the most enthusiastic interest in the work to eminent skill
and unwearied patience. Since he undertook the management, the
excavations have been made on a scale, and with a care, that will soon
exhaust whatever objects still remain buried under the ashes.
Our guide first took us into the Museum, where we saw under glass cases
some of the Pompeiian corpses, so wonderfully preserved by the plaster
of Paris process, described in our visit to the Museum at Naples; also
many other most interesting mementoes of the buried city, too numerous
to mention. From thence we roamed out into the deserted streets:
"I stood within the city disinterred;
And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls
Of spirits passing through the streets; and heard
The Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals
Thrill through those roofless walls."
The roofless state of the houses seems to have been caused, partly by
the weight of matter which collected on them, and also from the fact of
their being principally composed of wood, which was burnt by the red-hot
stones that fell in showers from the burning mountain. There was,
however, always sufficient of the building remaining to tell whether it
had been a shop or a private residence, and, if the former, to
distinguish what particular business had been carried on there: for
instance, we found the bakers' ovens nearly perfect; while the
wine-shops had great stone pitchers of the "Ali Baba" kind sunk into the
counter, for cooling purposes, with the necks just showing above. The
money-changers' shops were all marked by some such inscription as "Money
is the thing worshipped here" (nothing new under the sun, thought I).
Then there were the baths, arranged on the Roman principle (that which
is erroneously known in the present day as the Turkish system), with
rooms for graduated temperature, and all the conveniences for
heating-places and niches for ointments and unguents, etc., to be used
after the luxury of the bath. The private dwellings were most
attractive, with their frescoed chambers, fountains, and open courts.
Few of the houses had any windows; the light probably being admitted
from the roof above, and reflected from the marble tanks of water in the
centre of the court. But even under this hypothesis, I cannot help
thinking the ancients had some other means of catching the light and
diffusing it in their apartments, in some such manner as the Chappuis'
reflectors we now use, though no certain evidence is yet forthcoming
that they did so. There were places of amusement, and even places of
vice, all distinctly noted: the Chalcidicum or Hall of Justice, the
Street of the Tombs, Senate-houses, schools, Forums, and Temples,
amphitheatres and coliseums--principally, of course, mere ruins, but
still showing great beauty of design and finish. Most of the walls had
evidently been veneered with marble about an inch or two thick; and
there was, in some of the rooms, space left between the walls for
heating purposes. It is said that at the time of the eruption Pompeii
was still unfinished, indeed, that the preceding earthquake had
interrupted the Romans in beautifying the city: there were pointed out
to us several columns and buildings that had evidently been prepared for
the veneering process, and never been completed. Many of the mosaic
floors are in fine preservation, as are also the paintings and frescoes
on the walls. One beautiful little shrine or grotto made of mosaics and
shells is singularly interesting and unique.
The streets, which were all made on the slant for draining purposes, are
very narrow, just wide enough for one carriage or chariot to pass up at
a time. They are paved with lava stone, which is bleached white with the
rain, and has been preserved so by its long entombment; here and there
in the centre are raised oval stones, not interfering with the traffic,
and affording convenient stepping-stones to foot-passengers during wet
weather. When a chariot entered one of these streets, the word was
quickly passed, to prevent another entering at the other end until it
had gone through, and this was supposed to be the duty of the owners of
the little shops on each side of the way.
On such a nipping day, it was impossible to help thinking how cold the
place must have been with so much marble and cold water about; but the
theory is, that the climate has very much changed since the days of
Glaucus and Ione. When at Rome, our guide told us that even within his
recollection the temperature there had altered considerably, and had
become much colder.
It seemed a great pity to spend only a few hours among these most
interesting ruins; but as we were obliged to get back to Naples by
evening, to be ready for our departure for Sicily on the morrow, we did
not stop at Herculaneum on our return, as had been our intention; it
was really so cold during the return drive that we were quite thankful
when we sighted our hotel once more. We made a mental resolve, however,
to pay a longer visit to Naples some day, and take our time over
visiting the two buried cities and other places of interest that we were
obliged to miss on the present occasion.