We leave Rome by the 10 a.m. express and reach Naples at 14.30.
Yesterday we came to Rome from Assisi. At Terni I bought a lunch
basket which contained (1) a paper napkin, (2) a knife, (3) a loaf of
bread, (4) a cake of sweetbread, (5) two slices of meat, (6) a couple
of slices of sausage, (7) salt, (8) a bit of chicken, (9) toothpicks,
(10) a bottle of wine, (11) an orange, (12) a piece of cheese, (13)
some walnuts--all for two francs. I question whether there is any
other country in the world where you could buy so much food for so
little money.
A facchino, or railway porter, at Naples, plays us a scurvy trick.
We hand him over our luggage at the station, and tell him we want to
get a carriage to take us on board the Regina Margherita. After a
moment's thought, he tells us it is but two minutes' walk, and he
will take us on board for four francs--which we think rather too
much, but agree to give. He leads us along dirty streets for at
least ten minutes, and fetches up finally at a landing place, where
he and sundry boatmen engage in a war of words, to which vehement
gesticulations lend a sanguinary aspect--all calculated to impress us
with the difficulty of getting to our steamer. Presently he motions
us to step into one of the boats, which we, in our innocence, do in
fear and trembling, while he quickly makes off. But the boatman will
not budge till we have paid him four francs. Then he quietly rows us
round a ship, and up to a dock, where, to our surprise and great
disgust, we behold our Regina Margherita cosily moored! Two
Neapolitan ragamuffins extort further tribute for carrying our traps
on board. "For ways that are dark and tricks that are--vain" seems
hardly the word, and I leave the reader to finish the sentence.
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